Inspired by the animated short film above, Trapped Fish, by Yuwei Qiu.
This is not a regular part of the story, as it is not written in free verse poem format. I would hope you wouldn't, but you may skip this if short story is not your specific taste. You won't miss any critical aspects of the story that will not be covered whenever the next part is uploaded (although that may be a long wait). It's simply dialogue between Evelyn and Noah in her moment of need, and allows you to actually see them interact rather than hearing about it in her poem after the fact.
In case you've forgotten, I'll give you a quick summary of what has happened.
→ Evelyn just had dinner with her father and his girlfriend, wearing one of her mother's dresses.
→ Evelyn acted awful towards the girlfriend, which provoked her father's anger (she sees it as a betrayal).
→ Evelyn recently called Noah because of how upset she is.
→ She is currently on the front lawn of her house, talking to him.
Regular - Evelyn
Bold - Noah (AKA Boy On Fire AKA Potential Love Interest)
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I can hear the hum of their laughter inside, see the glow of their candle lit dinner tracing the edge of the windows. The street light flickers the shadows of passerbyers that trail behind the warmth of their held hands and garbled chatter. I have sat on the curb across our house with Noah for over twenty minutes, darting around anything of true substance, unable to find somewhere to delve into the reason for my call to the boy on fire.
"Did you ever have a goldfish when you were younger?"
I listen to the steady rhythm of the world's inhale and exhale, feel the rise and fall of the fabric of its atmosphere. The air is crisp, caught in a rare moment of standstill that churns held breaths into clouds of fog. The bitter cold nips at the exposed skin that peeks out of my sleeves. I wrap my arms around my knees, pulling them together.
"For a tiny fistful of two crumpled dollars at the fair," Noah nods, "His name was Clyde."
He teeters on the line of bricks that adjourn the boundary of our house. I watch his bare feet tread the crumbling brick, straining the tether between him and safety. Testing the limits of gravity, seeing how far he can tiptoe on unsteady footing.
"Gertrude, the house realtor–that's what we used to call her. There was a line of at least five or six huge fish tanks along the floor of my room like a horizontal apartment complex, all owned by one goldfish."
I pick up a rock nestled in between the bricks. It bleeds chalk from its crushed corners, the dust smearing across our sidewalk. Mom used to say that smooth pebbles like this one flew across the lake instead of skipped; they did not allow the pretense of their clipped wings and weighted hearts prevent them from fulfilling their true spirit.
"Why did you buy so many?"
"I couldn't imagine her happy in any of them. They were castles made of glass–reflections of outsiders looking in."
I wind up my sleeves, letting the goosebumps prickle my arm. I throw it the way she taught me, snapping my wrist with a balance of recklessness and calculation. As it should on hard concrete, it sinks immediately. One bounce, a fumbling roll, and a stop.
Belief can only carry dreams so far before they are snared by the claws of reality, turned into delusions.
"All of this anguish over Gertrude? Goldfish only have a seven-second memories, you know."
YOU ARE READING
Lilies
PoetryA girl receives a letter from the mother who abandoned her years ago, leaving her to deal with the remnants of their broken family alone. She attempts to respond by bottling her emotions into the chaotic lines of poems, as old scars are reopened. ...
