Grave

5

I was five.

It started with a goldfish that mother had cleverly dubbed as Goldie, although I'll never say it aloud, in her moments of sobriety she could almost pass as a perfectly adept mother.

Almost.

The apartment was spik and span, enough so that you could eat off of the floor. The designer chairs that sat stiff and looked about as uncomfortable as they were, the shag rug that was barely long enough to be considered one and the pale hickory side table with a short round fishbowl sitting atop it, were all in their right spots.

The small fish lazily swam in ovals, repeatedly dragging its tail fin over the light green rocks at the bottom of its watery prison. He seemed to sigh, little air bubbles worming out of his mouth and then dissipating at the surface and rejoining the air in the sitting room.

Gross. I was breathing in fish breath.

The silly thought flicked out of my mind as easily as it came. But Goldie kept on moving in the pattern he had set days ago when mother had stumbled through the front door and shoved it into my arms, "Here," she drawled through her liquor, " some posh man gave it to me after a good round or two..." She chuckled, "take care of him." So he was set in my care.

I pushed myself off the floor half heartedly but only ended up rolling onto my stomach, still staring at awfully boring Goldie. A little snort of contempt escaped the back of my throat. He wouldn't stand a chance if left alone for a few days. Without food he would starve or just jump out of the bowl in some bout of fish stupidity. Just like a desperate person only more scaly and a little more smelly.

Or a little less smelly.

I started to giggle, then laugh. Rolling around on the floor like a madman over the shag carpet and bumping into one of the stiff chair before taking a few deep breaths and then gazing back to Goldie. Maybe the little bugger wasn't as bad as I initially thought.

Heaving my small body up and onto thin thin legs I walked over to the hickory table, the nicks and chips painfully noticeable under a terrible refinishing job. I hummed in disapproval because the little fish was very entertaining and deserved something better. Maybe a gold pedestal or a marble shrine. The thought made my lips quick.

You sly fish, you're at it again.

Air bubbles floated to the top of the tank in silent agreement.

I glanced around the room and back to my tiny companion, who in turn stared back with large bug eyes. Again I hummed, an idea coming to mind.

If I let him out of his prison he would be free ,right, so if I tipped over the tank he could be happier. No, no.

That wouldn't be right at all because then his beautiful fins would go to waste, drying up and withering away. Goldie needed a far greater release for a much more present prison.

I thought.

The idea hit me like a train.

I giggled again and whispered something about how smart the idea was and then reached for lip of the bowl and gently knocking it over onto the floor. It smashed into hundreds of shards and the water splashed over onto the hideous rug. Goldie flopped around for a minute and then stopped moving, only twitching twice more before stilling entirely.

"You're free." It's a quiet murmur but I smile as he floats around the room.

--

Mother doesn't yell.

She looks at the floor, and then at me a grin painted over my face. She has a long sigh before walking over and sitting in the other chair next to mine.

"Darling what happened?" The fake concern dripped out of her mouth and onto the floor, I have to remind myself to clean that spot later.

I tip my head sideways and reply, " Goldie was bored."

"So you killed him?" Her eyes were narrowing in suspicion like I was lying, of corse Goldie was bored why else would I knock the tank over.

"No mother," I responded crisply. "I set him free."

"Oh." She murmured closing her eyes for a second too long and then opening them again and gazing at me with emotionally void eyes.

"Well he wasn't free dear." She says, snaking her hand into my hair.

"Sorry."

"Well, we take care of nice things in the house, understand?" She chided, affection laced in her words.

"Yes mother." I replied softly.

"Good."

It only took her half a second to grab a tangle of hair and yank me off the chair, smashing my face into the cold floor boards.

I was not a nice thing.

Thus, I was not to be taken care of.

I blacked out.

--

There was a smell.

My nose was broken, badly.

A possum lie only a few feet away, it's short grey lashes fluttering as it woke up. Her eyes were black and beady, shifting like distrust and hunger.

She was beautiful in the most disgusting way.

Like me.