The Worst Day of Fishing

The Only Part

  It was a Wednesday. James Faustin adored Wednesdays. This particular Wednesday, however, felt like a Tuesday. A Tuesday that somehow came between Friday and Saturday. James hated Tuesdays especially when they presented themselves in such a fashion. But, after much heavy breathing and silent swearing, he reminded himself that it was, indeed, a Wednesday no matter how it felt and so decided to finally climb down from his bed which was, of course, situated in the center of his room where it floated two and a half feet off the floor with the aid of magnets. He staggered toward the giant window which ran from floor to ceiling but only walked from wall to wall. The window overlooked the Pacific Ocean where he sold bootleg magazines to Japanese tourists. Stretching awkwardly, James sighed with hate at the long and arduous day that sat pre-determinedly before him. He prayed silently for any reason to not go out today. Sickness. Family emergency. Alien invasion. Leaky buttocks. Anything at all. His praying was in vain. It was when James had finally resigned to defeat that he heard a violent knock on the door. He could tell it was a violent knock because the bullet that caused the knock also left a gaping hole in the fish tank which he kept in the living room where the door unfortunately opened to. Between the shock of having his front door murdered and the overwhelming sound of his fish screaming and crying, James felt that his best course of action was to quickly piss himself to relieve the tension and then find a place to hide while he phoned the police. He quickly leaped to the most obvious hiding place; under the bed. It took him a full ten seconds and an empty six and a half more to realize his bed, being of the levitating variety, provided far less cover than he hoped. Whether it was the several gunshots that followed the first and the sledgehammer tearing down his door or the ever-dampening right pant leg of his pajamas (which he took the time to notice was odd as he always dressed to the left), James began to sense his escape into a safe place was becoming increasingly urgent. He darted toward the closet, only scoring 150 points. Then he scolded himself because this was certainly no time for darts. But the closet gave him an idea and that's when the solution hit him. He upset the bottle of rubbing alcohol on the nightstand floating beside his bed and it spilled on his face. He quickly wiped it off with his pajama top and headed for the closet. Once inside, he grabbed the phone he had installed in the closet wall in case of emergencies and hastily dialed 911. An unpleasantly jolly woman answered and began asking her scripted questions. 

 "Hey there! Thanks for calling 911! My name's Oliver. How are you this morning?" 

 "There's a person of currently unknown gender and ethnicity firing shots into my living room. That's how I am, you dozy twat." 

 "Okay. Calm down sir. Does he have a gun?" 

 "No he's setting flames to sour mash whiskey and tossing it into my house. Course he fucking has!!!" 

 "Sir this line is for emergencies only. Liquor is hardly an emergency. If you don't stop calling, I'll have the police sent to your house to arrest you." 

 "Fine! Send them! Just as long as they get here in the next few minutes to stop me from ending up like my fish!" 

 "What happened to your fish?" 

 "They're being murdered." 

 "Oh my. Those poor creatures. Don't worry sir. The police are on their way." 

 "Thank you." 

 James replaced the phone. It was now a waiting game. He could still hear the commotion coming from the other room. The criminal finally made his way inside and began to torture the fish for information. Luckily, they were Red Army Fighting Fish who had been trained to withstand torture tactics in the snowy prisons of Russia during the Cold War. James knew he could trust them with his life and only wished he could do something to save theirs. After five medium length minutes, the assassin lost his patience and squished the fish under his boot. They flipped their final flops and died honorably. James tried not to cry but failed after a bowling ball fell from the top shelf, crushing his foot. His cries of pain alerted the intruder and lead him straight to his location in the closet. Just as the cold bastard was making his way into the bedroom, the sound of a police unit emerged from the front yard. The criminal quickly searched for a hiding place and immediately dove for the most obvious one. The police made their way in and began searching the house. James watched from the closet as they looked over the suspect hiding under the bed and rolled his eyes at their stupidity. That's when he got the brilliant idea of using the remote that controlled his bed. He grabbed it from the wall next to the phone and turned off the magnet. The bed fell with great force, crushing and killing the fish murderer. Forever. 

After the cleanup crew arrived and the detectives began to investigate, James enjoyed a cup of hot cocoa while the police chief took his statement. 

 "And that's all that happened?" 

 "Yes, officer. That's the whole of it." 

 "Well I thank you for your time. And uhhh... I'm sorry about your fish. You've had quite an ordeal this morning." 

 "Eh. At least I didn't have to go out." 

 With a smile and a wink, James sipped his coffee and strolled to the window to gaze out at the ocean.