The Floating Fish - A Tragedy in One Act

There he would be again, the bright red betta in the round bowl of water. He had to be dead today. He had to be.

The man got off the elevator by himself, his eyes bloodshot from the night before. Nothing in particular happened the previous day, which isn't to say that there wasn't a reason for the veins in his eyes to be visible. The fluorescent lights searing through his pupils day after day; the constant staring at the bright box sitting on top of his desk in the corner of the building; the sun reflecting off the glass building across the street; how could his eyes be any other way?

As he slowly walked towards his cubicle, he reminisced about his time with his finned buddy. He remembered purchasing the gray stand with the 'blue' light that would accentuate the colors of his fish; thoughts of how he didn't want to name his cubicle buddy until it was the right time; memories of how the fish never really looked healthy and having to drive to the local pet store to purchase medicine for the water; how the white dots across the fish's body eventually went away, but the betta from that day on would always float on it's side; he remembered the day when he finally named the fish, Lazarus Jesus.

Almost three months had past. Did Lazarus Jesus know that fish are not supposed to float on their side? Did he know how people would react to a fish in that position? Did he know how the man defended him to fellow co-workers about his condition?

The man knew, as he turned the corner and entered his square domain, that LJ would once again be on his side. This time, would it be the last?

There he was, laying on his side. This was the day. The man, eyes still bloodshot (had he cried the night before, he couldn't remember), dropped his portfolio and sat in his chair. He slowly lowered his head onto the desk, the four white walls of his cubicle tomb shined bright from the blue light above. He began to think of how much he and LJ had in common as they both laid in their fish bowls. He watched Lazarus through the round glass bowl, his eyes feeling tired, like they just wanted to close and never open. As they both laid there motionless, the man wondered if Lazarus' eyes were as blood-shot (how would he know if Lazarus was crying?). Then, there was a flinch. He began to move. He stared at the man and wondered when his round pellets of food would grace the top of his aquatic home.

He would be back tomorrow. The fight for survival would continue one more day. Maybe the fish would be there to join him, too.