Goldfish
Sabastian Oliver Smith

You leave the car with the hood up and start walking along the interstate in the rain. There is a strange feeling to the day, almost identical to the time you went swimming in a murky pond with goldfish.
Using excessive force, the tiny goldfish pull you under. Your eyes fill with the pond scum. Your biggest fear is losing your contacts: Powder Blue contacts. You succumbed to fits of terror when you read, in your mind, the warning on the side of your contact case: Powder Blue contacts are best dropped against a field of yellow. Never let your contacts fall against a bacground of pond scum. You press your eyes with your fingertips hoping to prevent any movement which might dislodge the Powder Blues. The fish think this is a hostile sign and stuff pregnant guppies down your throat.
An amateur videographer captures the whole thing on tape. You think about the video being shown in a courtroom; traffic court is all you can envision. On the news, it would be the thirteenth story, just after a woman who found her husband engaged in a Menage a trois with an 8" Barbie and Barbie's friend Ken. You found out later, the little bastards just wanted the tape as background noise for some high-tec party they were having.
It was in a dream, of course, but several years later walking along the interstate, you still experience bloatedness and an occasional guppy fart escapes you.



First published: June 1993
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