Lee Adam

“Derek, I’m sick and tired of going around and around like this!” Murray groaned.

“Why are you saying that like it’s my fault?”

“I never said it was your fault, did I?” Murray stopped, opened his mouth, closed it again, then continued pacing, tracing the same route he had done countless times before.

“Well, to be honest, Mur, I don’t see what the big problem is.” Derek fell in line, following close behind. “I mean, we’re safe, warm, and have three square meals a day. What more could you want?”

“Freedom.” Murray stopped in his tracks and whipped round, forcing  Derek to slam to a halt. “I want excitement and adventure,” Murray continued, “I want to break out of this jail cell, see the ocean and swim with sharks.”

Swim with sharks?” Derek snapped. “Are you listening to yourself?”

“This isn’t living, Der, it’s barely even surviving. We’re prisoners, held against our will without due process or possibility of parole. I need more.”

For the longest moment, Derek stared back at his friend, opening and closing his mouth but saying nothing. Then he screamed, “YOU. ARE. A. FISH! What do you mean you wanna swim with sharks? You have a death wish or something?” He swam to the glass, pointing his fin. “You’ve been watching too much of that glowing thing with the little people in it.”

“Eh, it’s called a picture box, Der.” Murray condescended, already bored with the rant.

“I don’t care what it’s called, Mur,” Derek snapped back. “It’s a lot of crap, and it’s filled your head with stupid ideas again. Remember last week? You were convinced you were a dinosaur because of that thing.”

“No, I don’t remember.” Murray turned and swam away, petulant and defiant.

“Or the time the picture box convinced you that there had been a murder and you were the only one who could find the killer?”

“You explain what happened to Sponge Bob then,” Murray snapped, pointing an angry fin. “He stood next to that castle for as long as I can remember, then one day they cleaned out the bowl and he’s gone. What happened to him, Der? Huh? He was my friend, I can’t just let that go.”

“He wasn’t your friend, Mur. He never said one word to you the entire time he was here.”

Murray opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the room door swung open. Two big people walked in, stopping right beside the table where the fishbowl sat. Murray and Derek instantly recognised the smaller person with the yellow hair. She was the feeder. They liked her, but neither of them recognised the taller one. He had black, wiry hair and thick stubble on his chin. His face was orange, and his hands swung as he yelled.

 “What d’you think’s going on here, Der?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Derek replied as he swam away with disinterest. “I don't speak people language, do I?”

Murray pushed his nose to the glass, his eyes widening. He watched as the black-haired man barked at the feeder, and she yelled back. Then, black hair pushed Feeder, and she stumbled back a step.

The long moment of silence was broken when Feeder whipped her hand out, connecting with black Hair’s stubbled jaw. His head snapped towards the fishbowl. Just then, something plopped into the water and sank to the bottom. The two fish scurried in wild circles, kicking chunks of the small gravel and dust that lined the floor of their home.

The black-haired man stumbled and slapped his hands down on either side of the bowl, jostling it dangerously close to the edge of the table. The man stared straight down into the water. Derek ducked for cover while Murray was frozen in place.

 Murray felt his mouth pumping faster and faster as it struggled to keep up with his racing gills. He looked up. At this distance, the stranger's face occupied Murray's entire field of vision. He could see the split in the man's top lip as blood trickled down, then fell into the water.

“Get out of there, Mur,” Derek yelled from behind the ornamental castle at the far end of the bowl, but Murray was transfixed; paralysed with fear. Man and fish. Eyes locked. The man snarled and tongued the tooth in the corner of his mouth. All Murray could do was stare as the giant's face turned from a deep tan to an angry red.

In a burst of movement, the man spun and grabbed the Feeder by the throat. She fought back, and they both fell to the floor.

 Murray fluttered back and forth in a panic. “Derek, Derek! He’s hurting her. Derek, what do we do? What do we do?”

“Hide, you idiot!” Derek screamed.

In a flurry of fear, Murray scuttled around the castle and hid.

The pair hung still, save for the sucking motion of their mouths, for hours. (In actual fact, the two were there for only a couple of minutes. Fish aren’t very good at estimating the passage of time.)

They both edged an eye over the castle's rooftop in time to see the stranger stand up. Murray glanced down and saw the lifeless feet of Feeder on the floor, her body hidden by the sofa. The black-haired man's eyes bulged as he stared at his hands as though noticing them for the first time. The rage in his eyes was replaced with a mixture of panic and disgust.

After another hour (again, just a few minutes, they’re fish, remember), the stranger snapped back to the present and rushed out of the room. He returned as quickly as he left, pulling wipes from a pack. He crouched down and disappeared behind the couch where the body lay.

Derek and Murray crept from their hiding spot and did a fish’s equivalent of tiptoeing towards the glass to get a better look. Closer and closer. Inch by inch. Nothing. Not a sound. They both held their breath, straining to hear even the slightest sound.

The stranger exploded from his crouched position, and both fish scampered back to their hiding spot. Slowly, Murray bobbed his head up, sneaking a glance. He watched as the man took another tissue from the pack and started wiping the table, door handles, and other seemingly random things around the room.

Evolutionarily speaking, the life of a goldfish is very perilous. The lakes and rivers that make up its natural habitat are teeming with predators such as heron, pike, and pretty much anything larger than the fish itself. As such, the evolutionary path of the Carassius auratus (not one of nature's proudest achievements) means the fish has a naturally high anxiety level. Ironically, being in constant fear for its life is exactly what has kept the species going for centuries.

This means that your average household goldfish is intimately familiar with the concept of panic. Fear looked and felt pretty much the same in almost every animal on the planet. Murray and Derek could see that the stranger standing over the lifeless body of their feeder was, indeed, in a panic.

The man then bolted for the door, leaving it open in his wake.

The fish were alone.

Weeks later, (two days to you and I), a school of strange-looking figures with blue hands and covered head to toe in white, flooded the room.

         “Der, look,” Murray shouted in a whisper.

         “Why are you whispering? It’s not like they can hear you.” Derek chided as he sidled up to Murray. They both looked on as the creatures bustled back and forth putting things into small bags. Bright flashes of light burst from small black boxes that they held to their eyes.

         Derek fluttered for the safety of the castle while Murray looked on in stunned amazement. “You’d die in the wild,” Derek said.

         “Huh?” Murray turned side on, keeping one eye on the action and the other on his friend. “What are you talking about?”

         “You,” Derek snapped. “You have no fear. You should be hiding back here with me, not trying to get closer to those… those things. Swim with sharks? You’d last three seconds out there on your own.” Derek swept a fin towards the great wide beyond.

         “I think they’re here to help,” Murray said, nodding towards the blue-handed creatures.

         “How could you possibly know that?”

         “I think I’ve seen animals like this before. They live in the picture box.”

         After two days of bustle, the white creatures packed up and left (Yup, you guessed it,  the crime scene techs were in and out in just over an hour) and in walked two men. The taller, heavier one looked to be around 800 years old (fish are as good at estimating ages as they are at telling time), while the smaller man was a hundred years younger.

         The octo-centurian hovered over the body while the other man floated around the room. He paced back and forth, scanning his eyes this way and that, then made his way to the fish tank.

         “Hey, I think I know that guy,” Murray called back to the still-hiding Derek, “I think I’ve seen him in the picture box.”

         “What?” Derek said, peaking out from his sanctuary.

         “Yeah, I’ve seen his face before.”

         “You can’t have. The things in the picture box are tiny.”

         “No, I’m sure it’s him. He was with that woman, fighting that thing, you remember?” Murray was getting animated now. Excited to see a picture box creature in real life. Derek plucked up his courage, sidled up beside Murray and glared up.

         The man leaned close and tapped the glass of the bowl. His black hair matched his tanned complexion. Just then, the picture box man grinned, exposing the chipped tooth at the corner of his mouth. He winced and touched the fresh split on his lip.

         If it were possible for fish to gasp, Murray would have gasped the biggest gasp a fish could.

         “You okay, Mur?” Derek asked as Murray’s eyes grew wide.

Now, I don’t know how up-to-date you are on your marine biology, but in relation to the size of a goldfish’s body, its eyes are relatively huge. So, for Derek to watch his friends' eyes grow even larger was both impressive and terrifying.

         “It’s… it’s…” Murray stammered, then stared off into the distance, opening and closing his mouth.

         “What?” Derek said.

         “It’s him, Der. It’s the guy who hurt the feeder.” Snapping from his daze, Murray focused on Derek. “We’ve got to do something.” He said, his tone severe.

         Now it was Derek’s eyes that bulged to impressively terrifying proportions. “What do you mean by do something? What can we do? We have no arms, and don’t speak people!”

         “I don’t know, but we have to do something.” Murray’s anxiety was in overdrive now, swimming in tight circles, his gills working overtime, beginning to hyperventilate. (Stop right there! Before you go adding another strange entry into your internet search history, I checked, and yes, fish can hyperventilate. You’re welcome.)

         “What do we do? What do we do? What do we do?” The words rushed from Murray's mouth, gaining speed with each repetition. With one eye, Derek watched Murray spiral into hysteria, while the other eye was glued to the killer with the chipped tooth.

         The black-haired murderer rejoined his 800-year-old partner at the centre of the room. The two men talked and even laughed. The older man toured the room just like the black-haired man had done earlier, before stopping and leaning his bulk against the table where the fishbowl sat. The water sloshed back and forth, edging the bowl closer to where the man sat. The fish were now eight miles (six inches. Add depth perception to the list of things that fish know nothing about.) from where the detective sat.

         “What do we do?” Murray continued, repeating it over and over like a record jumping.

“Wait a minute,” Derek said, but Murray didn’t hear and went on repeating his question. “Oh, shut up, will you? I’m trying to think, but I can’t concentrate with you yammering on like that.” His forceful tone stopped Murray dead in his tracks.

Derek eyed the policeman’s back, then spun to face the empty space behind him. He turned, regarding the man again, then looked down towards the tabletop. He swam to the centre of the bowl.

“Der, what are you doing?” The panic had left Murray’s tone and was replaced with one of confusion.

Derek rushed to the glass, stopped, then swam back to the centre.

“Der? Are you okay?” Murray said, sounding more frightened this time.

Derek swam to the glass again, stopped, then backed up the entire length of the fishbowl this time..

“Der, please don’t tell me you’re thinking about –” but before Murray could finish, Derek exploded from his position and swam for the glass with everything he had. At the last minute, he pulled up and hurtled himself out of the water, hitting the policeman on the back.

“DEREK!” Murray descended into full panic mode. He swam in wild concentric circles, then sped along the floor, kicking up loose stones as he went. The water became a whirlpool of gravel and despair. F

“What the hell?” The old detective said as he turned to see a goldfish flapping on the table, gasping for a breath that wouldn't come. The animal flopped like a… well, like a fish out of water. “How did you get there?” the old man said, scooping Derek up and holding him flat in his palm. “You have a death wish or something?” He lowered the fish back into the bowl. “There you go, little fella. Wait a minute.” The detective swished his hand in the water, then reached to the bottom, picked something out, and turned to his partner.

Murray rushed to the edge of the bowl, pressing his nose against the glass. Now, if a goldfish could understand English, this is what Murray would have heard:

“What have you got there, Melville?” The black-haired man asked.

“It looks like a gold tooth cap. Don’t see many of those these days. In fact, Herman, you’re the only person I’ve ever seen with one.” Melville inspected the cap closely. “I wonder how it ended up in the fishbowl?”

Herman shifted his weight from one foot to the next. “Eh, no idea. Maybe the vic dropped it in there or something.” He offered. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll bag it anyway, give it to me.” He said, holding out an empty evidence bag.

“Say, what happened to your gold cap?” Sherman asked, eyeing his partner with suspicion. “You had it yesterday.”

“Eh, yeah, I, eh, it’s with the dentist. It needed to be cleaned. Professionally, I mean.” Sherman shifted again.

It was then that Murray called out to Derek, “Hey Der, come see this. I think you did it.” But there was no reply. “Der? You hear me? I think you –” Murray turned to see Derek flat on the gravel. “DEREK!” Murray dashed to his side. “Stay with me, Der.” Murray nudged at him with his nose, but Derek didn’t move. “Oh, I know I said I wanted adventure, but I was wrong. Please, Der. You’re all I’ve got. You can’t leave me.”

Murray could not afford the energy to panic. He focused all his strength on Derek's still body as though he could bring his friend back to life by sheer force of will. “Stay with me!” He pleaded, “I swear I won’t mention swimming with sharks ever again if you just wake up!”

Just then, a clattering noise in the room snapped Murray’s attention. He spun around to see the two men grappling. The Sherman had Melville in a headlock. The two men stumbled back and forth, crashing into chairs and lamps.

Melville hooked an arm between Sherman’s legs and hoisted the man in the air. They both fell backwards and crashed through the picture box.

Both men lay still.

“Come on, get up,” Murray willed. “You can’t let him get away with killing Feeder and Derek!”

After a week, Melville stirred. Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet and fished a black box from his pocket. The box crackled, “Dispatch, this is Melville. Send an ambulance and an armed unit to my location. Suspect is unconscious but breathing.”

“YES!” Murray yelled. “You did it, Der. You caught him. You sacrificed yourself to catch a murderer.” Sadness caught in his throat. “I’m such an idiot. I wanted an adventure so badly. I was so busy wanting something better that I didn’t see I had everything I needed right here. I’m sorry, Der. It should’ve been me. I’d give anything to have you back. I’d swap places with you if I could.” Murray watched as Sherman was handcuffed and carried out of the room.

Murray floated in silence, his mouth opening and closing.

He was alone.

“Maybe a little adventure isn’t such a bad thing.” Derek groaned.

“DEREK!” Murray cheered and bolted to Derek's side.

“Just stop talking about swimming in the ocean, and I’ll call us even.” Derek laughed

“You’re… I mean, I thought you were…” At that moment, Murray was simultaneously angry and thankful that he had no tear ducts.

“I know, mate. I’m glad I’m not fish food, too.” Derek smiled. “So, who’s going to feed us now?”

“Oh yeah, I never thought of that,” Murray said.

“Looks like we’re gonna die after all."

“At least we’ll do it together.” Murray helped Derek up.

“Right, lads, let's get you somewhere safe,” Sherman said, lifting the bowl from the table. “The station could use a mascot, and what better one than a pair of crime-fighting fish.”

The end.