Letter From A Fish

We bought a fish. Two fish, actually. With the first fish we cajoled and begged the kids into naming the fish something clever and fishy sounding (okay, it wasn’t great but it was better than their choice of Blue Dribble). That fish died almost at once. So we went back to the store to get another fish, this time late in the day, after an already tiring trip to two other places and without my husband to help manage the unbounded excitement of fish-picking. It was chaotic to say the least. When I’d finally bundled all the kids back into the car I had no energy left to wheedle them into choosing a clever fish name. So you see, this sad tale is all my fault.

Most Honorable Grand Vizier Half-Sun Combtail:

Greetings,

You wrote asking a report on the new demesne I have been granted. While the demesne itself is spacious and graciously proportioned, I have uncovered distressing news that makes my possession of it but mud in my mouth.

However, I will fulfill your request first and offer a description. The base of my territory is of white pebble, it has one live plant, and its dominating feature is a bridge done in the style of human bridges. –Why they choose to submerge one of their bridges underwater where it can be of no practical use to them I do not pretend to understand. I have noticed that even the smallest human in the house is much too large to walk on it, so my only conjecture is that perhaps they gifted it to me simply because it was too undersized for them to manage.

As for the people I have been granted to watch over and protect as a warrior must… as of late I have been… conflicted about them. They appear to be goodly folk, numbering two monstrous adults, three juveniles, and a fourth which I have only seen at a distance and appears to have not yet reached the walking stage in its development. The problem is this: they have named me. You taught me yourself: a warrior must accept the name given him by his people. It is a bond, a connection, an honor. And so I was delighted to accept the name given me and I happily added it to my previous title: Warrior First Class Delta. You will pardon me if I put off revealing exactly what my name is just yet.

But upon receiving my name I fell to low temptations. How well I know that a warrior must not allow himself to be distracted by too much learning, yet it became an obsession with me to learn what my new name meant. I was (foolishly) confident that I would not have been granted such a pleasant name if it were not somehow noble and meaningful.

So I began to study my humans intently to learn the meaning of their speech. My demesne is near the place where they prepare food, and so I learned many human food words. The juveniles of the household mostly consume a substance called Oats. Other frequent words were: Chikken, Beef, Zukeeni, and the confusing Squash, which is a foodstuff and not a verb. Also they enjoy a delicacy made out of the carcasses of dead fish. It is called Sooshee and I must admit that while I prefer they would allow me to defend their home from the advances of strange fish, I approve of their plucky, frugal attitude towards the dead bodies of invading fish that must always plague them. After all, there is no better deterrent to future attack than to demean the bodies of one’s enemies. But I digress. I learned these and many other words but none seemed to further my understanding of my own name.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, they came thumping and shouting into the living place after being gone and one of the monstrous adults placed a clear box beside my demesne. The box was filled with a red Froot. (Froot is a product of some air-breathing plants and is apparently quite sweet. The juveniles love it). The Froot was quite pretty, but apparently the monstrous adult was not pleased because it bent down to peer at the box and said, “Oh no! I think he must have stepped on these in the cart. Augh. This is why I don’t buy delicate fruit…”

And at that moment the youngest juvenile said a phrase that sent cold chills down my spine and shivered every single fin. “I wanna eata strawberry!”

They call ME Strawberry! That is MY name! For a horrible moment I thought they were going to scoop me out of my tank, shred my beautiful fins from my body and eat me like a common cod. The betrayal from my own people would have broken my heart before they ever broke my body. But the truth of the matter nearly destroyed me anyway.

Instead of reaching for me, the monstrous adult picked up the plastic box of red Froots! And the horrible truth came home to me! They have named me, sir, after a sweet, pretty, delicate Froot! Something that can be stepped on and ruined! A foodstuff! My shame is endless. I am a warrior! I have trained in the puddles of Siam to defend my demesne and my people with honor and I have been named Strawberry!

As you can imagine, sir, my grief was great. But I have since pondered on my name and its giving and I believe that these juveniles (for it was the juveniles who bestowed the name) meant well. They do greatly prize all Froot, after all and are perhaps unaware of the indignity they have subjected me to. Have no fear, Grand Vizier, I will not abandon my post. I will eventually reconcile myself to my name, however demeaning, and regain honor by my devoted service and protection of my demesne and people.

Respectfully,

Warrior First Class Delta Strawberry

P.S. I have also just recently learned some information that will make accepting my unfortunate name easier to bear. Their previous warrior was named Sooshee!

#bettafish #familypet #shortstory