Written on February 26, 2013
My name is Martin. Or at least, it is now. I was born from a tiny egg in a pet store. When I was a day old, I was sold with my mother to a 4 year old human girl who named me Sprinkle. She seemed spoiled to me, but that was all the better for the first few years when she kept us well fed. On the day which the humans call their birthday, the girl turned 6, and my mother turned 16 and died. The human girl was distraught, and her mother returned me to the pet store thinking her girl would be reminded of her loss if I stayed. I lived in the pet store again for about a month before a teacher bought me, bringing me to his classroom and letting the students have the responsibility of keeping me fed and keeping my small glass bowl clean. I’ve been here about a year, and I suppose I’ve become a bit of a legend in this school of humans. So many of the students are eager to give me attention, which is occasionally a bad thing when they cannot resist tapping the glass walls of my home, sending a harsh vibration throughout the bowl and my tiny fish skeleton. I spend my days swimming in circles around my bowl, nothing else to do.
One of these days I’ll go mad.
One of these days I’ll go mad.