four days: that's how long Petunia stayed with me. in that four days, she swam, ate and frolicked in her little fishbowl like the little darling that she was. she gave everyone at home happiness, however brief, upon watching her do the things she did. now she is gone.
as far as i can think of, i did not do anything that might have contributed to her death. i fed her regularly, and took her outside the house whenever i would launch aggressive offensive assaults on mosquitoes with my trusty baygon insect repellent. i also talked to her whenever i can, to the dismay and consternation of my worried parents.
last tuesday, as i was steaming pork dumplings for lunch, i noticed that Petunia wasn't her usual self. she wasn't swimming fast enough and her dorsal fins were somehow not in unison with each other as they moved. i knew something was wrong. before you can say "here fishy fishy," she was floating helplessly on her side.
what happened next was a series of futile attempts at fish first aid too painful to recount.
she died at exactly 3pm of November 2. All Soul's Day.
i took her out of her bowl and wrapped her in newspaper. i could not take it to myself to dump her in the trashcan. so i flushed her down the toilet. crude, yes, but what is there to do. As she swirled around the flushing waters, i threw the remains of her hydrilla on the water. <*sniffs*>
now Petunia's empty fishbowl sits silently on the corner of my room: an empty tomb to her memory.
No comments:
Post a Comment