David Lapage, Jr. has written several short stories and quite a few school papers. He has never been published and looks forward to the day he is. While not writing something he enjoys watching movies, tinkering in the garage, and geocaching. He is a huge fan of Local H and enjoys reading. He lives in Illinois with his wife and two cats.
You can find more of his work HERE.
THE GOLDFISH
by
David Lapage, Jr.
“Chug, chug, chug” yelled the partygoers.
George lifted the red solo cup into the air and smiled proudly. The cup was half filled with tequila and one small goldfish that was unlucky enough to be lifted out of a little boy’s fish tank and dropped into it.
“I’m flushing this one down,” he said and swallowed the contents of the cup. The tequila burned in a good way and the fish wiggled as it went down his throat. The scales of the fish felt slick, and the dorsal fin stuck in his airway for a second as he gagged on it. He managed to choke it down with a gulp.
The party exploded in a loud cheer. George got some pats on the back and a wink from a blond dude who was standing in the corner. The boy who had previously owned the fish was frowning at him.
“You have other fish, little man. Don’t be such a downer”. George rustled the boy’s hair and staggered over to talk to the blond. The co-worker who was hosting this party should have sent the kid to the sitter. Kids were such a buzz kill.
“I liked the way you swallow,” said the blond.
“You haven’t seen anything yet blondie” smiled George. This could be an exciting night, he thought.
Unfortunately, the blond dude had to leave the party at eleven to catch a flight. They talked for a little and made out on the patio before Jack, a.k.a the blond dude, had to leave. George, who was feeling rather buzzed, decided to call it a night and grabbed a Lyft home.
…
George awoke, his head was hammering from the party, and he felt groggy. It was cold in his bedroom. The full moon was shining through the window, bathing the room in light and he could see his breath blowing out from between his lips. It was July and the room should not have been this cold.
He looked over at his alarm clock. 3:37 in the morning.
Something felt off. His head was pounding like a dribbled basketball, but there was something else. He sensed that he was not alone. He scanned around the room and understood that not all the light in the room was from the moon. There was a pale yellow glow coming from the end of the bed near the floor. He could not see what was causing the glow, so he sat up in the bed.
As he moved the light source began to rise and shadows danced around the walls. He saw what was there and paused. It was a fish. More precisely a goldfish. The yellow glow was coming from within the fish and its scales were shimmering as if the fish was made from real gold. The light hurt and he raised a hand to shield his eyes.
The fish moved slowly through the air exactly as if the air were water. It seemed to be swimming instead of flying. Its fins and tail swaying softly, undulating in the current. George saw a small air bubble escape the goldfish’s mouth and rise an inch before disappearing.
It was beautiful and George lay there transfixed by the movement and grace of the creature. His mouth hung slack and his eyes followed every movement of it.
The fish advanced over the bed towards him. Its small body glided over the bed sheets as its gills puffed in and out, through the nonexistent water. The light filled the room and sparkled from the scales like a treasure chest of jewels and gold coins. The tail looked so delicate, swaying like a silk handkerchief, so thin you could almost see through it.
It was the eyes that held George. Like little black pearls. Black as ink. Light did not reflect from them but was sucked into their depths. George believed they looked sad. Then he reconsidered. They looked full of sorrow and that sorrow drained into him. He was overtaken by grief.
Tears started to stream from his own eyes as the fish came to rest inches from his nose. The edges of his vision became black as he stared into the dark orbs of the fish. How could something so beautiful be so full of unhappiness? All thoughts became of grief. He mourned the world, everyone in it, and everything he was. He was lost in despair and his vision turned black as he dwelled in desolation. He wept and released a small moan as a door slammed closed in his mind and trapped him in his misery and despair.
Drool began to leak from his mouth.
…
Two days later after receiving a call from George’s mother, the landlord found George in his bed. He was sitting with his mouth open and spit covering his chin and chest. He had soiled himself and the apartment stank of urine and feces. George made no response as the landlord shook him and tried to wake him. The Landlord had thought George was asleep because his eyes were closed, but he soon discovered they were open. They were black. He was scared so badly that he ran to call the police.