Pale as pale can be rested the Beta, in a tiny bag the size of a twelve-year-old's palm. His dramatic yet limp fins lay clumped together in an attempt to keep within the water line. I say 'rested', as though he had a say in the matter. The slightest movement would have thrown his breathing resilience out of the water and into a tiny pocket of air keeping the bag afloat. Bred to be magnificent and bold, the Beta lay imprisoned with his talents, teased by those around him. He was, in a way, a fish out of water. A bird hung from a just-so cage in a forest of freedom.
Swooped out of his miserly dwelling with a swift exchange of cash, he was bobbed along to what strove to be liberation of his beauty and personality. Once nudged out of his solitary confinement, he sprung into his own, opening out each crumpled, folded fin and swishing it within the cool water. He swam, for the first time in far too long, first cautiously and then carelessly, around his new home.
As he breathed new meaning into his small, yet flamboyant body, colour returned where there was once none. As I watched him, more captivated than I've been with any form of humanity, I saw shades of red I didn't know any fish could parade. With a natural, effortless iridescence, he flashed reds from wine to clotted blood, adding to the intimidation that comes with facing him directly. But he wasn't done just yet. Shooting from his body, radiating outward through his broad, red fins that resemble exaggerated, Seussian feathers, were streaks of electric blue. He was now complete - radiant, gorgeous and graceful. How often are creatures of terror this beautiful?
I dipped a finger into the water to test its temperature, only to alert him. He responded immediately, encircling my immersed fingertip, sizing it up, before drawing himself up to his full, undiluted proportions. His gills stood on end, like the fur on an agitated cat's tail, and all his fins were drawn to attention, perpendicular to his body, making him fill more of the bowl than I thought he could. Although he kept his distance, I knew not to invade his privacy or doubt his ability to protect it.
Today, Red is accustomed to my face, which must seem so much rounder to him from within. He swishes his fins now in recognition of me and my fingers, all the more so just before a meal. I have a tiny monster for family in my hostel room, and I'd like to believe he thinks of me with similar fish-like affection, even if it's merely his acknowledgment of my existence as a giant and harmless food dispenser.
Swooped out of his miserly dwelling with a swift exchange of cash, he was bobbed along to what strove to be liberation of his beauty and personality. Once nudged out of his solitary confinement, he sprung into his own, opening out each crumpled, folded fin and swishing it within the cool water. He swam, for the first time in far too long, first cautiously and then carelessly, around his new home.
As he breathed new meaning into his small, yet flamboyant body, colour returned where there was once none. As I watched him, more captivated than I've been with any form of humanity, I saw shades of red I didn't know any fish could parade. With a natural, effortless iridescence, he flashed reds from wine to clotted blood, adding to the intimidation that comes with facing him directly. But he wasn't done just yet. Shooting from his body, radiating outward through his broad, red fins that resemble exaggerated, Seussian feathers, were streaks of electric blue. He was now complete - radiant, gorgeous and graceful. How often are creatures of terror this beautiful?
I dipped a finger into the water to test its temperature, only to alert him. He responded immediately, encircling my immersed fingertip, sizing it up, before drawing himself up to his full, undiluted proportions. His gills stood on end, like the fur on an agitated cat's tail, and all his fins were drawn to attention, perpendicular to his body, making him fill more of the bowl than I thought he could. Although he kept his distance, I knew not to invade his privacy or doubt his ability to protect it.
Today, Red is accustomed to my face, which must seem so much rounder to him from within. He swishes his fins now in recognition of me and my fingers, all the more so just before a meal. I have a tiny monster for family in my hostel room, and I'd like to believe he thinks of me with similar fish-like affection, even if it's merely his acknowledgment of my existence as a giant and harmless food dispenser.
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