A fish with sunkissed scales swims along the glass pane of an expansive fish tank. Its shimmering tail weaves itself through a forest of plastic kelp and manufactured stone, fluttering into a rainbow before leaving behind just water in its wake. Ashy-gray pebble reflects pale light onto the betta’s feathery fins.

The fish does not know why it is here, why it bumps into a hard substance when it tries to swim further than where it is right now. When the Child opens the door, it swims to the corner closest to the entrance, but the jagged corner holds it back. The fish does not know why the Child bares its teeth in delight when the fish swims to the surface; isn’t it natural to gravitate towards food and sustenance? Most importantly, the fish does not know why the Child must stare at it with such intensity; like a predator lying beneath the ice, waiting for a penguin to delve into the frigid water, a certain rabid excitement possesses the Child, the thought of domination and companionship irresistible.

“Mika! Mikael!” A voice calls from some far off room. The Child’s grin fades for a moment before it returns. “You’re so smart, aren’t you, Fishy!” The Child cooes as if talking to a baby. Orange flecks of life are dropped into the tank, and the betta thrusts its parted mouth towards them. The Child giggles softly at the sight.

At their last family dinner, Mikael’s grandpa berated him for owning a pet. “The practice is cruel,” he scolded, “for human beings to keep other animals in captivity is to admit that we are better than them. It’s playing God.” Mikael never understood him. If anything, his grandpa had a few screws loose. Grandpa is going senile, his mother always whispered.

The Child, Mikael, whirls around at the door being slammed open. His mother storms in and demands, “Did you start your homework?” She glances from Mikael to the fish, then back at Mikael. Her face contorts into an expression both remarkable in its disappointment and unattractiveness, shifting between confusion and [other emotion] in a manner that displayed the war within herself. She settles on anger and drags Mikael by the shirt and through the door. “Oh, when I’m done with you…”

The door creaks deliberately to a halt. The fish stares blankly at the sliver of light sliding through the crack in the door, leading to the hallway. It knows that a bigger tank does not equate to freedom, and it is saddened by its lack of purpose.

So, it jumps.

Arcing out of its tank in one swift moment, the fish lands on the cherry wood floor with a dull thud. Light shines through droplets rolling off of the betta for one final kaleidoscopic concert of blues and reds before fading to a mute brown.