The iridescent image of the annual county carnival vanished from the rear-view mirror as the gray subcompact careened down the highway. In the back seat was a boy; four days past his sixth birthday, a grin smothered across his face, a clenched grip on an inflated plastic bag. Triumph at the beanbag toss had bestowed upon him a goldfish, a creature he had so emphatically desired.

The boy’s blatant delight at his prize did not subside during the journey home. On the arrival of the fish at its new residence, the boy poured the creature into a glass bowl and positioned it adjacent to a formidable blockade of toy racecars and emerald army men. Propping himself onto a creaky chair and pressing his nose against the crystal, his chestnut eyes gazed at the tiny life; its scales were the hue of burnt orange. Each flick of the tail was noted with adoration, for the boy had been blessed with this marvelous companion!

Supper was served to the boy; he would not stray from the bowl. "Drink all your orange juice," said the mother, "There are healthy vitamins inside." He gulped down the juice yet paused to peer at the fish’s beady eyes. "You need some vitamins too," the boy declared to the fish. So down went the remaining citrus liquid to the depths of the dish. A rusty orange tint permeated the bowl at a remarkable speed as the boy, in satisfaction, observed his generous deed.


And at the fluorescent dawn of the day, the fish (poor soul!) passed away.