I came back home, kept my bag in its usual place and looked towards the fishbowl. She was lying at the bottom of it, mouth open, as if she was trying to take that one last breathe. Dead and cold. I have had this apprehensive feeling again the last few days and had checked for movement in the area where the fishbowls are kept the moment i entered the room and switched on the light after coming home. Today it was quiet.
I lit a cigarette and went to my favourite window, stood there and took long deep drags and vaguely registered like many times before how beautiful the city looked from there. The wind seemed to be gentle and happy.
Tears rolled down, slowly and then they stopped. I knew i wanted to cry. Cry out of guilt for neglecting the signs, for not being bothered enough inspite of the fact that she has not been taking food properly the past few days. For having no Time. I thought what a selfish bitch i must be. Am sure i am, but that won't bring her back. She was my baby, cute and responsive, often nibbling playfully at my fingers.
She is still there, lying at the bottom of the bowl right beside the computer. I do not have it in me to flush her down. Am waiting for S to come home. A part rationalises that it is just a fish for heaven's sake and is silly to cry for a such a piddly thing. But logic doesn't always work. So right now i just want to curl up and sleep for a while.
You know what? Never get too attached to anything. It hurts like hell when the object leaves you without a clue.