Activity

Some people have asked what I write about, so I decided to post one of my short stories on here for y’all to read. @kimlikesart @eitan @beth20 @claire-h @kristianne-hassman I write about funny little things that have happened in my life, and I (of course) dramatize them immensely to make them interesting to read, and to bring out the laughter hiding inside of everyone who reads them. It’s great! 😉 😀

Anyone is welcome to read this and then give me their opinion, whether good or bad. 😉 I want to improve in writing these short stories, and there’s no better way than having a group read and critique them. Thanks, and enjoy your reading!

A Fishy Tale

One day my best friend Lydia and I were sitting in her bedroom, trying to think of what we could do to pass the time, when I had a stroke of genius (which turned out to be a stroke of stupidity). 

“Why don’t we make a house for your fish?” I asked, staring at her tank.

She glanced up from where she sat beside me and pondered the suggestion. “What would we make it out of?”

“I don’t know, an old cereal box and tape?” My eleven-year-old mind didn’t think of the consequences that would follow.

She nodded. “That might work. How about I get the tape and scissors, and you ask Mom for the box.”

We set out to find the treasure, and after doing so, we met once again in Lydia’s bedroom, positively delighted by our plan. We set to work right away, cutting the cereal box into pieces, forming a rough square shape, and taping the pieces into place. (Quite the solid structure, I’m sure!) It took us a while to get something that was up to our standards, but when we finally did, we examined it with satisfaction.

I stated the obvious. “Now we just need to put it into the tank.”

Picking the fish house up in both hands, I strode to the other side of the room with Lydia right behind me. I set the cardboard house down on the dresser so I could push up my sleeves, and after doing so, carefully submerged the house in the water. You might be able to guess what happened when I lifted my hand back out of the water, but at the age of eleven, I didn’t think of all those small, though just as important, details.

The house floated.

Now, most people would think it painfully obvious that cardboard floats, but neither Lydia nor I had thought about it.

We stared at it bobbing up and down on the top of the water for a minute before Lydia spoke.

“How are we gonna make it stay at the bottom?”

I shrugged with frustration before going back to the bed and plopping down at the edge. “I don’t know.”

As we sat beside each other yet again, pondering what we could do, I was struck once again with an amazing idea. (Or once again, another idiotic one.)

“All we have to do is put one of your shells on top of the house, and the weight will hold it down,” I stated.

“Oh, ya, that’s a great idea!” Lydia agreed, and we both got up and walked over to the fish tank.

We figured out after a while that one person would have to hold the house down on the bottom of the tank, while the other placed the large shell on top of it. It worked, and we rejoiced in our victory. Lydia’s two younger brothers came in to see what we were up to, and they joined us in admiring the new fish house.

Time passed as we kids occupied ourselves with other activities, and when Lydia and I returned to the bedroom to get something, we were in for a shock.

Her fish was floating on the top of the tank.

Dead.

* * * * * *

It took us a while to get her fish into another bowl and pour all the water from the tank into the sink, since we had decided we should clean the tank of evidence of the murder. We had seen pieces of tape floating at the top of the water, and it didn’t take us long to realize what had killed Lydia’s fish.

The fish house.

Tape and cardboard have tons of chemicals, of course, and we assumed they had poisoned the fish. As horrible as it was, it was pretty amusing, and we cleaned out the tank while chuckling at our stupidity.

We had placed the limp fish in a bowl with some water as we cleaned the tank inside and out, and when we turned our attention back to the unfortunate creature, we were surprised to discover it swimming around.

“I guess it’s not dead after all,” Lydia commented, and we refilled the tank with water after putting all the rocks and shells in the bottom. 

However, we were wise enough to not put the fish house back in.

After placing the now-living fish back into its home, we sighed in relief that there hadn’t been a murder after all. 

But, to our great dismay, later that day we found the fish floating on the top of the water, definitely dead this time. Definitely not acting like last time. Lydia ended up flushing it down the toilet, but I still think we should have buried it so we could have gone to the grave to pay our respects.

This event has impacted me in many ways, and it will continue to, as I repeatedly realize how fragile and meaningful life really is. Even the life of a fish.