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Marc had always hated that stupid fish.
You couldn’t pet it, couldn’t communicate, he couldn’t even swim properly. What was the point?
The tank light illuminated the room with their white light, the silhouette of some dozen postcards eating it up into the darkness of the room.
And the stupid fish was dead.
Floating belly up in plain sight, like an actor in the spotlight, for everyone to see.
A stupid fish who couldn’t even swim.
And it was all his fault.
Mom, come check out my drawing!
He drew a fish with only one fin.
<< This is all we’ve got. >>
<< No no no, you don’t understand. I need one that has only one fin. I know they exist, I’ve seen one. I bought one, no longer than a couple of months ago. >>
<< Not in this shop. >>
He was being difficult, that was what she was thinking, he could read that all over her face.
<< Can you think of any shop where I could find one? >>
<< A disabled fish? >>
<< One fin. >>
He found the drawing in the heap of paper piled on the coffee table.
Nobody had still had much time to sort that out yet.
Mom and dad were still by Roro’s bed at the hospital. A room he wasn’t allowed in.
A fish with one fin. How fast could it swim before the current would take it away?
<< Are you there? >>
Marc blinked and swayed a little on his feet.
<< Are you alright? >>
<< Yeah, I need… >>
He was losing control of the body. All he needed was to go back to the apartment, jump over the sand circle around the bed and strap that damn restraint in place before Steven could take over.
<< Just give me a goldfish. >>
The lady looked at him suspiciously.
<< Any preference? >>
<< Any breathing one will do. >>
It was all your fault.
Steven waved his hand out of pain and gave the thumb up.
Marc couldn’t believe it. Steven who’d barely ever thrown a proper punch. He had just taken out some of the most brutal murderer zombies with a baseball bat. Steven had saved him.
Then he felt the sand grab him by the throat, his spine buckle on the hard press of the wooden boards. He was going under.
Roro! Mommy!
He was back on his feet, breathing.
A grumbling roar made him turn overboard, only to see Steven and the spirit of the Duat plummet into the sand.
<< Steven! >>
The damn boat kept moving. Where the hell was that hippo when you needed her?
<< Steven! >>
He had to get up, he had to get moving.
<< Steven! >>
You were always jealous of him. Ever since he was born.
I- I should have known you would have done something like this.
<< Run, keep going! >>
But his steps were getting slower and slower.
<< Stop the boat, stop the boat! >>
He fell on his knees, his legs frozen in sand.
He raised his hand towards the boat. He needed help. They had to come back.
<< Stop the boat! >>
The scales stopped swinging.
He could hear him.
Through the water, in long, distorted echoes, he could hear his voice.
<< Roro! >>
His head emerged from the water and he sucked the air in as fast as he could.
He paid little attention.
But in the corner of his eye he could swear he’d seen him.
He’d seen him struggling, just like he was.
Then the water took over.
<< Mommy! >>
The field of Reeds was quiet.
A golden field in a glorious sunset, waves of gold stretching as far as the eye could see.
No danger, no loneliness, no hurt.
No Steven. No reason for Steven to be.
The peace he’d always wanted.
A full heart in his hands.
Not broken, not defective. Complete.
Like a fish with two fins.
Hey Marc, what do you do? Keep an eye on your brother, okay?
Hang on, buddy.
I’m coming back.