Musings of a Carnival Fish

Light.

That piece of gravel was three inches to the left yesterday.

I swim over and nudge it with my mouth, back to where it ought to have been, beneath the tenth leaf of the right tendril of the fake plant that Giver had put in two weeks ago.

I dart around the left side of the plant and admire my handiwork.

Better.

It grows brighter past the blur-wall, now.

I swim forward and bump my head against the surface. One of these days, I think, the blur-wall will not stop. It will keep going and I will go with it. Past gravel rocks and plants and out following the brightness, even to what hides behind the bigger blur-wall.

You are an idiot, Danio says.

I brush past him and allow my tail fin to smack him in the gill.

The brightness moves a little. In the corner, the brown shape– not the one pointing down, but the tall one that Giver appears and disappears from– undulates slightly. I pause only for a second, because undulation, even from brown shapes, cannot interrupt routine.

I already told Danio good morning.

Inspecting the fake log and the large rock with a hole comes next. I slowly drift through the log, coming out the other end, then dipping down into the gap on the top and emerging from where I started. Everything is in order there. The large rock with a hole appears the same, although I do not go close enough for a true inspection, as it has been claimed by Danio and he does not like it when I go near him or his things.

A vibration ripples through the water and over my scales, and the brown shape in the corner swings open.

Giver moves closer and stands right in front of the blur-wall. I swim to the very top of the water, eagerly gulping at the surface. Food always follows Giver and Giver is never late. What I cannot understand is how food can fall past air to get to water. But I cannot go past water to get to air.

Don’t eat more than your share this time, Danio says, catching a few flakes in his mouth as they descend into the water. And stop… pondering.

I question why he brings up ponds when we are not in a pond, but instead of asking why, I eat, and Giver steps away from the blur-wall.

Dark.

Danio has teased me before about What Lies Beyond the bigger blur-wall. A world with no Giver. You find your own food, he says. If you wait to be fed, you are eaten.​​ There are also other kinds of fish and not-fish. I recall the names he’s told me while drifting past my favorite piece of gravel. Shark. Octopus. Boat. Seal. Crab.

I wish to meet a boat someday.

I swim to the very top where the water stops and there is only stillness in the form of air. How Giver lives in the air without becoming cold is something that puzzles me. Kind of like how a plant can look like a plant but cannot be eaten like a true plant. But it is at the top of the water, when Danio and I are surrounded by darkness that I can see past the bigger blur-wall, to the What Lies Beyond.

It is a large blue mass of water that undulates like the brown shape. Like here, there is air above the water out there, too. I see a softer brightness that hides behind white shapes.

Clouds, you idiot, Danio says. Remember? The light you see comes from the moon.

Right. Moon. How long does Moon live in air? I ask. Can Moon go under air, to visit water?

The moon doesn’t move, Danio replies. You carnival fish are imbeciles.

I swim closer to Danio’s left side. What is an im-be-ciles?

He swims away and hides in his large rock with a hole.

Surrounding Moon and Clouds are other tinier lights that don’t shine as brightly as Moon. Are they eggs? I swim downwards and do a lap through the fake log before rising up again. Yes, surely! They have to be Moon’s eggs. Her babies. How many of them there are! Twinkling little things, white and blue, that make the air seem not as scary as before.

The lights at what Danio called the carnival twinkled too, but they weren’t this beautiful. Those lights were sharp and orange and everything was moving all at once. I was only a hatchling, then.

Moon and her eggs remain still in the air above the water. Likely asleep. I think about when the eggs will hatch, and if Moon will teach them how to swim.

I can help you teach them, if you’d like, I whisper into the blur-wall. But I cannot reach you.

Moon does not reply. Perhaps I will ask again when she is awake.

Without moving, I say goodnight to all of the fake plants except for the short one that I do not like. I also say goodnight to the log, the large rock with a hole, the gravel, the brown shape– to Danio, who grumbles something in response– and even the blur-wall. But I do not say goodnight to Moon, or the water, or her eggs. Not yet.

Past the bigger blur-wall, the mass of blue water undulates more, but it doesn’t have to eventually turn around like I do. There’s nothing to crash into, nothing to stop it, and the various swells of water rush on top of brown, and create white, and then the water moves again, back into itself. Moon’s brightness rests on top of the water.

I drift to the left and upwards to where my back breaks the surface of the water but I ignore the cold. For a moment, I wish that I could leave my scales and fins and gills and… see if Moon had any extra light to share. Light that could rest on me, if only for a moment. I wouldn’t need much.

Blue surges onto brown. Brown becomes white, and blue retreats.

I nudge the blur-wall with my head once more. Just to check.

Moon and her twinkling eggs rest, asleep in the air.

I tell them goodnight.