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Brian hovered near the surface of his bowl, watching the world above the water ripple with distorted shapes and colours. For weeks, he had been still — too still — drifting listlessly as a faint pink tinge coloured his watery world. The medicine had done its work. The sores that once marred his golden scales had vanished, and his fins, once frayed and listless, now fluttered with renewed strength.…
Brian flicked his tail against the cool glass of his aquarium, watching the same plastic castle and rubber plants bob in the current he created. For two weeks, the world beyond his tank had been silent—no Mark, no cheerful "Good morning, Brian!" as his owner tapped the glass with a flake of food. Just the hum of the filter to keep Brian company. Alone, Brian dreamed. Not of food, not of bubbles,…
Today was Tank Cleaning Day, which, in human terms, is roughly equivalent to winning the spa lottery while also getting a home renovation. Most fish would panic. Brian? He did three victory laps around his castle and practiced his ‘I’m so innocent, I would never spit out my food at the glass’ face. The transfer to the backup bowl was smooth, if a bit degrading. ‘Temporary housing,’ Mark cooed. In…
Brian had an unexpected adventure today when Mark decided to take him out in his travel bowl. The small orange traveller was carefully secured in his portable aquatic home as Mark carried him to the car. They embarked on a short drive down to the village square, the sunlight erupting all around them, as Brian took in the moving scenery with quiet curiosity. Once there, Mark found a sunny bench…
Brian drifted in slow circles, his gold scales catching the morning light that filtered through the living-room blinds. Outside, commuters hurried past the window. Inside, the house felt hollow; its usual bustle had been replaced by the rasp of a lingering cough. Mark, pale and hoarse, shuffled to the aquarium with a mug of honeyed tea. “Sorry, little guy,” he rasped, tapping the glass. “Weekend…
Brian lapped around his tank, tail flicking like a metronome. All week he’d watched Mark hunch over a small tv-like-thing with a keyboard, fingers drumming, rain clawing the window. This weekend, Brian had decided. This weekend we will go somewhere; anywhere. He’d rehearsed: leap into the travel jar, sit regal while Mark carried him past hedges and puddles to an new destination. Mark shuffled past…
Today was one of those delightfully ordinary days that somehow feels dramatic when observed from behind watery-glass. Brian, goldfish extraordinaire, amateur philosopher, and professional bubble-spewer, remained at home while his human, Mark, performed his regular rituals of domestic heroism. The morning began with Mark attacking the laundry. He moved like a neatness-obsessed demon, sorting socks…
Brian’s bowl rocked gently as Mark carried him along the gravel path, the morning sun painting ripples of light across his orange scales. He pressed against the glass, gills fluttering with excitement; he had never smelled damp grass or heard such loud birdsong. Ahead, the pond glinted like an enormous bowl of its own. Ducks floating on the shimmering surface, quacking a story that Brian could not…
Brian receives a fish bowl to help him travel the world