Friday Fish Fiction

Since my dracaena got to post its writing on my blog, now Arphaxad wants a chance to do the same. I told her I would put the first chapter of her story on the blog, and if people like it, then I will let her write more. So here it is. (I don't know if it has a title.)

I was such a little fish when I first heard the music. I was swimming down the St. Lawrence Seaway, past a French Canadian metropolis, when the music reached out and drew me into a drainage pipe. On and on I swam, into smaller and smaller pipes, always following the music, until I suddenly emerged into a white porcelain bowl.

The music was so beautiful, I would have cried if I weren’t a fish.

“Look!” said a voice above me. “There’s a fish in the toilet!”

“Looks like some species of carp,” said another voice. I looked up and saw two bright orange fish with gauzy, swirling tails swimming about in a bowl on the windowsill above me.

“Hello,” I said. “Please forgive my intrusion, but I just wanted to hear the music. Isn’t it magnificent?”

“The music?” said one orange fish. “It’s Vivaldi.”

“They say he came from a faraway place called Venice,” added the other orange fish. “They say its streets are made of water.”

I resolved, right there in that lovely white bowl, that I must see this Venice for myself. It must have been a beautiful city indeed to have inspired such wondrous music, and with its legendary streets of water, it was a city such as a fish could only dream about. Could it really exist?

Just then a Quebecois dashed into the room. Spying me, he cried,

“Qu’est-ce que c’est? Un poisson dans la toilette?” and flushed me back down the drain.

Famous Hat