I used to have a fish. He was a good fish. But all good things must end. My fish’s name was Black Eye; he was 5 years old. One day he died. My little brother (Julian, age 6) burst into tears. I think back to when we got Black Eye. We were at Petco and I wanted a crab. We were walking through the fish and crab area and I saw a blue crab that I wanted. I showed my mom the incredible light blue crab.
“No,” she said.
“Why not?” I whined
“I’m not paying 40 dollars for a CRAB!” she exclaimed angrily. I was quiet for a while. I was just about done looking around when I saw a funny looking black fish in a sea of gold ones.
“Mom,” I tugged her arm, “Look at that black fish with the big eyes!”
“That’s nice, dear.” She told me, not even looking.
“Can we get him?” I asked, “He’s only 5 dollars!”
“Yay,” I shouted
And we got him…
We’d had Black Eye for so long, my brother never knew another pet. Black Eye was the first fish he ever had. I, however, had 1 fish before Black Eye. Tiny. I got Tiny at a carnival and he lived for a year, much longer than my parents expected him to…
My dad opened the cover of the tank very slowly and carefully. Like pickpocketing a prison guard. He placed the top on the floor, and stuck his finger in the water. What is he doing? I thought to myself. He started pushing the fish around. Around and around. Around and around. In circles.
“What are you doing?” My mom asked him, confused; as if she was reading my mind.
My dad ignored her. And he kept pushing the fish. Around and around. Around. And Around. Until, the fish started moving. He was Alive.
“How’d you do that!” My brother asked him.
He just shrugged and put the top back on. And walked away…
Black eye lived for 2 years after that.