And Then There Were Three...

I insist you stay with me. I will not go through this alone.

You know that saying "belly up"? It's not really true. So far, not one dead fish has floated to the top of the tank. Today I found another one decaying at the bottom of the tank, it's color leeching out. Bloated white with one dark, staring eye.

I'm creeped out.

I begged the fish owner to please take her fish. She told me to do what I want with them. "They are old," she says. Visions of my future come sweeping over me, my sons wheeling me up to the nursing home admissions desk to check me in for my long stay. "You can do what you want with her. She's old."

Am I a pessimist? One of my sons is three. The other hasn't been born yet. Yeah, I guess I am.

I never used to be, but I think it's the fish. They are turning me into a fatalist.

Don't leave me.