Photo by Louella Lester
When you realized he was gone you placed the goldfish bowl on the kitchen counter, then dug into drawers to find a large plastic bag which you opened wide, before tipping the bowl over it to let the two fish he’d won at the summer fair slide in along with the cloudy water. You held the top of the full bag with one hand and tapped it with the other, until it spun. The unblinking eyes of your and his namesakes (not your idea) stared at you with each turn, prompting you to promise them it would be okay. That they would be together, at least. You grabbed your suede coat and hat, to protect you from the crisp fall air, ignoring the fish shivers, and walked to the lake. While you opened the bag over the water, you said: You’re lucky, this will toughen you up and you’ll grow.
Louella Lester is a writer/photographer in Winnipeg, Canada, author of Glass Bricks (At Bay Press 2021), contributing editor at New Flash Fiction Review, and is included in Best Microfiction 2024. Her writing/photos appear in variety of journals.
