The fish that couldn't be arsed.

What even is this story.

The fish that couldn't be arsed

I pondered on the essence of truly not being arsed as I watched the fish bowl. I watched whatever the fish was, floating lifelessly on the surface. I hadn’t actually known what the type was at time of purchase, only that it was extremely rare and unduly expensive, which would be enough to satisfy the tastes of my estranged great Aunt.

 

I may as well cover the details of our acquaintance or estrangement. We argued over some family inheritance or other when my Mother faked her death and moved to the Philippines. I had to argue that, since she’d been found to not actually have died, having contacted me through the time honoured method of the handwritten, sun kissed letter, my great aunt was not entitled to any possessions left in the will. However, as she’d still been legally declared dead, Auntie dearest kicked up the most horrendous fuss.

 

At any rate, she was a lonely animal, and might better occupy herself with some expensive trinket or plaything, as a distraction, a compensation. So I bought a Snowball Pleco fish (as it turned out to be) from some overpriced aquarium in town. A small man with a creepy moustache of which he was seemingly rather proud, lectured me in detail on the proper keeping, transportation and the like, to which I made sure to listen well enough without being able to affect genuine interest.

 

I must have missed something vital. At first, as anyone may have done, I assumed the useless rascal to have died prematurely. As a check, I raised my finger above the overly expensive �" perfectly temperature controlled tank purchased for its convenience, and gave it the gentlest poke. To my great surprise but no small level of chagrin, the fish swam a few angry circles before relaxing and floating effortlessly to the surface once again.

 

I was forced to research the problem. Any medical issues notwithstanding, for the fish appeared young and healthy enough, it simply seemed that it could not be arsed. It could not be arsed, to the extent that much of its focus and energy was honed towards the activity of not being arsed. Of not being bothered. Of not caring. All it needed to do was swim around, there were enough trinkets, fake pirate ships, dried food and weeds. However, it was not to be. Wouldn’t you know it, the next day I even bought a highly expensive companion fish, as much an attempted cure as a little experiment. Lo and behold, the second fish rolled on to its side and limply, lazily lulled at the surface.

 

It was becoming clear to me that, either radiating from one fish, both, or something else in the atmosphere or water, was a certain abundance of Can’t be arsed. A can’t be arsed energy, a can’t be arsed molecule, particle, wavelength, ki, chakra, aura, humidity. A powerful substrata of Can’t be arsed was occupying, haunting the immediacy.

 

Much like one cannot ignore a heatwave, I could not ignore the essence of Can’t be arsed all around me. I found it over-riding my will to do anything, achieve any immediate goal, much less converse with my estranged great Aunt. I stared at the two of them, appearing dead, likely seeing no reason to do anything, and almost certainly thinking nothing. Momentarily, my phone rang. Of course it was my great Aunt. She complained to no end about how my “w***e” of a mother had “abandoned her responsibilities and left her poor Aunt to fend for herself.” Mother had been driven away from her her whole life to get away from the nonsense of it all. Constantly cloying for more stuff.

What do you even do when a Can’t be arsed wave hits you? A filter flipped in my brain as my great aunts voice became a monotonous, Morse code drone. I stared at the fish and started flicking my lower lip with my finger absent mindedly, making a noise. That annoyed her. I kept staring. Those fish didn’t have to put up with her. Put up with any of it.

 

Without thinking, I paced to the bathroom and ran a nice, pointless lukewarm bath. I left the phone by the side, as I heaved up the fish tank from the other room, clutching it to my chest.

 

Dumping the contents into the bath, the fish remained motionless, the Can’t be Arsed overriding any instinct for survival, any upset. The phone was still on, droning meaninglessly, as I stripped. I climbed in, slowly, and soon allowed myself to float, to bob uselessly on one side.

 

I stayed motionless, to anyone else in the world I may well have appeared dead. The phone finally clicked over to an eternal dial tone. The most curious change of mood took place, as I shifted to my back. Not only was the Can’t be Arsed still prevalent, but suddenly there was no NEED to be arsed, in the whole wide world. For all their stupidity, the fish had found their own ideal zen state.

 

We stayed that way for a while, together. I felt myself drifting in and out of reality, so it was a good half an hour before I realised that the fish had worked together to unplug the bath and escape down the pipes towards freedom, leaving me lying in an empty bathtub feeling like a complete mental case.

 

It was only later in the evening, when the Can’t be Arsed dissipated upon their departure, that I had the wherewithal to do something about my pending insanity. My mother was waiting for me in the Philippines. Perhaps there I’d find something to cancel it out, a fresh cooling wave of CAN be arsed. I imagined that’s what the fish had gone to find as well.

Reviews

[Maya]

Any 'can't-be-arsed'/'can't-be-asked' state is only temporary until a higher purpose/opportunity presents itself. I love that the FISHIESH realised it so quickly :D A funny, surreal story as usual