The Life and Death of Mookie the Goldfish (A Quasi-Non-Fictional Account)

Mookie was a great name for the fish, but a better name for the goldfish could have been ‘Responsibility’ because in the end, it was flushed down the toilet. Mookie was the goldfish I had envisioned. That goldfish you see in your mind’s eye is Mookie. We hit it off immediately. Those beady eyes spoke to me. They said, “Yeah, I’m cool with lounging in my own filth too.” Mookie and I were going to be chums for the duration of my college experience. I got him in his plastic bag and placed him on the counter with his tank.

The cashier chick at the pet store was being passive aggressive, “I have never seen some one get the big goldfish for the little tank” I was making a landmark, revolutionary groundbreaking Earth-shattering historic purchase in the Camarillo PetCo. She was trying to hint to me that I was a careless A-hole. What does she know about my fish? She stands at the counter of a pet store all day. My fish is going to be fine.

Sometime between the night and the morning Mookie the goldfish had died. It took me time to confirm his death. He had not floated to the top like any other fish would have, but sank to the bottom. I thought he was napping. “He may just be exhausted from treading water”; the denial was heavy. So after countless sets of mouth-to-gill resuscitation, it turned out that Mookie was gone. You can imagine my heartbreak. I did what must be done when a fish, and any good friend passes on, I wiped the tears from my face and flushed him down the toilet. It felt good to see that he was in a better place; the water in the toilet bowl was much cleaner than his tank.

Now the fish tank, like my heart, was empty. I was a broken man, everything reminded me of Mookie, and I nearly collapsed in grief at the sight of my goldfish cracker snacks smiling back at my tear-streaked face. My Girlfriend told me I had to move on. She told me that I couldn’t let myself gripe about a single fish forever and that I would need to get another one. “There are plenty of fish in the PetCo,” she said to me.  She was right. We drove to the pet store and began looking for replacement fish, but I knew that no fish could replace Mookie.

 

I figured that if I couldn’t take care of a single fish then it would be best to get two instead. I went wrong with Mookie; he had died of a lonely tank. His solitude had brought demise. I phoned the local morgue to inquire if they could perform a full autopsy on my dead goldfish to see if his loneliness was fatal, but they laughed and the line between the morgue and I went dead. Apparently these men had bigger fish to fry.

 

So I got the two other fish, but was hesitant about giving them names. If I named them it meant I would become attached to them and I would be vulnerable again. I couldn’t lose two more fish, I just couldn’t; the pet store probably wouldn’t let me buy anymore after that. 

Author's Note

I wrote this for a class blog post when my fish died.

Reviews

[Chadvonswan]

HAHA this was great!!!!!!!!!!

[Lyn Anderson]

This is a great story. I did not quite follow the sci fi one, but this one was totally perfect. Great character development. I can just see the snotty pet store chick sneering at you. Great.

[Dye]

Cute and funny, in a dark sort of way. Poor fish!! lol Good story telling. There are a few grammatical errors and punctuation issues, but overall the story was humorous.