On Flight

The trip was unplanned, unexpected: one minute I was just swimming around, chasing that other fish around the edges of the bowl, then a huge, fat-fingered hand reached for me, and the world shook.

Right before I thudded to the carpet, I realized that I was flying.

But the heavy pressure that pushed at my fins and stopped my breath was not at all what I had imagined. Flying was supposed to be an exercise in freedom – the chance to go wherever you want, no boundaries, no glass walls, no relying on water to catch your breath.

But flying was disorienting, painful, scary. I was no longer a sleek, shimmering essence, slipping smoothly through the water. I was a tiny, immobile lump, unable to even catch my breath.

I lay on the carpet, perfectly still, my golden scales dull under the overhead lights. My feathery fins were stuck together, shrinking me until I was almost invisible, even against the deep gray carpeting. I counted my gasps, sure they were my last.

“Finally, I’m free.”

Then suddenly, a giant scooped me up, and I could breathe again. My fins relaxed and unfurled, restoring me to my rightful, glowing self. After a moment I looked around, and recognized the colorful rocks and plastic pirates of my bowl. And I realized I’d rather be flying.”