By Donald Hubbard
Straggling mourners remained, resisting dusk’s intrusions, unprepared to embark on the next inevitable steps of their grief.
The dirt had already fallen on the deceased. One person nervously tamped the dirt down a bit, evening it out with the edge of his wing-tipped shoe.
He said, “I still cannot believe he is gone.”
His wife grabbed him by the arm, urging him to leave the spot. “We can visit him tomorrow. Let’s get inside, soon the mosquitoes will be out.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I am so glad that we did not flush him down the toilet like those other goldfishes.”
This is great. The ending totally surprised me.
Same here.
Love it! As one who made her dad take her goldfish out in the pouring rain to bury her fish, this a fabulous tail. 😉
Fabulous tail? was that deliberate? We had a goldfish called Gilbert for 25 years. When his swim bladder played up my stepdad used to put him in a shallow dish with water and a drop of whisky. It worked every time, until the last time and then we were all very sad.
Gold indeed ?