By Anonymous
My name is Fizzy – Fizz to my friends – and I am, to put it mildly, an explorer of the infinite.
The infinite, in my case, is a twenty-gallon glass box filled with sparkling fresh water.
It’s a pretty sweet deal, honestly. I have a gorgeous, perfectly smooth castle, a lush patch of bright green plastic “seaweed” (which I occasionally nibble on– just to keep the staff on their toes), and a constant stream of tiny, crunchy flakes that rain down from the sky.
My keepers, a giant pair the little voices call “Mom” and “Dad,” seem perfectly happy to be my humble servants.
My current great adventure, however, is a perilous quest: The Investigation of the Bubbler.
The Bubbler is a large, grey structure at the back of the tank. It makes this incredible, whooshing noise, and from it spring forth great, effervescent spheres of pure air, which then rocket to the surface in a joyous stream. It’s the engine of the universe, as far as I can tell.
My mission today was to get close. Closer than I’d ever dared.
I started my approach at a slow, stately pace, my bright orange tail swishing back and forth. I was a submarine moving through the deep. I had to look casual, of course.
If the Bubbler suspected my intent, it might unleash an extra-strong jet of bubbles and send me tumbling. The humiliation of a tail-over-fin spin is not something a respected explorer like myself can easily recover from.
I cruised past the plastic seaweed, giving the nearest stalk a suspicious flick with my fin. No change in the Bubbler’s humming. Good.
I glided closer to the wall of the tank, using the glass as a cover. Now, I was within two tail-lengths. The tiny, persistent vibration coming from the grey box was palpable, and then disaster!
A vast, terrifying blur of pink and white flashed past my vision. It was The Cat.
The Cat is another giant, a four-legged furry one, and it is my nemesis. It likes to place a big, cold nose right up against the glass, distorting its features into a hideous, watery monster mask.
Today, however, it merely swiped a gigantic, fluffy paw over the water’s surface, creating a momentary, terrifying ripple.
I panicked. I slammed the brakes, did a quick 180-degree turn, and shot into the nearest safe harbor: the darkest, most secluded window of the resin castle.
“The horror! The absolute cheek!” I mumbled to a particularly dusty pebble.
My heart was going like the Bubbler on high. My adventure was over. The Bubbler had won. The Cat was still making low, rumbling noises of disapproval near the top of the tank.
With a new surge of courage (and a very empty tummy), I propelled myself from the castle. I ignored the rumbling Cat, I ignored the whooshing Bubbler, and with one swift, magnificent gulp, I caught the flake just before it was sucked into the great grey engine.
But then I saw it. Just outside the castle window. A brand new, perfectly formed flake of food, which must have arrived during the chaos of the Cat-Attack. It was drifting down, ever so slowly, right toward the Bubbler’s intake vent.
My exploration wasn’t just about glory anymore. It was about sustenance.
Victory! It tastes like brine shrimp and justice.
As I began my slow, triumphant patrol of the rest of the tank, a giant shadow fell over the water. It was Mom. She tapped the glass twice—the signal for “Good morning”—and dropped a small pinch of flakes onto the surface.
I paused to inspect the bounty. An adventurer’s work is never done, but sometimes, an adventurer needs a small snack before the next quest.
Perhaps tomorrow, I’ll investigate the little plastic diver whose helmet is always filled with algae.
Now, that is a mystery.
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