The short life of a fish
Last night I dreamt that I had morphed into a fish. I swam around a rectangular tank, my sleek propeller body cutting through the water. Point A to B and Point C to D and Point A to B. What is life, if not this endless repetition of hours, days and years? I asked myself rhetorical questions to which there was no answer, and spent my time pondering over the nature of God and the wisdom of his or her existence. I deigned to accept my fate, I rebelled against the laws of nature, I tossed about frantically between these two extremes. I worshipped Darwin, I claimed the Hand of God. And while I was doing all of this, a big hand entered the water and pulled me up, gasping, rasping. I woke up on the kitchen tale, just before the knife sliced me in two.
The short life of fish (my version)
Last night I dreamt that I'd morphed into a fish. My piscine alter ego was prone to a lot of idle pondering. Like wondering about the point of life. Musing about the origin of species. And ruminating over rise of real estate prices. Pointless contemplation, as I pointed out earlier. But then, what was a fish to do all day? I tried to rebel for a while. But it's not as if a fish can dye her gills pink or pierce her tail. Plus where would I find a tattooist in my 2x2 fish tank? So I simply thrashed about trying to look cool.
Which was when a hand came in and grabbed me by the tail. It scooped me out and laid my writhing body on the kitchen counter. Wait, I screamed. This is a dream! I resisted but the hands that held me down were strong. I saw a knife being sharpened. Don't chop me up, please! It was futile. I was growing weak. And my pleas were getting feeble. I don't want to become sushi! My system was shutting down. For heaven's sake, don't feed me to the dogs! No chance. I watched in horror as the shining metal came slamming down on me.
I hope you like your curry today