My first piece

A perfect stranger

I woke up as usually and got ready. I grabbed my coffee and headed out. I put in my headphones, listening to a few songs while walking. I arrived at the library, took of my coat, and went straight to my favorite place. I put everything down, went to get a few books and got working. After about half an hour, a boy showed up and sat down across from me. He pulled out a book from his back and started reading while drinking his coffee.

We sat there for hours, not talking just working and I grew fond of his company. He was so quite and focused. His behavior seemed to mirror mine, except for the part where he did not show any interest in me. We sat there working all day. As it got late, we paced together and left, each of us individually.

The next few days, I always came back to the library, and he always showed up just about half and hour later. Over time I realized he like the same music as I did and that he drank his coffee just like I drank mine. When he used green post-its on his books it means he read something interesting because he always wrote it down in a little notebook. I learned to tell how his day way based on his body language and that he usually took the bike, even if it was raining. I felt like I slowly got to know him, day by day and yet we never talked to one another.

The next semester rolled around and when I entered the classroom, I saw my stranger from the library. I sat down about two rows before him and took out my notebook. This will change nothing, will it? We still will be strangers…

The next day I saw him again at the library at our place. I was conflicted about talking to him and finally, decided not to. I was not going to break our routine. It had something beautiful.

The hours passed and I went home late that night. I walked with my headphones in as usual and I prepared everything for the next day. But as I took out the book in my bag to put new ones in, a note felt out. It was a little sheet, and I could not recognize the handwriting. It said “Hello my beautiful stranger. I think it is about time that we get familiar with each other. Beloved, your favorite study buddy”. I smiled at the page and texted the number written on it.

TO BE CONTINUED

Rory Gilmore

I am not a fish

I once owned a goldfish. It lived in a little fishbowl. It used to be my grandmothers. When I got it, his bowl was bare. No sand or any kind of plants. This goldfish never swam around. It stood mostly in the same place, barley existing. To me, it always seemed sad. Its world was so colorless. Nothing existed in it. The bowl was just filled with water and the fish itself. And I knew that he could see me and my flat. At the time, my rooms were filled with all kinds of things. Lamps were giving off lights in different shades, on every table was a tablecloth and on all the seats were pillows in all colors of the rainbow. Most of the time, there was music playing. I had such a lively apartment, I always felt happy when I entered it.

One evening I sat in a chair, listening to a musical peace by Mozart. In my hand was a whisky on the rocks. And on the table in front of me stood the little bowl with the goldfish. Right there, I started thinking about how this fish must feel. It is in its little bowl filled with nothing. It spends all its days watching my happy and filled life. I thought about how I would feel if it was me in that bowl watching that goldfish life my live. And honestly, none of the emotions I felt were good.

Th next day, I called in sick at work. I had a coffee and a toast for breakfast and got dressed. I left my apartment, went down the stairs and sat in my car, I took out a CD and put it in the radio of my car. Shostakovich, the second waltz. As I started driving, my fingers tapped along to the music. The destination: the zoo shop. It only took me about 15 minutes to get there. I parked and got out of my car. I strolled into the shop, looking for somebody to help me on my mission.

First, I got a bigger tank so my goldfish would have more space. Then I picked out different types of soils for said tank. Next, I went to get all types of decorations. Plants, caves, and decorative stones. I also bought the needed technology and better food for my goldfish. Lastly, I got some company for my goldfish. I thought it might be lonely. I went to the counter and paid for everything. Getting all the new stuff to my car took me a few trips for and back.

When I arrived at home, I was lucky because the parking spot before the house was free which meant I would not need to carry everything so far. So, I started unloading and carrying everything up to my appartement. Soon, I realized I had underestimated the weight of everything and when I was finished carrying everything upstairs, I was sweating.

I had a quick lunch and then got to work preparing the tank. I filled it with sand, stones, and soils. Next, I planted the different plants I had bought. I decorated and put in the little cave. Afterwards I got to work installing al the technology which was harder than it sounds. Finally, I filled the tank with water and put in the new fish. Overall, it took me 3 hours to get the tank ready for the move in of my goldfish.

Finally, I went and grabbed it and his old bowl. I talked to it, explaining what was about to happen. Then, I carefully put it into the tank to the other fish. It swam around once and then in the cave. I looked at it and thought to myself, what a shy fish it must be and that tomorrow it can start forming new friendships. Then it would finally be able to life its happy ever after.

Later that day, I took a drink and set down in my armchair. I was grabbing my book and read but took another look at my goldfish in its new home. I considered its new life and came to the realization that it was in desperate need of a name. And just like that, I decided to name it Beethoven. I did in fact not know his gender, but he anyways always felt more to be a male fish to me.

I read a little and went to bed. The next morning Beethoven still swam in his cave. I fed the fish and left for work. When I returned home, he was once again in his cave. This pattern continued and, on the weekends, I realized that Beethoven was not leaving the cave at all, not even to eat.

This did not change over the weeks, and I began to worry. I did not know what to do and so I did nothing and prayed it would get better. And sadly, one morning, I woke up and Beethoven was dead. I took him out of the tank and flashed him down the toilette.

I never expected it, but I was sad Beethoven was gone. Sitting in my armchair one evening I began thinking about why he was dead. I mean he died when I just made his life more colorful. He after all got a life just like mine, only adjusted to a fish.

He had all a fish would need and refused to take it. He did not eat or swim at all. It seemed like he was sad that I tried to better his life. It was like he wanted to stay in his tiny, empty, and depressing bowl and just be a fish. Was that what had been wrong? Did he want that life? But why? Or was it just me that thought he was not content in his old home, alone, and without a name? Is it my fault he is dead?

I sat there, in my thoughts about Beethoven’s death for hours and when I finally fell asleep it was already 3 a.m. Yet, I can recall my last thought before sleep took me extraordinarily clear: How can I assume to know how Beethoven felt? After all, I am not a fish..