I did a bad thing this morning. I didn’t mean to, but Mandy didn’t come home last night and I was so distraught, I couldn’t help myself.
Sometimes Mandy doesn’t come home for hours at a time. I have no idea what she does. She’s always secretive about it. She tells me she’ll be back later. She tells me not to worry, but she’s gone all day. And last night? She didn’t come home.
I did a bad thing and I don’t know what to do. I spent the entire night alone. I crawled into bed and it was completely empty. I was so nervous, I ran back and forth across the hall. I liberated the fluffy white tufts trapped beneath the couch. I defeated that soft, thin creature that always makes its nest beside the toilet and slithers down to the floor when provoked — all of my usual nightly routines. Nothing helped.
Nick Eastman-Pratt | Argonaut
What if Mandy doesn’t come home tonight? How will I know she’s alright if I can’t curl up on her face while she’s asleep to make sure she’s breathing? How will I ever be happy again if there’s no one to scratch between my ears in that one spot I can’t reach?
Mandy didn’t come home last night and I did a bad thing. The sun came up, I sat on the windowsill and tried to stay calm. My tail twitched uncontrollably. She has never not come home. I looked out the window at the passersby below and asked them, “Why? Why didn’t she come home?”
That’s when I heard the splash and darted my line of sight to that annoying fish bowl.
Everything changed when Mandy got that fish, Gregory. Before him, we lived a happy life together. She came home every night. She fed me and snuggled me and summoned my tiny red bug friend that I chase around our home.
Gregory doesn’t need to be scratched between the ears. He doesn’t even have ears. He just has a glub, fishy face and empty black eyes. Cold, murderous eyes. I know why Gregory is alone in that glass prison. No one needs to tell me.
That morning, I watched Gregory swim power laps around his glass cage. He’s a wild animal — a slim, orange, rabid torpedo.
Mandy doesn’t need to feed Gregory every day. She doesn’t need to give him snuggles. Ever since he showed up, she’s started leaving for longer periods of time. She’s started giving me less attention. I think he was a gift, maybe. She would never have brought home a fish like Gregory by choice. Perhaps he’s a spy, planted here to foil the perfect life Mandy and I have together.
I made my way from the windowsill up onto the dresser, where Gregory is contained all day, every day. He has a spot where the sun never hits directly. Who doesn’t want to bask in the sun? He’s so bizarre. I thought that maybe if Gregory went away, everything would go back to normal.
I scooched his bowl down the side of the dresser. Then, further and further, gently. There could be no evidence, no shattered glass. No chance of Gregory escaping and making a run for it, either. While my nose was pressed to the glass, my heart was racing. Gregory could’ve jumped out at any minute and attacked. After a few strenuous pushes, I had moved him completely out of view, behind the thick stacks of towering textbooks Mandy never seems to touch. She would never find him behind this impenetrable fortress, that I knew for a fact.
Now, I try not to think about Gregory. He’s been behind those books for at least an hour. I bet its dark back there.
It’s starting to feel like a bad thing. I think I really did a bad thing. Maybe I should scooch him back into the light. Maybe he’s just scared — the sharp click of metal resonates down the hall. The door is being unlocked. Mandy is home. I dart under the bed. Maybe she won’t notice that Gregory is gone.
Corrin Bond
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