Random Horror Stories - 500

The goldfish swam in the tank, its orange scales catching the light of the dim room. It had been here for years, or so it felt. The glass was clear enough to show the reflection of the room, but the fish could not escape it. The water was cold. The water was always cold. It was the only thing it knew, its own little prison.

It was fully aware. The glass. The water. The walls. The same rock on the bottom of the tank, the same plastic plants that swayed every time someone walked past. The same food, every day, until it had grown sick of the taste. The same endless cycle. There was no end, only the beginning of more days that felt like an eternity.

And then the footsteps. Every few hours, someone would approach the tank. The fish could hear them. It knew what would happen next. The tap, the food dropping, the hand on the glass. It didn't matter. It had no choice but to swim in circles, to wait for the hand to reach in and disturb the water, making the fish dizzy. The cycle never broke. It could not stop it.

It could not stop anything.

The fish pressed its face against the glass. On the other side, the world was large, alive. People walked. They laughed. The air was different out there, but here it was just glass and water, and the light that flickered above. Even the air felt stale. It never moved. It couldn't breathe the same way they did. It had no lungs, no voice. The fish could scream inside its own head, but no sound would leave its body.

The light flickered again, and the fish froze. A shadow passed. It was a man, or perhaps a woman. It didn't matter. It couldn't make sense of it anymore. It had forgotten what it was like to live outside of the tank.

The food came. The same pellets. The fish ate them, almost without thinking. There was no joy in it. There was no hunger. It didn't need it anymore. The act was just another part of the daily routine, another thing it did without thinking, like swimming in circles.

The water felt colder now. The fish swam slower. It had no energy, not much left to fight with. The hands on the glass weren't as often now. The footsteps, softer. Slower.

The fish turned and saw the crack. Small at first, just a hairline split near the corner of the tank. At first, it thought it had imagined it. But it was real. The crack grew. The fish didn't swim toward it. It couldn't. It didn't know how to escape. It only swam in circles, too tired to move toward the one chance it had. The crack widened. The water began to spill out, dripping onto the floor, seeping away.

The fish was not afraid. It was too tired for fear. It just watched as the last bit of water left the tank, as the glass slowly shattered.

The fish remained still. There was no struggle. No fight.

A hand reached for it, but the fish couldn't feel it anymore. It was already gone.