Fred and Skippy

One night after having a few drinks with my friend Bryan, I remembered about a fish that he had purchased at a pet store that I worked at called “Pete’s Pets.” This is how I met Bryan on the first place.

I asked him, “Do you still have that Tiger Fish?”

“You mean Fred? Yeah! I’ll show you his tank.” He told me.

Bryan and I walked over to the tank next to the closet to see Fred the African Tiger Fish. His had a tank was very clean and dense with fake plants. Tiger Fish are a difficult breed to maintain, but he seems to do a good job handling the responsibility.

“I fucking love this fish.” Bryan said.

“How can you love a fish? They are completely ridiculously pointless. They just fucking swim around playing no role. They are a form of entertainment for those that are entertained easily.” As I said this, Bryan drops a goldfish into the tank an we watch Fred rip it to shreds in a matter of seconds. It was actually quite impressive. I watch this and tell Bryan, “You love the fish because he eats?”

“He eats other animals! It crazy to watch. Did you see that?!” His eyes light up when he talks about this fish. It’s just a toy to him. Like a toy truck for a little boy.

Bryan and I share a few more drinks and discuss freshwater fish before I head out. Watching Fred eat the goldfish had admittedly gotten me to feel a little daring and Bryan’s stupidity and ignorance had made me feel like teaching him a lesson. I soon had an urge to go out and create some sort of havoc, and this urge is not one easily ignored. It hits me like a drug. The adrenaline starts pumping and I stop thinking clearly and you grow more impulsive. I just failed to think things through.

A half hour later, I bread through a window at a pet shop called “Pete’s Pets” that I used to work at for a few months after I dropped out of high school. The security system at this place is outdated and easily countered if you know all the codes. I steal a barracuda that they had swimming all alone and escaped into an alley behind the shop. I had named the barracuda Skippy when I had worked there. They fired me after I had a few no shows, so this is the first time I’ve seen Skippy since.

I walked back to Bryan’s house with Skippy and broke in by picking the lock of the back door. I went in and blasted Bryan’s stereo that sits on a book shelf outside of his bedroom. I turned up the volume and played Underoath’s “In Regards to Myself.” A song I didn’t necessarily enjoy, but it seemed to fit the mood for what was about to happen. Bryan was about to learn a very important lesson about life.

My good friend stumbles out of his bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. His eyes are still have shut and he can barely keep himself standing he is so tired and likely still drunk like I am. I hadn’t reached the stereo when he notices me beside Fred’s tank with Skippy in a carrying case. I then look to him and say, “I fucking love Skippy.” I then drop Skippy into Fred’s tank and watch the barracuda tear Fred the African Tiger Fish to shreds as Bryan stares in disbelief.

Bryan looks up at me and you can see the fire in his eyes. Pieces of Fred are still floating in the tank that Skippy has clearly established as his own. As I am admiring Skippy’s work, Bryan tackles me to the floor. I push him off of me and pin him to the floor. This is not the first time I’ve had to defend myself, but it is the first time that I have gotten into a fight over a dead fish. However, I have a knack for getting into trouble and I have a knack for fighting.