The Fish Is Dead

The fish is dead. It died slowly, I think, over four days. I was house-sitting elsewhere and A.J. & Dange called to sing the phrase "The fish is dead" to a tune from Oz. I was relieved once it finally died. But I must say that the week or so leading up to it’s “transition” made me sad. I kept trying to feed it because it was doing this whole bobbing for air thing around the edges of it’s glass. I hope its suffering was short. And I also hope that it didn’t die because of my neglect.

Can neglect be considered murder? Alina seemed to think so and and hinted as much when I told her of the little fish’s passing. I left it to float in it's "other-life-ness" for a day or so as I struggled through this and then I poured it and it's murky water onto a plant in the yard. My cold scientific mind thinks that the nutrients of it's rotting flesh will be good for the soil. I am going to call it The Dead Fish Plant from this day forward.

So, is neglect considered murder? It doesn't seem like a huge deal until I think of the other areas of my life that I have neglected. Namely friendships I let fade, needs I ignore, and things I leave unspoken. I am sensing this need to explain my neglect of the fish which is my form of un-repentance. It wasn't my fish. I can't remember which old roommate I adopted him from, but I do remember why I adopted him. I felt he wasn't being cared for properly. Typing that out-loud is just sad. Part of me takes comfort that even though I may be a murderer I do have a conscience. What brings your murderous heart comfort? I'd love to know.