He can sense impending danger. It clouds the day, it makes him panic. His friends seem oblivious; they go about their business placidly, as if today is like yesterday, as if tomorrow will be the same as today.

No. It won't be. And he knows that he has to escape.

He sees her approach, drawn by his agitation.

"Aren’t you feeling so good?" she asks, her eyes large in her face, her voice concerned.

In an instant, a strategy forms in his mind. He allows himself to relax, go into a trance like state that mimics death. She gasps in horror and he feels distantly sad that she has to mourn him when they've only known each other such a short time. She was good to him.

She takes him, holding him close for a moment and he feels her warm breath caress him. With every ounce of control he has, he remains still.

She takes him away, away from danger, away from death approaching and his heart sings with relief, tinged with guilt about his doomed friends.

As she drops him into the toilet and flushes him to safety, he sends an urgent message back to the bowl, back to his fellow, less sensitive, fish brothers, but it is too late.

They swim and swim, around and around, until Angelus comes for them and they swim no more.




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