Red Fish Dead Fish

He caught Steven's eye almost immediately. He was shiny and blue, right in the front of the pet shop. A big sign hung over his tank that read, "Meet Jeremy, Our newest fish!" Steven knew he had to have him.

He looked to the right, and then the left. He waited. He inched closer to the tank and looked over each shoulder again. He waited. Then, with speed that even Steven found surprising, he plunged his arm into the tank.

His war-mangled fingers rooted through the sludge. With mounting desperation and adrenaline fueled vigor, he finally pried it free. There it was. There she was. Or part of her.

A perfectly severed human hand rested in his palm. He was alarmed by its heaviness, clearly water-logged and wrinkly. He was not, however, disturbed. He had seen this hand before.

Sparkling deviously in the chaos of the crimson panic lights and hooded underneath bloated flesh was the wedding ring he gave her before the war. He peered timorously into the mire, gazing upon the whilom glow of a pale cheek. Towinda’s watery grave rippled as he wept.