[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - The Dark Gift Edition !

The Killing Machine 
 
 The species is betta splendens, more commonly known as a Siamese fighting fish. They require their own tank, no other fish allowed. Solitary confinement of a sorts, except in their case, it ’ s not a punishment, but a non-negotiable demand. What, pray tell, happens if that demand is not met? Death, that ’ s what happens. Any other fish you put in their “ territory, ” they will kill on sight. No questions asked. No negotiation. No reasoning or bargaining. Just unspeakable violence and death. 
 
 My fish ’ s name is Roscoe. He ’ s a good boy, very people friendly, at least to me. Whenever I go over to the tank, bend down and wiggle my finger, he comes over excitedly, and does a happy little dance. Like he just can ’ t contain his excitement. 
 
 Is he really happy to see me? Or is this some kind of elaborate warning for me to keep away? I don ’ t know. 
 
 What I do know is that he gets particularly aggressive at feeding time. And by “ aggressive ”, I mean he absolutely loses his shit. I believe the technical phrase is “ batshit crazy. ” But other than that, he ’ s a pretty good fish. At least, he used to be. That is, until the day of the incident. 
 
 It was a typical Saturday morning. As usual, I was hung over and desperate for a strong cup of coffee. 
 
 Downstairs I came, only to discover the dead body of a full grown man lying on the floor in front of Roscoe ’ s tank. Holy shit, I thought. I rushed over, rolled the body onto its back, and felt for a pulse. Immediately, I realized there was no need for that, as the body was quite cold and clearly dead. 
 
 I looked up, and sure enough, Roscoe was staring at me, doing his little happy dance. 
 
 Naturally, I wanted to know what in the hell had happened. So I asked. 
 
 “ Roscoe, ” I exclaimed, “ What have you done now? ” 
 
 “ I killed a banker, ” he responded. “ Just like you wanted. ” 
 
 “ Holy shit, you can talk? ” I asked. 
 
 “ Obviously, ” he said. 
 
 Okay, this is new, I thought. But I rolled with it, like I always do. 
 
 I needed to get to the bottom of this, and quick, so I asked the menace another question. “ When exactly, did I express a desire for bankers to be killed, willy nilly? ” 
 
 “ When you were reading that article about Goldman Sachs manipulating the derivatives market in order to reap windfall profits from the crash they intentionally caused. You said, and I quote, ‘ Someone should take all these god damn bankers, line ‘ em up against the wall, and shoot them in the head twice, just to be sure they ’ re dead. ’ End quote. ” 
 
 Hmmm, I thought. That did sound familiar. “ Well, I ’ ll be. I guess I did say something like that. And I suppose, since you didn ’ t have access to a gun, and since this guy is soaking wet, instead of shooting him, you drowned him. ” 
 
 Roscoe danced a happy jig and swam in a tight little circle. “ Bingo, ” he said. 
 
 “ So, is this the first time you ’ ve offed a banker? ” I asked. 
 
 “ No, ” he said. “ It ’ s the tenth. It ’ s just the first time I brought a trophy home for you. ” 
 
 Well, naturally, I did the only thing I could do. I got a shovel, dug a deep hole in the back yard, and buried the son of a bitch. I mean, I couldn ’ t turn Roscoe in. He was technically doing what I said I wanted. And, at least, he didn ’ t kill an innocent person or anything. But I did let him know that this had to stop right here, right now. No more killing bankers. We could get into serious trouble for that. I mean, no one notices when a homeless guy or a prostitute goes missing, but when a banker vanishes, the powers that be get right on it. 
 
 *Ding dong*. 
 
 The doorbell rang. I answered it and found my pal Jim standing on the stoop. I invited him in and gave him a beer. We were going to spend the day watching college football. Good thing I decided to go ahead and bury that banker. Jim was a dear friend, but he might not have understood about the corpse. 
 
 “ Hey, Dave, ” he asked. “ Didn ’ t you used to have a fish in here? ” 
 
 He was bent over, peering into Roscoe ’ s tank. 
 
 “ He ’ s in there, probably just hiding behind a plant. ” 
 
 “ Uh, Dave, ” he said. “ There ain ’ t nothing alive in there. Water ’ s cloudy as a foggy day and the water reeks like death. ” 
 
 “ Hmmm, ” I responded. “ Oh, yeah. I had to get rid of him. He was a fighting fish, you know. Every time I tried to put another fish in there with him, he ’ d kill it. So, no choice. I had to flush him. ” 
 
 “ Damn, dude, ” he responded. “ That ’ s harsh. ” Jim was really a kind soul. 
 
 “ What other option did I have? ” I asked. “ He was a goddamn killing machine. ” 
 
 I popped a beer. “ Now, let ’ s watch some football. ” 
 
 The End. 

