There she sits without eyes to see, possibly without thoughts or any understandings that we would know; she sits waiting, looking past with empty orbs and then finds you with her nose. We are heat to her heart. Who you are is of no consequence. Sleeping, eating, drinking and passing remains, she otherwise sits hunched all but motionless in a shaded corner of her room. It does not matter who brings her food, changes water, or cleans the filtration system.
She of course can hear what you say, but the words don’t register the same inside her shell. We’d thought to simply put her back in to the Ocean, but such a fragile animal isn’t likely to survive, and Jane thought the spots of her shell quite unique_ 'worthy of collection'.
Bubbles formed in the pit of her stomach, lurch forward, and are released; she moves thus in increments barely discernible to an average man, yet forward goes to where-ever. Her gender, to all but the informed, remained speculative at best. She’d picked up the nickname Amy on account of the reddish complexion and spots, reminding all who worked in the facility of Amy, the general accountant’s youngest daughter, and her freckles. Introduced as such to said child, proved disastrous. The little girl took one look at the tank, bawled, and ran from the room in hysterics.
How could any one in their right mind think 'little Amy' might like 'that' named after her? They were all in agreement on the score, yes. Though which 'little Amy,' and what score, were in hot debate long after. The tank eventually ended up in a secluded place by the office water cooler, where in effect, she reminded all that mostly being along for the ride, was just fine.
At night the glow of the tank ripples with waves given off by the filter, sending shadows jumping about and on everything about, and wiggle. It is then she thinks it beautiful, without words having to say so, if you sit still and watch. Amy rocks back and forth dancing with an absent light, it reminds her of something, but just what that memory is, isn’t important just now; she dances having never seen that sea's embrace.
She of course can hear what you say, but the words don’t register the same inside her shell. We’d thought to simply put her back in to the Ocean, but such a fragile animal isn’t likely to survive, and Jane thought the spots of her shell quite unique_ 'worthy of collection'.
Bubbles formed in the pit of her stomach, lurch forward, and are released; she moves thus in increments barely discernible to an average man, yet forward goes to where-ever. Her gender, to all but the informed, remained speculative at best. She’d picked up the nickname Amy on account of the reddish complexion and spots, reminding all who worked in the facility of Amy, the general accountant’s youngest daughter, and her freckles. Introduced as such to said child, proved disastrous. The little girl took one look at the tank, bawled, and ran from the room in hysterics.
How could any one in their right mind think 'little Amy' might like 'that' named after her? They were all in agreement on the score, yes. Though which 'little Amy,' and what score, were in hot debate long after. The tank eventually ended up in a secluded place by the office water cooler, where in effect, she reminded all that mostly being along for the ride, was just fine.
At night the glow of the tank ripples with waves given off by the filter, sending shadows jumping about and on everything about, and wiggle. It is then she thinks it beautiful, without words having to say so, if you sit still and watch. Amy rocks back and forth dancing with an absent light, it reminds her of something, but just what that memory is, isn’t important just now; she dances having never seen that sea's embrace.
No comments:
Post a Comment