Weird Fishes
by Corbin Parker
May 28, 2008 — Published in Pithy Tales
I Died
“I died again in my dream.”
“Yes, and?”
“I didn’t like it. It was, um …” — Daniel paused; he was never comfortable around his psychiatrist; this was probably a bad thing — “cold.”
“And how did that make you feel?” The doctor’s tone was cold and distant, much like Daniel’s feelings in his dreams.
“Not very good.”
“Right. How did it happen this time?”
“I was walking. It was dark outside. And I was walking.”
“Where?” the doctor asked with his head cocked back and nostrils flaring, trying to peer out of his large spectacles.
“It was on a street. There were others walking too. Cars were around, they had their lights on. Not all of them though. Just some. It was cold. You know? And when I walked, the ground did not push back with that same amount of equal force. Like it was not solid. Like Jello. But I walked.”
“Where?” The doctor now seemed impatient.
“On the street. I walked for a while. Others were with me, they followed. This guy was walking in front of me. For a while, I could only see his silhouette because of the oncoming headlights. Eventually, I could tell he was a black man as the cars’ brake lights illuminated him in red. He turned around and I could see him. Full. All of him. His thin face still lit up by the red lights, like a devil or something. I wanted to run, but I couldn’t. Something wouldn’t let me.”
“And then?”
“And then he pulled out a gun and asked for my wallet. I got scared and pulled it out. I threw it at him, turned and ran. I could see him out of the corner of my eye. He looked at the wallet on the cold asphalt. Then he looked at me. It seemed like I had been running for several minutes, but when he shot me in the back of the head I fell several feet away from him. It was cold.”
“Hmmm. I see.” The doctor pulled at his small goatee. It was dreadfully stereotypical. “Obviously this shows your inner hatred for the African Americans.”
“Excuse me, but I do not think that is the problem.” Daniel’s stomach was beginning to churn.
“I think I am the doctor here Mr. Phillips. No, I know I am the doctor. I suggest you get your Ph.D. in Psychiatry from Stanford. You can pay on your way out. Here is a prescription for a new drug that we are trying out. I hope it helps stop the dreams. Linda will show you to the cashier.”
Daniel was not very pleased with his visit, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was not the doctor, though you would think a doctor would be able to remember someone’s last name. It was Williamson, not Phillips. It was like this every week. Daniel made his way to the cashier, paid in cash, and left to go to the drug store for his prescription. He used the usual place down the road, Right Prescription Services, or RPS for short.
Scripotophypro
“Sir, why did you give him the new drug?” the nursed asked.
“What? No, I gave him the prescription for the placebo medicine. The sugar pills.”
“No sir, you gave him Scripotophypro. Wouldn’t that have some sort of negative effect on him? He doesn’t need the medication.”
“The worse that will happen is bad dreams,” the doctor said, dismissing the comment with a wave of his hand.
“Isn’t that why he is here sir, because of bad dreams?”
“He will be fine. You can call or leave a message at his home. He will be fine.” The doctor turned his attention to the tuna sandwich that had been teasing his nostrils for the past thirty minutes. Tuna, his favorite.
Standing Alone
Cars passed by the sidewalk where Daniel sat. He had his prescription in hand, and cigarette in mouth. He watched each car pass, keeping track of the colors, because that is what he liked. Blue, red, black, white, silver, red, red, blue, silver, each one shimmering in the sunlight. The sidewalks were cracked and old, allowing bits of grass and weeds to grow in the voids of concrete where ants found giant crevasses, and little children found reasons to miss them through a popular childhood rhyme. Daniel never sat on the benches for the bus. He would have to sit with someone he did not know, something that would make him dreadfully nervous. So he sat on the curb and waited. From where the stop was, you could hear the bus coming from around the corner, so Daniel would be able to stand in time so that the bus would not catch him and drag him along the curb as if it wanted to sharpen him like a child would a stick.
Daniel moved his attention to a line of ants making their way across the sidewalk. They were headed to their hill over by the trashcan just outside the pharmacy. Sometimes, Daniel would buy M&Ms at the convenience store that was next door, and drop one or two on the hill as a little present. Today he had not brought them anything, and watching the ants carry what looked like segments of a dead worm made him feel a little guilty. He watched them as they stopped at the giant crack. There was no way they could make it across there with what was probably tonight’s dinner for the colony. Daniel reached down, picked up the worm segment, and gently laid it down on the other side of the fracture. The ants panicked as their meal was easily stolen from them. He watched them break apart and begin to run around without direction. Calamity. He began to feel worse as the ants parted ways in confusion.
A man carrying a brief case hustled by, stepping on some of the ants and pushing Daniel over from his sitting position.
“Watch it, prick! It’s a sidewalk, not a sidesit. People. I’m in a hurry.” He continued walking briskly as if he was on a mission.
Daniel stood up to see that the bus had stopped and left without him even noticing. Looks like he would be walking home today. He stood there, alone, as the bus’s tail lights disappeared over the hill where twilight was settling in for the few minutes it did every night.
Ignore
Daniel found himself that night in a crack. The same crack that gave school children irrational fears about breaking their mothers’ backs. The same cracks the ants dreaded. He was alone. All alone. He walked around the cracks, trying to find ways out. The sides were steep and rough. Plenty of grabbing spots, but it would still be impossible. It was like trying to get out of the grand canyon without any sort of help. He was hopeless.
Above him, like cranes, walked these giant ants. They talked to each other, as they diligently moved along, passing the cracks without a care. Daniel was in there, but they never knew it. This was not fair, Daniel thought. He cared for them, he bought them M&Ms, and he put the worm on the other side of the crack for them. Why would they just ignore him? He could hear them, giggling like school girls as they missed the cracks. No doubt they feared, too, that if they stepped on them they may break their beloved queen’s back.
He sat down, fearing he may stay in there forever and die. Then an ant stopped above him, casting darkness where Daniel sat, blocking out sunlight, causing shadows to rule the rocky surrounding that he found himself in.
“Hello there little fellow. Are you stuck?” The ant spoke to him, carefully, like a grandfather. “I’ll help you, hold on.” The ant turned around and came back with stick. He pushed it down into the crack so that Daniel could hold on. He grabbed hold and was easily pulled out of the rocky valley, and placed on the sidewalk next to the giant ant.
“Careful there, bud, you might get stepped on!” The ant chuckled and made his way down the sidewalk. Daniel turned to see a group of ants, moving in a hurry. They didn’t see him. They couldn’t see him. Daniel closed his eyes, and hoped for the best.
He felt it all. The crushing of his bones. The splitting of his skin. The mincing of his ribs as they pierced his stomach lining, his innards bursting forth in a dark red goop, like a crushed bug. Let down, and hanging around. Crushed, like a bug on the ground.
The Destin Riley Award Banquet for Playwrights
The office was cold and dark, as usual. Daniel sat behind his desk with his headset on. For some reason, they kept the middle row of lights off in the long room; something about too much light stimulating the senses. Daniel thought it just made him sleepy. How was this a good thing? The room was long, forty-five square tiles long, twenty-seven and a half wide, and ten feet high. Approximately sixty-four degrees Fahrenheit year round. In the winter, they brought an extra layer to wear while they sat inside to work. It was like a sick twisted version of hell where everything was cold.
Daniel picked up his phone for the first call of the day. Mr. Craig Heldon. 878-555-9340. Caucasian. Male. Forty-seven. Playwright. It rang only three times today.
“Hello, Mr. Heldon? This is Daniel Williamson,” not Phillips, Daniel said to himself, “and I was calling to see if you were planning on making your payment? It says here that you pledged three-hundred dollars over four months ago, and we have yet to receive your check.”
“Look, man, I don’t know who the hell you think you are, calling me on a private number at home. Who gave you this number? I didn’t pledge anything! What is your name again? Let me talk to your superior.” Mr. Heldon was furious, for some reason. Maybe it was because it was too early in the morning. Or maybe he had not actually pledged three hundred dollars. It was part of the job though; that’s how they got money. “Hello?”
“I am sorry, sir, my superior is not here at the moment, but I can have him call you. In the meantime, would you mind giving us a time frame as to when you would like to send your check so we may take you off the list?” Daniel was tired. His dreams were keeping him up at night. He was afraid to sleep, so he tried not to. When he did though, he regretted not being strong enough to stay awake. With every bad dream, he popped an extra pill the next morning. He was up to three right now. Two more than the prescribed amount, and three more than he needed to be taking.
Daniel sat, his face glazed over with apathy, mouth slightly ajar, and his right eye slightly twitching. The computer screens were not good for his eyes. He needed a break.
“Are you still there, you prick? I am not giving you one damn dime, dickhead. You hear me? I am trying to create a masterpiece, A Night in the Fish, and I cannot write my play when there are shits like you calling me every minute and trying to get me to pay money I never owed. Shit.” The phone smashed down onto its holder, thus ending the phone call and Daniel’s external awareness.
Daniel fell back into his chair, breaking through the back and falling. He fell for several minutes, into the black nothingness. He looked around, yet could see nothing. He felt the wind blowing past his head though. He was going somewhere. Eventually he fell into a seat at a round table that could seat about ten people. He looked around. He was wearing his tuxedo, and at the other side of the table sat the world-renowned playwright, Mr. Craig Heldon, or at least what Daniel pictured him like. He was very thin, grey-haired, and had a large nose where a big pair of spectacles were delicately balanced. He was wearing his tuxedo too, with a red bow-tie and cummerbund. Next to him was his wife, and what seemed to be a few friends. He didn’t recognize any of the others, except for the guy that sat two seats down. It was Randall, the guy who sat by him at work. What was he doing here? What was Daniel doing here?
He looked around. It was a ballroom, and it was packed. He looked to the stage up front, where a small elderly man in a tuxedo walked up to the podium and began to talk.
“Welcome, one and all, to the thirty-third annual Destin Riley Award Banquet, for all playwrights in the world! I am your host, Destin Riley, and I am so glad that you could all make it!” His voice was scratchy and shaky, like he was someone who had drunk and smoked too much in their earlier years. The man seemed to rule the stage, riling up the troops, like a penguin on steroids bent on world domination. “Tonight, we are celebrating the world’s best playwright. If my lovely assistant, Melinda, could please bring me the envelope.” Melinda staggered across the stage, half drunk, and handed Mr. Riley the envelope. “And this year’s world’s best playwright is, Daniel Williamson, for his play, A Night in the Fish!”
Daniel was stunned. First, because he did not write plays, and second, because Mr. Heldon, who actually was writing the play, was sitting at his table. Mr. Heldon looked up at Daniel, his little eyes piercing Daniel’s heart. He lunged at Daniel with a knife, tumbling across the table and spilling wine everywhere.
“That was my play, you piece of shit! He stole it from me. I wrote it!”
The room was full of gasps and whispers. Daniel was not sure what to do. He hadn’t actually written this play. He didn’t even know what the play was about, or where the hell he was.
“There must have been some sort of mistake, I didn’t write this play. It was that man,” Daniel said, pointing to the small man sprawled out on the table, wielding a butter knife.
“Don’t just stand there, get him!” Mr. Heldon yelled at the other men at the surrounding tables. They turned to each other, stood up, and ran after Daniel.
Daniel took off, running out of the doors. The building they were in was huge, and he had no clue where the exit may be. He ran down hallways, getting cut off by people here and there. Finally, he found the front door and pushed it open, finding himself falling once again. He looked up to see the men at the front door peering down out of it as he fell. Soon they disappeared into darkness. Daniel was scared.
Weird Fishes
He plopped down on moist soil without any injury seconds later. He stood and looked around. There was only dark soil and black sky. Behind him was a worm. A large worm.
“Welcome Daniel. Welcome.” The worm lunged forward, taking hold of Daniel in his mouth. Daniel struggled as he flopped around. Struggling just made it worse though. He gave up and sat there with his bottom half in the worm’s mouth. It was warm and wet. Daniel could feel his legs sticking together due to whatever was in the worm’s mouth. More worms appeared out of the soil, welcoming Daniel to this new land.
“Hello Daniel,” they all chimed in. “Welcome to the Soil.”
“Why am I here? What are you doing to me?”
“Just relax. Just relax.” They gathered around Daniel’s limp upper body which was still hanging out of the worm mouth. “Come with us. We are going to see the Weird Fishes. Come with us.” They all began to move across the soil in unison, as a pack. “We’re almost there. It’s just over the hill.” They all spoke together, in the same monotone voice. They sounded unhappy. “Weird Fishes. Weird Fishes,” they began to chant in unison. Still sounding monotone and unhappy. “Weird Fishes.”
They got to the top of the hill and stopped. It was a cliff. At the bottom of the cliff was water and Daniel could barely see the fish floating in the black waters, waiting. The waves were huge and they smashed against the cliff walls.
A worm looked to Daniel. “Jump,” she said.
They all jumped off the cliff in unison. In silence. Right into the Weird Fishes’ mouths. Daniel felt it all. He got eaten by the worms and Weird Fishes.
Fresh Air
Daniel woke up in his chair, sweating. His co-workers were staring at him with little smiles. Apparently he was making noise in his sleep. He stood up to go outside for some fresh air. He needed something. The dark, cold room was sending him over the edge, and his dream had scared him almost to death.
He sat down on a bench right outside the opening. Four women were standing around with their cell phones out inhaling cell phone signals, like smoke from a cigarette. One day they are all with cigarettes, the next they are on their cell phones. Cancer sticks for cancer bricks; some trade off. Daniel couldn’t stand using something that would deplete his sperm count if left near his testicles too long. No telling what other dangers they could do. One of the girls was talking very loudly while chewing gum. Something about the “shit head” she stayed with last night. Daniel silently wished the best for her and her future, and went back inside.
So much for fresh air.
An Unfortunate Mistake
“Um, Mr. Phillips, er, Mr. Williamson. Hi this is Dr. Stoojmen, your psychiatrist. Sorry we couldn’t reach you and had to leave a message, but it turns out that the medication we’ve been prescribing you, uh, Scripotophypro, yeah, it produces some pretty serious side effects,” the doctor chuckled, “so if you want to drop on by tomorrow we can hook you up with the right stuff. I hope you haven’t been taking too much, because it can sometimes be fatal. Anyways, hope you have been sleeping well. Have a great evening, and uh, just call tomorrow and we can set you up. Thanks Mr. Phillips. Er, hah, sorry, I have too many patients! Um, Mr. Williamson.”
The answering machine sat in the kitchen with its mailbox button flashing red, right above where Daniel lay. The pill bottle was open next to him. He had taken five today. Daniel would have no more bad dreams. He was free, and he felt it all.
Illustration by Lacey Anderson.
Corbin Parker
Corbin Parker is an English and Theater Major on the Education track to become a high school teacher. He has a strong passion for writing, acting, and music, and gathers a lot of inspiration from all of them to help feed his ideas.
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