There’s a Goldfish swimming inside her. It’s making her squirm and writhe mid-conversation as if there weren’t a Goldfish swimming around inside of her. You can see it, the mound of skin that gently presses and glides it’s way circularly throughout her forearm, then up her tricep, all throughout her body. She has to gyrate and create a current to not make the Goldfish stuck. She's in permanent motion. When she rests, the Goldfish is capable of causing permanent damage to one area of her body. And if left there, undisturbed, it will kill itself and she'll become infected. The Goldfish must die. But how? It’s part of her. She gave birth to it twelve years ago and has been dutifully nursing it to full health. What a pest. One that has robbed so much of her focus, so much attention she must give it. If only she didn’t give birth to anything. Nothing came from her. Just this fucking Goldfish. They say that a Goldfish will grow to the size of it’s container. Something ominous about this Goldfish, what if it became her, grew into her container entirely? She must swim. Throwing herself in the ocean so she can see how it feels to not have to feel the Goldfish swimming through her every last waking moment. How? How can she cut this from her, this tragic abortion? It didn’t come out the front the first time…That’s it. It must come from her mouth. That’s the only way the Goldfish will get out. And once it’s out. It will die on the ground in the sun gasping for life. Or if it’s spat out in the ocean, may it swim off, never to be heard of again.
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