Gemotions

He stared at the goldfish, its vacant expression somehow more infuriating than any actual insult. The water in the bowl was murky, a visual representation of how he was feeling. "Just a small one, John," Daniel had pleaded. "Low maintenance."

Low maintenance. He’d spent the last hour cleaning the tank, scrubbing the sides, trying to make the tiny prison habitable. He hadn’t signed up for this. He'd signed up for an affordable place to live with a reliable roommate, not a silent, aquatic judge of all his failures.

He muttered something under his breath and walked over to the window, staring out at the rain. He needed to escape this suffocating, fish-filled room.