Gemotions

The small, glass tank sat on the counter, a silent monument to Maya’s obsession. Across from it, Sam stared at the brightly colored fish swimming in their artificial habitat. He felt a nagging sense of unease. He did not want to feed them. He did not want to clean the tank. He did not want to care for them.

The idea of the responsibility, of another thing to worry about, felt like a lead weight in his stomach. The tranquility he enjoyed in their apartment was suddenly under siege. He looked around the room, which felt suddenly cramped.

“They seem… delicate,” he offered, his voice lacking conviction. “What if something goes wrong?”

Maya’s smile faltered. She had been so excited. The potential for the fish to just… die… loomed in Sam’s mind. He wanted his peace.