Marlin and Me

The bubbles have stopped. And for the mean time, Tom's world has done the same.

Marlin's family always knew that their mentor, their rock, their inspiration - the foundation they based their tragically short lives - would one day share the same fate. They just didn't think it would take this long. As their lifeless bodies spiraled down the shiny porcelain passage toward an unknown abyss, they experienced emotions ranging from fear to relief to animosity. Fear of the possibility of no afterlife. Relief that hell on earth was over. Animosity toward their neglectful owner.

They couldn't help but think that it didn't have to be this way. When they first flopped fins into their new home (a sprawling estate with brand new pebbles and a spacious pirate cove), they envisioned lives of leisure. Sh*thead and F*ckface naturally took on parental roles as the elder statesmen. They had plans. Sh*thead gurgled about weekends by the filter. F*ckface babbled about swimming lessons for Whitney and Bobby. They would take vacations near the surface and snack on high protein flakes. But it all changed one day. In fact, it all changed THAT day.

Unbeknownst to the self-titled "Six Strangers" that met in the tank that day, a pinch of food distributed amongst three pairs of fish would naturally kickstart their survival instincts as they fought for available sustenance, regardless of the impenetrable relationships they thought they had forged in a day's time.

In a sense, Marlin's initial survival could be attributed to location. He was in the right place at the right time.

The same could not be said for Bobby, who perished first when he awoke from a nap in the cove to discover that dinner was served and he wasn't sitting at the table. Whitney was next to go, having only managed to suck down a single flake in the feeding mayhem. Jumpy the water frog and the aforementioned Sh*thead, an algae sucking plychausomus, attributed Whitney's death to the unmanageable pain of losing her soul mate, but an autopsy would later reveal an empty stomach to be the culprit.

F*ckface managed to appear on day two, but unfortunately for him, food did not. He was belly up by noon and tension was rapidly spreading throughout the tank. Marlin briefly grieved over the death of his brother, but knew he needed to conserve energy - a lesson taught to him by Fat John, a goldfish he met in Petsmart who had survived the Anderson famine just one year prior. As darkness fell, Marlin led the three remaining survivors in prayer, huddled in a corner and desperate to repent for their sins.

Jumpy struggled through the night. He was delirious, having not eaten in two days due to his fish flake allergy. Sh*thead had taken to sucking pebbles, normally frowned upon in the fish community but tolerated in times of distress. Meanwhile, Marlin stood defiant, determined to make it to his next meal.

That next meal came in the form of fresh water in a new tank. A few of the dead bodies had lingered in the old tank for several hours before the claw could take them to their maker, so the ensuing decomposition left harmful bacteria which infiltrated every nook and cranny of their home. Jumpy had been a lost cause by morning, battling starvation and dysentary, so Marlin and Sh*thead were quarantined in a Popcorn bowl.

At that point, it appeared as though Marlin and Sh*thead were in the clear. They were finally fed and their meal was big enough for seconds, and sweeter than mom's home regurgitation. They found strength and solace in each other, and decided to stick together in honor of their fallen comrades. Marlin would be there for Sh*thead, and Sh*thead for Marlin. Or so Marlin thought. The truth of the matter was that Sh*thead was dying. And he knew he was dying. But he had to trick Marlin into thinking that survival was even an option, so he feigned health to boost morale.

It worked for a day or two, but science eventually overcame. Sh*thead was pronounced dead at 10:04 am that day. He was the penultimate survivor of the "Six Strangers", and the fifth to succumb to starvation.

And then there was one.

Marlin's remaining weeks were equal parts sheer will to survive and miraculous. He quickly acclimated to an inconsistent feeding schedule and even thrived during Tom's intentionally unintentional assasination attempt, where he skipped town for a week but left an amount of food in the tank that would have prevented the tragedy altogether had he adopted this style earlier. Marlin's rationing strategy was textbook, eating only what he needed to survive, knowing that the floating flakes would need to last an unknown period of time.

Tom eventually returned to Portland and Marlin hoped that compassion would eventually return to Tom. But it wasn't to be. A man who didn't want fish in the first place was an unlikely candidate for Aquarium Owner of the Year. Marlin had been told as a young fish that life wasn't fair, and he had become the posterfish of that very cliche. He had once seen Tom watch Shawshank Redemption and remembered Red's timeless line, "you either get busy livin, or get busy dying." Marlin chose the latter.

His final days were marked by erratic behavior. Suicide attempts became the norm, but unfortunately for Marlin, evaporation had lowered the water level just far enough to rule a dolphin jump from the tank out of the equation. So he waited. And he starved.

Ironically enough, Tom had placed six flakes of food in the tank, one for each original fish, seconds before Marlin's death. His survival was inches in front of his face, and in one last symbolic moment of defiance, he closed his eyes, stilled his flipper, and joined his family.

The bubbles have stopped.