Fish Tank Girl

She is now my wife.

I keep her in a giant fish tank which is cleverly concealed in my massive expensive house in the British countryside.

I purchased her from a Somalian pirate whom I met on an exclusive fishing holiday.

She does what I want, when I want.

Most days I like to watch her elegantly swim while I listen to opera music played at immense decibels on my 58,000:1 surround sound audio system.

The vibrations of this are quite intense so I do not need massage.

I am layed down, my body shaking of the sounds. My arms rested on my belly.

Looking up at her through the glass ceiling.

She moves so very beautifully, she is mine.

I worry that one day the glass may shatter of the music.

She would fall to the floor and we would both be dead.

Till death do us part.

Her of her fall 100’s of feet to the ground.

And me, I would bleed to death, impaled by the shattered glass that once entrapped my only princess.

This of course is the fate that I deserve.

For keeping something so elegant and beautiful separate of her true potential.

Locked up, day and night.

Stopping for air, squid and shrimp.

She could have been a school teacher, a nurse, a tour guide at an aquarium.

Her destiny is limited now by my heartless greed.

I restrict all essence of her very existence.

I am cold, numb, evil.

I would never know love

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