Ever so silently, Poire approached her father’s desk. In her mind and before she had entered the room, Poire had imagined it would be clean, if not a little bold, just like a father. Yet, overall, it wasn’t quite so. There were sheets of paper scattered all over used wood, his pens were in fact here, stacked on top of a photograph featuring bodies revealing a little too much skin. Poire squinted. She reached for the pens and begun to grasp the picture in question, curious as to what it could possibly mean. However, she was soon interrupted by the clicking of the door, and the rattling of feet against floorboards.

“My daughter, are you home?”

It was her mother’s voice.

Poire’s heart rose in her throat. She gasped and quickly dropped the photograph. With one pen in hand, she took a hurried step towards the exit of her father’s study, but she tripped over a cable that sent her tumbling onto his old rug; her elbows were now red. Poire wanted to linger on her growing pains, but the luxury was stolen from her, as another crash followed soon after. Gaping, her lower lip quivered as she turned to face the noise that attacked her back. It was her father’s aquarium, thankfully unharmed, however; Poire could not say the same when it came to its inhabitant.

“Poire?” her mother called again. “That is you, right?”

The young girl could not fathom a reply other than, “Yes, mother, it is.”

“Is everything okay up there?”

Poire took another glance at the fish she had just murdered. She wished it would start flapping again. It didn’t. She helped herself up. Her wishes changed. I hope I’ll be able to hide it, she thought as she walked out of her father’s study, pretended to emerge from her room, and yelled from above the staircase: “Everything’s fine! I tripped over my homework, that’s all.”

Her mother blinked twice as she observed Poire with a curious look scattered across her features.

Poire did her best to maintain her trembling hands at bay.

After a moment, Poire’s mother sighed, and said: “You should be more careful.” Her eyes darted left to right. She seemed to shrink in on herself as her back hunched over whilst she twiddled her fingers together in fear. “You never know when they could appear.”

“The demons?” Poire asked.

“Do not pronounce such words in my household!” Poire’s mother shouted. Her eyes were wide now, and fixated on Poire’s figure.

It is scary, Poire thought. She is scary. “I’m sorry, mother,” she said. As she walked away from the woman’s hysterical cries, she could only hope her mother would keep enough of her sanity, to live to see another day; and bake Poire yet another pear-flavoured pie.

Poire turned back to her father’s study. She figured she could merely put the fish back in its place. After all, they are not very long-lived, especially when they are prisoners, was her reasoning. But a pit of guilt for both the creature and her parent stopped her from doing just so.

She returned in front of its lifeless body and cupped the small orange cadaver between her palms. Water had leaked onto a nearby carpet, but it was too late to do anything now, with what Poire had in mind; she could only pray and hope it would dry enough on its own.

Carefully, softly, she walked to the bathroom and kneeled in front of the toilet.

Poire released the fish.

It floated atop the water, swirled around it even for a bit, giving way to a fake imitation of life Poire found quite unfair as she watched its beautiful fins wave with what she imagined in her little mind to be a sign of goodbyes.

She flushed the toilet.

She blinked.

The scenery had changed.

Her body lay atop mountains of sand and the smell of salt greeted her tongue.

Poire had washed ashore.

Crickets were singing.

Her fingers jerked into the small of her palm as she begun to breathe again.

The night was still young.