It is quite normal for a fish seperated from its school to follow the nearest moving body around for a few minutes before continuing on a chase most doomed to solitute, but I had happened upon one most severe in clinginess. Upon the night surveillance, my eyes already grown blurry in dark conditions, had noticed a light coming on the right-side, staying by the right side, and when turned to scope it, was a measly fish. With nothing to worry about with the usual behaviors of such lone fish, I continued on my way, with only after a ten-minute span noticing it was still there, following at the right. And upon the extended gaze, I took note of it, before once again turning away to finish the last hour of scouting. My head was less on the fish, and more on the prospect of getting an ok night's sleep that night.
Navy blue scales, with red accenting, thin eyes a brighter red, and the light coming from a circular esca -- a woman of a fish. The light was a dim yellow akin to a dying bulb, and projected a beautiful shimmer onto the crystal parts of myself. But that was nothing to worry about, because that fish would soon leave to find other fish again.
And for a little bit, it did, making my way home after that last hour, enjoying a quiet, beautiful Sugarteara, the only sound the waters, my motions, and whatever the insomniacs and partyheads were up to. My door of the sentinel dorm creaked more than the usual, and as I stepped in, below my lower crystal arm that held the door open, I felt a slight waterwind as something rushed by, before remaining static in the waters again, on the right side, observing.
It was that fish again. Must be very, very lost. And very tired as well, just like I was at that moment. With nothing to thought but the before-mentioned need to sleep, and a night's kinder heart than the day's idealized hero, I merely let it remain in my room at that time. It flew around my body a few times as I did those nightly preparations, sliding underneath blankets, and then, having chased itself circularly enough to make even the most motoric cookie seasick, swam itself into the edge of my bed.
What a lost, strange little thing it was, continuing to stare with such eyes. But the shape of the eyes had changed from the first time I had seen it, from the narrow, to a bright circle, like the esca. And my eyes were the opposite of the circle, but rather, closed tight, murmuring dreams, and forgetting an often-repeating superstition.