Aquarium

Piped music embraced her as she entered the room. Filtered light reflected off the three large panes that surrounded her. She glanced around, the room was surprisingly spacious and completely void of furniture. She stared up, she could not see the ceiling in the dimly lit room, it must have been painted black. The faint murmurs of other occupants quietly broke through the music, not an intrusion but an underlying melody of sounds echoing around the comforting space. The room was tinged with hints of blue and green breaking through the dullness, occasionally a refraction of other colours would show as the movement within the glass toyed with the brightness, sending dust motes dancing across the vista on short lived beams of light.

She reached the centre and stares in front of her, seeking something on the other side of the glass. Her eyes adjust and are greeted with the most beautiful of sights. Ethereal, floating, kissed with a kaleidoscope of colour as the filtered light refracts off its body. She stares in wonder, the vista behind this impossible imp is limpid and silvery in comparison to its magnificence. She feels its gaze upon her, is she worthy of such attention from something so beautiful, so miraculous, so surreal.

Slowly she approaches the glass and reaches out a tentative finger. Her fascination approaches and a flitter of gossamer fins appears to stretch towards her. Acknowledging, inviting, tantalising, mesmerising, her concentration is broken with a tap on her shoulder. She turns it is him, why is he here, can he not see the connection between them is broken and she yearns for the freedom of the beauty that lies just on the other side of the glass.

She scowls at him as he grasps her hand, he is so dull dressed in his black pants and grey shirt. Uninspiring, demanding, the opposite of what she desires, what she needs, what she is. Can he not see they are opposites. He is a slug, and she is a bird of paradise. They are not suited, they never were, why does he not understand this. She pulls away and dashes to the corner of the room to escape him. Pressed against the glass, she glares at him across the room. He is unmoving, undeterred by her evasion, menacing, ominous, staring, waiting on her next move.

She glances behind her, and there over her shoulder it floats next to her in all its magnificence. She slowly turns to take in its spectacle again, as she shifts its eyes follow her slow movements. Locked in a moment together, they stare, a visual embrace, understanding, compassion, the veils of anger and fear subside. She calms, the piped music breaks through her thoughts and she begins to sway. Gentle movement back and forth. The creature’s phantom shape echoes her egress as she moves across the room. It follows, swaying, gliding, turning, and chasing, intrigued by her movement it quickens its pace moving across the glass to keep up with her.

She glances at him, he stares back, following her movement but not with compassion, love, or encouragement but with malice, annoyance, and hate. She turns her back on him, perhaps if she ignores him, he will go way. Him, the false fool, the simple boy, he demands of her to do what he wants, what he needs, she ignores him. He does not feel, he is a robot, bereft of passion, a poor reflection in a world that should be colour and light, freedom, and love. He does not understand her, he does not feed her needs, he wants her to be second fiddle to his victory and he strives in vain to catch her to bend her as a reed in the wind. He wants to chase her until she snaps like that reed.

Today she snapped, but not in the way he expected. He expected to possess her, expected her to comply, to conform, to break down and be compliant, but she is not. She is independent now, self-assured, she knows she can show him and anyone else she can be magnificent. She ignores his cowering demands as the attention of beauty behind the glass, something so simple, so intangible has finally confirmed to her what she has long known, she does not need him, she can be independent and succeed. How can he not see it, how can anyone not see it, when a creature of light, something so beautiful, embraced by fins of gossamer and scales of light. When such elegance finds her as fascinating as she finds it, how can they not see that she is worthy.

The music intensifies and she and she launches, dancing and prancing, leaping across the room. Filled with the joy and knowledge that all will know her strength and in this space her freedom will start.

The people in the room stare at her like she has lost her mind, but her friend behind the glass follows her. She glances periodically and sees it emulating her movements. Diaphanous fins float in a sea of blue and green flashes, as she moves around the darkness of the room. She feels its love, its fascination, its infatuation as it hurry’s to keep up with her. Moving from one pane to another so as they share their passionate dance.

She slows, tired. Tired by her dance, tired by the demands of him, tired by the stares of the occupants, tired by the darkness. Her confidence wains, why does the triumph not come, why doesn’t he just leave, why do the occupants stare, can’t they see. She is not even arousing the attention of the spectators as a spectacle worthy of social media; they look at her with a mix of disdain and disinterest.

Slowly she approaches the glass and raises her hand to touch it. Her delicate friend is there, floating as the filtered light scatters rainbows. A gossamer fin appears to reach towards her as she stares into its eyes. She calms, it is like looking into the universe, deep blackness surrounded by specks of light, greens, and blues. Everything is hints of greens and blues. She will be fine, these people are irrelevant, she knows that those who need to acknowledge her will and that soon he will be gone.

A shadow appears in the glass, dark, menacing. Like him but not him. It doesn’t float, it is like a dark solid cloud moving behind her friend. It approaches, determined stalking, the vision is clearing, coming into focus. Large, and grey with the small eyes of a predator its clenched teeth visible in anticipation. Closer, closer. Through her eyes she tries to convey her fear to her friend but her friend only stares back.

Suddenly, it is there, on her shoulder she is firmly turned by an intrusive hand “Miss Blake, this is supposed to be a pas de deux, not a solo, will you kindly stop staring at yourself in the mirrors and re-join Joel in the centre of the room.”