Buzzing

In the middle of REM sleep, the fish started buzzing.

It was my phone alarm, beeping incessantly as it tore me away from the neon lights of the aquarium glass. It was always hot in my dreams, with humid air from jungle canopies blowing over warm ocean. In these nightly escapades, I was a fish with bleak scales. At the end of the dream, I was always eaten by some ferocious whale with rounded teeth.

Beep.

Beep.

It was 6:02 am.

Someone must have seen me, because there was a loud knock at my door to accompany the alarm. With groggy eyelids covering my vision, I couldn't bear to move much from my bed. I bought sheets every month, rinsed them in hot water after the intial wash, and introduced them to the sterile paradise that is my room. I washed these sheets 7 times this week, precisely. Soon enough, they will be replaced.

Before turning to my closet, I tapped on the wooden nightstand 34 times exactly. To prevent my routine from being destroyed by the unexpected visitor, I touched the acrylic surface of my painting 15 times. For each brushstroke of the woman dancing in the picture.

The knocking grew even louder.

"Mr. Wilkson?" a mans voice echoed as the remnant scuttles of jackets muffled the attempt to clear his throat.

"Open the door, Mr. Wilkson."

More shuffling.

NYPD.

BANG.

The door was going to cave in.

For several years, I would visit aquariums and stay until the last employees left for the night. It was a routine practice, until I noticed something strange. The fish in the aqauriums at night would start to speak. They would have numerous conversations about the humans who came, and I would sit to listen. They only did this after hours, to keep their secrets tight between those fragile gills.

Time was twisting around, and all I saw were oceans. Blue and black uniform colors surrounded me, shouting, yelling. Those silver metal cuffs took away my hands. I tried to count backwards, to take me back into this space of open water, but nothing could be done. All I could see were red and blue flashing lights, the drooping faces of concerned neighbors, and my mister oat wheats cereal from the night before in shambles on the ground.

I am scared, and I can't move. The fish swim faster and faster, and I feel like I am going to pass out.

What have I done?

--

"Mr. Wilkson, my name is Detective Sanders. I'm here with NYPD. Do you know where you are? Can you explain to me any ideas you have about why you are here?"

Waking up from what seemed like an endless daydream, I shook my head no.

"There were photographs taken from security footage at the Midtown Aquarium." Sanders raised an eyebrow at his other colleagues, who stood across the way in a mirror that separated us from the world.

"What photos?" I asked, shaking as I started at my orange pants and realizing where I really was. My teeth began to chatter, and I was losing control.

"It seems as though they caught you sleeping in the aquariums at night."

"In...?"

One. two. three. four...

"Yes, IN the aquariums. Somehow, you were sleeping underwater. They found you in the pool with the stingrays. I will say, Mr. Wilkson, this is pretty bizarre. I'm not sure how you ended up there or got past security. But the real reason we are here is to discuss the consistent disappearances of the aquariums rarest fish species. Every time you are there, Mr. Wilkson, a very expensive fish goes missing. Do you know anything about this?"

"No...I..."

Unfortunately, to my utter embarrassment, I let a few tears fall in cascades to the metal table.

"I really am sorry, I am not sure what is going on. I just felt at home, and I thought they were dreams...so I..."

Sanders paused, shaking his head and giving me the longest sigh I had ever heard.

"Mr. Wilkson, it says on your record that you have a history of hospital admittances for panic attacks related to your OCD. Is that true?"

"Well, yes. But I..."

Once again, the tears formed in pools around the corners of my eyes.

"Do you realize you have stolen 6 fish? The Flowerhorn Cichlid species? Their value is around $600,000 each. Now for someone like yourself, it seems like life changing money."

All I could think about was the slow movement of the schools of fish and the turtle that would hover above the walkways.

"Detective, sir...I really didn't steal. I just liked to be at the aquarium by myself, honestly this is a big misunderstanding."

Sanders sighed again. "Lets discuss this in the morning, huh kid?"

---

Nightfall in the cell began, and I saw that it filled with water. There was a soft buzz that fell in conjunction with the clang of doors opening and closing.

Scales grew on me once more, and I became the lowly bleak fish. Without my alarm, I was awoken by the guard.

Though this time, I noticed scales instead of nails. In the stark white light, they now gave off a low glow.

One, two, three...

--

"Mr. Wilkson, somehow the footage and our documents... have been erased from our records. The fish never left, and they were reported to be present at the aquarium exhibits. I'm not sure what is going on here, but I can't hold you without physical evidence."

Maybe the fish knew something I did not.