He and I are the Same

I stare into the glass and, like a mirror, it reflects my image back to me. I see a little fish, no different than I, trapped between walls. No way of escape. I see his longing eyes, hoping only for something more than another lap of the familiar. I see his loneliness. Though other fish just like him swarm the tank, never thinking twice about their existence, he has no one to give him any comfort. I see his age. He isn’t old, but his days are fleeing. Just a blink of his eye and they’ll all be spent with nothing to show. I see his past. Orphaned as they stripped him away from home. I see his future. A cage. Set in a display room to be observed for other peoples’ pleasure. I see the entirety of his life. And he and I are the same.

They tell him its safer in here. They tell me the same. They say there are sharks out there in the ocean to hunt him like prey. They tell me ruthless things will track me down. They tell him men wait by to reel him in for dinner. They tell me I’ll be caught up in raging war. They tell him he will always be struggling to find his next meal. They tell me I’ll never be secure. We’ll never be happy outside. Never be safe. Always fearful. Always close to death. They tell him to be grateful for what he has. They tell me to thank them for what they’ve provided. He knows he doesn’t belong. I know we’re the same.

I remember the day they took me inside this city. A small child handed over by his weeping mother as they promised her baby a better life. I entered their walls and stood amazed, and for a while my past lingered behind, but reality settles in for those who think for themselves. They erected the walls to keep us in, and no one ever gets out. They give us jobs and we make our livings, they put on their circuses and give us bread, and most are entertained, but some wish for true purpose. They are always watching us, controlling our lives from their distant towers. They see us as nothing more than little fish swimming in circles around their bowls. I had friends once, who like me spoke of their longing to be free, but one by one they disappeared. I learned to be silent so I wouldn’t be flushed.

And here I am in an aquarium, sitting silent but thoughts are roaring in my head. I stare at a fish that is staring right back at me, imagining that he and I are the same. No…I know he and I are the same. Every time I come here I see the same fish. The same set of eyes locked right back on my own. I sense the same longing to be free. As I look with pity down on him, I only wonder if one man from his high tower is looking down on me with the same pity.

I stand up from the bench and take a deep breath. The fish follows me up with his eyes, waiting for me to whisper to him, “Goodbye.” But this time I have different words:

“Is death worth the cost of freedom?”

His eyes grow and if he could shed a tear he would, but I can see his answer clearly: “Freedom is worth the cost.” I nod my head slowly and shed my own tear.

Then I pull a metal rod out of my bag and with one large swing I shatter the glass. The water and fish all flood out onto the floor. The alarms begin to ring and the whole aquarium goes into a panic. I quickly grab my now-soaking belongings and begin to walk away, but stop with one last hesitation. I look back and see a hundred fish flopping across the surface of the floor, but lying still in a wet puddle was my bright red fish still staring at me. I read his eyes. I see peace.

I turn and rush out of the building.

“He and I are the same.” I whisper to myself.

“He and I are the same.” But am I really sure?

“He and I are the same.” I know it.

I am ready to pay the cost of freedom.

“He and I are the same.”