Through the Glass

Peering through the aquarium's glass is like looking into another world. Everything is dowsed in blue ripples, with mysterious creatures shuffling by in crowds. It's beautiful and alien, and it captivates me entirely, allowing my mind to escape the monotony of a life stuck in senseless repetition. Yet, the enjoyment I get from the experience is always tainted by pity, and I find myself wondering if those creatures, those gorgeous, colourful beings, have any idea they're trapped, and if they did, would they care?

My time spent looking through the glass is often consumed by wild comparisons between my life and the lives of those strange creatures. While one side may be a physical prison made of water and sand, the other, in my opinion, provides its occupants with even less freedom; able to go anywhere, but belonging nowhere. I used to think I prefered my side of the glass, but if I'm honest, a part of me hasn't been so sure lately.

I feel her gaze before I see it, but when I do, everything else around us becomes irrelevant. She's motionless, seemingly floating there just a few centimetres from the other side of the glass. The way the light reflects off her body makes her glimmer like a precious jewel. Her face is wounded, and the area around her left eye is swollen and discoloured; a physical reminder of the brutality of her world; a world that beats its disciples into submission. I suppose in that sense, our worlds aren't so different. We're both forever stuck in that hopeless pursuit of an ecological advantage that will allow us to thrive. The only difference is, one of our worlds is in denial about it.

I stare at her curiously. It wasn't her body that had captured my attention in the first place, it was her eyes; those sad, dark, green eyes. They tell a story of hardship, of violence and suffering. She's lost something, although it's not entirely clear as to what. Her children? Her freedom? Her sense of self? The answer evades me, which only piques my interest more. Perhaps it's a combination.

As we continue to stare at one another, I begin to wonder what she thinks of me; am I ugly and bland? Am I scary? Strange? Peculiar? Does she envy me or pity me? If we were to swap places, would she be happier or would I? I allow these questions to occupy my mind for a moment, teasing at the answers I know I'll never have.

The silhouette of a much larger being appears behind her, but she barely reacts when it nudges her to the side. Was it a threat or a loving gesture? Perhaps both, or even worse: the first under the guise as the latter. Regardless, her expression says it all, and I can tell she wants nothing more than to swim away into a vast and expansive ocean, or at the very least, to melt away into one of the colourful corals that surround us. But she can't. Instead, she's trapped here, and the realisation is suffocating her.

I come to the conclusion that this larger being is, at the very least, a mate. They hover there for a moment as he embraces her, but her eyes are still locked with mine, and for the first time I have a concrete answer to one of my questions. She would be happier here, on this side of the glass, even if she couldn't breathe, because her dark green eyes are telling me she'd rather be anywhere else right now, and from the look on her face, from that wound, and that empty expression, I can tell she's been holding her breath her whole life.

After another moment, he nudges her away from the glass once more, and she begrudgingly obeys. I exchange one last pitiful gaze with her before she turns and walks with her captor towards the exit. His hand, which is sternly placed upon her waist, guides her ever step of the way. It may as well have been a gun pressed to her back. A few seconds later, they're gone. Renewed with newfound confidence and a sense of relief, I swim onwards, knowing I'm freer than she has ever been, and grateful to exist on this side of the glass.