Owner, Jailer

“Does it have a name?” James asked.

“Finley,” Tobias said, and sprinkled a few flakes on the surface of the water.

Finley, all blazing blue and violet tail and fins, swam a swift flurry of a circle, trying to chase down his food.

James, sprawled across his bed with a copy of Waiting For Godot open on his lap, shook his head, amused. “Doesn’t it realize it should just wait till the food drops beneath the surface?”

Tobias closed the jar of fish food and sat back. “Finley’s a fish, not a genius. If it amuses him to swim like that, I won’t deny him the pleasure.”

“You’re such an accommodating owner,” James said, and then he turned back to his script, studying the lines, imagining tone and inflection and gestures.

Tobias peered in the bowl at Finley, and he knew he wasn’t an accommodating owner as much as jailer.

(150 words)