Ghost Story

As thunder rumbles outside and lightning flashes, I am writing a ghost story, or rather a story about Ghost. Ghost is a small, white domestic fish who lives in the aquarium in the Library. For as long as I remember, Ghost, like the other domestic fish, entertain and soothe patrons who would peer through the glass as they enter the Library. Recently, Ghost is looking a little pale, even for him. He hangs out by the bottom of the tank and swims vertically. We notice something is wrong, but just watch. Patrons are concerned about Ghost and this Monday, Ghost is ashen. What is very sweet is that other fin children in the Library tank seem to swim and huddle around Ghost like they are protecting him. In rougher fish tanks, I have seen fish start eating the sick one even before the gills stop moving. Darwin in action, I suppose. Before staff starts to pull out the net and scoop Ghost out of the tank and into the big flush, I abate the process and insist that Ghost lives. So we compromise. Staff places Ghost into a small fishbowl with warm water, a little food, and puts him in the fish hospital. (My office). Ghost lives for three days in my office. Today, on Wednesday, July 2, @ 4:50 p.m., Ghost gives his last hurrah by swimming crazily in the bowl, goes belly up, and sinks to the bottom. Staff carries Ghost in the bowl and sends him to the porcelain gods in the sky as I hum "Taps". It was a beautiful 30-second service. The End. Literally.