The fish were a sign

My fish died today. Both of them. I never named them because I couldn't tell them apart so they were just "the fish". I found them dead this morning, which brings up some interesting questions: Did they die at the same time? Did one of them die first, prompting the other say "O happy dagger" and end it? Was it a bowl-shattering domestic dispute that ended in a murder suicide?

Or was it just me, neglecting the fish?

I'm not suited for the whole responsibility thing. At first, I'm pretty good, taking care of the fish on a daily basis. Changing things up like the water on a weekly basis. And then for some reason, more often than not because I'm simply bored of it, I forget a feeding. A mossy coating soon lines the bowl, as if protecting the fish from suicidal tendencies.

I'm not heartless so I do occasionally come back and feed the fish, maybe not as neatly as I did before, maybe not counting out pinches and waiting around to watch them eat. Do fish choke?

Well, I completely blame myself. No fish deserves to die like this. Not through neglect. Maybe an unfortunate accident off the credenza or a predatory swipe by a visiting feline. That's the way to go.

Alas though, I am helpless against the dark cloaked one. The fish are gone.

I miss them.