Sci-Fi Shorts

Of Fish and Men

"The head of a unicorn, sir? In your bed? And you're aware of the mythical, not to say non-existent nature of unicorns?"

"Of course I am, I'm not an idiot!"

There was a significant pause. "Of course not, sir. It's just that the stubborn refusal of unicorns to exist makes it difficult to know how to respond to your claims of having found the head of one in your bed."

"My claims! Are you saying I'm a liar?"

"Not as such, sir. Only that possibly you're mistaken. Could it perhaps have been a stuffed toy? A novelty pillow? Incidentally sir, have you taken any drugs in the last 24 hours, prescription or otherwise?"

Eric hung up. I don't need this. What a loser pleb. He had to get to work - those audits wouldn't conduct themselves. He'd sort out the unicorn head later.

Showered, shaved, shampooed and soy latte-ed, Eric was about to head out the door when with a sudden pang of guilt he remembered Eric Jr. The wretched unicorn had him so flustered he'd almost forgotten to feed his little buddy. Well, he'd soon sort that out.

He bustled over to the fish tank and popped the lid on the fish food. He decided he'd give his special amigo an extra large breakfast, to make up for criminally neglecting his piscine pal. Shake, shake, shake, what the hell? He stopped dead. Where was Eric Jr's Little Mermaid house? Where was Eric Jr's comical waving toy diver? More pressingly, where was Eric Jr? For that matter, where the hell was the water?

The only thing in the fish tank was a pile of what looked like ash. Or maybe dust. With a growing sense of horror, Eric leaned over for a closer look. The corner of a piece of paper protruded from the otherwise grey, featureless pile. Gingerly, Eric pulled it free. The note had two words on it. "Pixy Dust".

Eric felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead. He dropped the note and staggered back from the tank. No, no, no. Not Eric Jr. He was so pure, so innocent, so orange. He was the only one who truly understood me.

Heart racing, Eric began to hyperventilate. Air, I need air. He lurched over to the front door and reefed on the handle. It wouldn't open. What the? Desperately he rattled and pulled, but the door remained firmly shut.

Eventually, he gave up. He leaned his forehead against the door and tried to calm his breathing. Looking down at the floor he noticed something sticking out from under the door. With a sudden lurch of his heart he realised it was the corner of yet another note.

With trembling fingers, he retrieved it. The note had three letters on it. "LOL".

Sweating, terrified and most of all, confused, Eric stared at the note. What could it mean. LOL? There was nothing remotely funny about all of this. Although, if he really thought about it, maybe it was all just a little bit funny. Unicorn head in the bed? He chuckled. Fish dust? He laughed out loud.

Horrified, he clapped his hand to his mouth. How could he be laughing about the murder of his best bud? He was even more horrified when a stranger wearing a gas mask stepped out of his closet.

"Oh, don't stop LOL-ing, asshole." His voice was muffled by the mask. "You LOL it up good." The stranger was holding a cylinder attached to a hissing tube. He turned a knob on the cylinder and the hissing increased. "C'mon, laugh it up. Everyone knows Unicrons and Pixy Dust are super-funny."

Despite his best efforts, Eric giggled. "Who are you? What is that stuff?"

"Nitrous oxide, dickwad. Otherwise known as laughing gas. I thought a real LOL-ster like you might appreciate a bit of a chuckle. After all, you write such funny Wattpad comments."

Realisation dawned on Eric. He gave a mortified guffaw. "You read my comment, left your house, tracked down a mythical creature, beheaded it, acquired an industrial quantity of nitrous oxide, found my address, broke into my apartment, turned my fish into dust, put the unicorn head in my bed, locked me in and then gassed me - all because of a Wattpad comment?"

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous. How would I turn a goldfish into dust? I flushed your fish - the dust I got from your vacuum cleaner."

Eric chortled uncontrollably at this but managed to squeeze out, "And what now?"

"Now," said the stranger, advancing slowly towards Eric and drawing a gun from his pocket, "I kill you."

Eric stopped laughing. He retreated until his back came up against the locked door. The stranger pointed the gun at his face.

"P-p-p-please don't kill me. I'm sorry about the unicron thing. I'll write some good comments on your story, I p-p-promise."

The stranger laughed. "Ha! That's all I wanted to hear. I was just joking about the killing you thing." He gave Eric's face a good squirt with what turned out to be a water pistol. "No hard feelings?"

Eric absorbed this. The nitrous oxide levels in his brain continued to increase. He smiled. He chuckled. He laughed. And laughed. Louder and deeper and longer. He laughed and laughed and laughed.

Then his heart gave out and he dropped dead, the police arrived to investigate the unicorn head in the bed and the stranger was arrested, convicted of murder and sentenced to 20 years.

Eric Jr, on the other hand, had a fabulous time living it up in the sewers, grew to be 6 feet long and developed a taste for rats and hobos.

A/N - The section below is an alternate ending, written for a bonus round.

As Eric Jr's body grew bigger and bigger, his brain grew along with it. He began to have strange thoughts.

I swim therefore I am.

To be or not to be?

That last hobo tasted like cheetos.

Gradually, as his mental powers increased, he became dissatisfied with his life in the sewers. He began to think back to the halcyon days of yore, those carefree days when he was a little sardine swimming blissfully in the tank of his childhood. Simple days when the hoboes came dried and powdered and fell from the sky, without all that messy thrashing and biting and decapitating.

He thought wistfully of his former owner. He remembered his happy smile as he dispensed the dried hobo. He wondered how he would have tasted.

He thought about his Little Mermaid House, with the smiling Little Mermaid painted on the roof. She sure was a nice piece of tail.

Most of all, he thought about his old friend, the diver. Every time Eric Jr swam around the tank, there he was with his friendly wave. Every single time, without fail. You could really rely on a friend like that.

That's what's missing in my life, thought Eric. I need a friend. A friend just like the diver.

Eric began to search the sewers. The hoboes were plentiful but the divers were few. Further and further he searched, until one day he reached the sea. Jackpot.

Or at least, so he thought. None of the divers were quite right, though. But, thought Eric as he gulped down another one, I'll keep looking until I find him. Friendship is worth the effort.