The Tilapia

Mother doesn’t like it when we go into the Sphere's basement, but the thumps, they wouldn’t stop.

The Spheres are our home, transparent structures bobbing around in the middle of the ocean, stabilised by gyroscopic bases so that our freshly caught Tilapia does not fall off of our plates, and back towards the ocean.

The Spheres have three levels. The top level, has the kitchen and lounge. The countertops are Pepto Bismol Pink, wrapping seamlessly around the spheres curved edge; which does not quite feel like glass, nor plastic, but like that of an eel’s skin. The tiles upon the floor are black and white and often times I notice my cat Sampson licking between them. 

Mother is messy when it comes to gutting the Tilapia, their scales sometimes sticking to the ceiling as she flicks the scales off, causing them to fall upon me at random moments. Perhaps it’s good luck, like when a butterfly lands on you. After hearing about the Tilapia poisoning someone, I had not been so keen to eat it, its lifeless eyes staring up at me as if it knew that it might hurt me, waiting for me to spoon its tender flesh into my mouth, as the candle between me and my mother flickered, growing ever bigger, as I hesitated to stick my fork into it, the candle forging shadows that sat upon the empty blue chairs that surrounded the pink plastic table. 

“Bad things will happen if you don’t eat the Tilapia,” Mother said. 

How stupid.

I spooned the fish into my mouth, as my mother watched, feeding most of it to my dressing gown pocket when she unlocked her eyes from me. I had done this for the past few nights.

We don’t have a television, we just watch as the waves move about at feet level, the deep blue jaggedness moving up against our sphere. There are hundreds of other spheres that I can see when I look outside. Beside us I can see our elderly neighbour, Carol, perched atop her sphere. She paid extra for a balcony, that wraps around the dome. It has a white picket fence around it to prevent falls, although, it is only ankle height so I am not sure if it’s sufficient. Carol intertwines kelp – that she braids, adding flowers from her garden – through the pickets, and as I watch her from my purple couch that is in the shape of a sea cucumber, she waves at me, Carol’s grey curls getting tousled by the ocean breeze.

I smile and wave, the skin at either side of my mouth feeling as if it’s being forcibly stretched, my heart racing. Every time she steps onto that balcony, I am worried she may topple into the murky depths below, and perhaps I will be blamed for her demise, for I was the one she was waving to. 

Sometimes I hear purposeful taps against the sphere when I am on the second level in my bed, like something is trying to get me to come outside, dive beneath the waves. Mother says it is just the gyroscope adjusting, but I know what that sounds like and this is different.

I usually try to ignore it, pulling my curtains across, stopping me from staring out into the dark waters, that even in daytime remain unlit. It’s as if the algae, that leaves its green residue around the top level has grown so much that light cannot get through. Every night it gets louder, and my mother does not seem to awake, the flickering fairy lights around her bed must have hypnotised her into staying asleep, perhaps whatever is tapping against our sphere is somehow controlling them. No that is ridiculous, I told myself taking in a deep breath of the sea air that filters in through holes in the top of our sphere, before closing my eyes, my heart beat vibrating throughout my water bed, it rippling against my body, like the waves against our sphere.

One night I decided to attempt to find the source of the sound; functioning on three hours of sleep, awaking to the tapping, wondering what it could be. Was it a shark? Was it Carol stuck beneath the waves trying to get my attention? No! I had seen Carol earlier that day, and the tapping had begun days prior, I told myself.

The clock hit 9PM and my mother stood at the end of my bed, her face covered in green sludge.

“Goodnight, I will come and check on you as always,” my mother said before switching my light off, the lights soft glow slowly diminishing.

Mother never checked on me? What was she talking about? The only things that would check up on me throughout the night were the fireflies that had gotten in through the tiny air gaps, their glowing tails dotted throughout my room, before they flew back outside leaving me be.

I watched as she shut my door; the white oval door with a little port hole in the middle that bulged outwards, one that warped my face when I looked out of it.

I leant back against my curtains, the cold ocean water pressed against the sphere, chilling my spine. There was silence apart from Sampson purring at the end of my bed and the thumping from below. I convinced myself, that night, I would find the source of those thumps. I slipped my socks on and picked up the flashlight upon my nightstand, before heading towards the door, peering out into the corridor, where my mother lay in her bed; the fairy lights glowing upon her purple satin eye mask, as her curtains remained open, the lights twinkling across the ‘eel’s’ skin. Her room did not have a door, and I did not know how she stayed warm as the night air would be rather harsh, swirling chills throughout the sphere, but yet she lay there in her silk pyjamas, beneath her comforter that held her down onto her bed. 

I pulled the door handle down, the breeze flooding over my feet as it opened.

I stepped into the corridor, where one set of stairs led up to level 1; they were moonlit, their white surfaces like that of the pearls we would sometimes get when we opened up our monthly oysters. In the opposite direction was the door that led to the basement, where I would find Carol, because I had not seen her for two days I thought to myself, and what if the taps prior to me seeing her the other day on her balcony were just a coincidence, what if she really was down there now?

No, it wasn’t Carol down there I thought. What if my real mother was down there? Thinking about it I realised that my mother had been acting out of the ordinary, she never used to stare at me while I ate, her eyes wide like that of the fish upon my plate. She certainly never checked on me at night, so perhaps my mother had been replaced. 

My mother had been replaced.

I watched as my faux mother’s chest rose and fell, her artificial lungs working hard to commit to the illusion of someone real, keeping my eyes on her as I backed towards the basement door, while my heart was skipping beats.

My tailbone hit the door handle to the basement door, my eyes still fixated on the imposter in my mothers bed. I pushed the handle down, while still not moving my eyes from their position.

As the door opened, the smell of decaying fish tangled itself in my nose, as if it was a net catching the putrid aroma. I knew the fish were bad all along. I stepped onto the first step, the step translucent like that of ice, it forming cracks upon its surface. I continued on despite the danger of getting trapped, closing the door behind me, flicking on my flashlight, that begun to attract particles of dust as if they were miniscule moths. Thump. Thump. Thump. My mother was calling for help, perhaps the smell of fish was making it so she could not speak, making it so she held her breath.

Every step I took I felt cracking beneath me. I held my breath until I reached the bottom, as if it may stop them shattering. As I moved my flashlight around, it reflected off the sphere, the darkness beyond its walls remaining static. In the circular room I was in I could see nothing, and as I looked down I realised I was a hairs width away from falling to the bottom of the sphere, for there was not a floor across it, but a ledge about a foot wide. I stepped onto it, the steps behind me shattering as I did so. I was now trapped unless I awoke my mother.

I had to find my real one, perhaps then she would help me, for the fake one might have locked the door behind me and left me in the dark basement forever.

I pressed my back against the curved wall, my head spinning as I looked down into the darkness, the thumping echoing up from the depths. I could almost feel them upon my skin, like heavy hands. I made my way around the ledge, not sure what to do next. My mother was at the bottom, and she was still thumping.

My flashlight illuminated a ladder that led into the depths, slowly engulfed by the shadows that filled the basin of the sphere. Its plastic yellow rungs were spiral shaped, and I did not know how I was to step down it without it hurting the soles of my feet.

I have to find my mother, it won’t hurt until morning, when it will bruise.

I stepped upon the twisting rungs, my feet struggling to grip onto the slippery surface and I made my way down, my fingers almost getting stuck between the gaps in the spirals.

“I’m coming mom,” I whispered as I continued down, the air becoming increasingly cold around me, my flashlight flickering on and off. My palms became sweaty, lubricating the ladders surface, making it harder to grip.

As I looked up I realised how far I had already gone, the ladder disappearing into a singular point above me. 

I have to keep going, I’ve gone too far to go back now.

My feet soon met the bottom of the ladder, and when I stepped off the last rung I slipped down the spheres curve into the pit, my hands pushing up against the rubbery wall to try and stop myself falling, my fingers losing their grip around my flashlight which tumbled to the bottom, the light pulsating like a struggling heart, before it ceased, and I was in pitch black darkness.

“Mom, keep thumping, I will try and find you,” I said before crawling inside the pit, the freezing surface causing all my warmth to run inside to my core, leaving my fingers numb as I tried to find the source of the thumping that seemed to be all around me. Ding. Ding. Ding. The sound of the clock chiming midnight echoed down to the bottom of the pit, melding with the thumps, making it feel like my brain was shivering, like the rest of my body. 

As I felt around in the darkness, my mother not responding to my words, my flashlight turned back on illuminating the floor that I was crawling upon. Trapped within the walls was my mother, her eyes bloodshot and wide, her fist thumping at the wall, slowing down as her breath misted the surface. Around her was rotting fish, their skeletons peaking out from behind the holes in their skin, while their eyes writhed around from the beasts that were devouring them from the inside out.

Why was she in there, how was she in there?

I clawed at the stubborn surface, my nails not doing anything to get at her. Then, from above me, the sound of the basement door opening halted me in my quest to save my mother, my fingers sore now. I heard creaking as someone walked across the ledge that was above me, the clattering as their feet stepped upon the ladder. My breath formed clouds in the air as I breathed out, and I covered my mouth with my hand, watching as the ladder moved. I moved backwards out of the flashlights gaze, hiding myself in the shadows.

I saw her lifeless eyes, her eye mask upon her head, her blonde hair floating like cobwebs as she stepped off the ladder and slid into the pit, as if she had done it before. My fake mother. She stepped towards the light looking down at my real mother. She bent down and placed her fingers around the flashlight, her nails tapping across its metallic ribs, before picking it up and abruptly pointing it in my direction, her head turning simultaneously. I gasped, as she stared at me, ceasing to blink, her mouth forming into a smile that bore her teeth, stretching the skin as far as it could.

“Please, why have you trapped my mother?”

She hobbled towards me, before sitting down in front of me, putting her hand in her dressing gown pocket, and pulling out a Tilapia, handing it to me, its skin falling off the bones as it rapidly decayed in front of me.

“Get away from me! You are trying to poison me! You took away my mother from me!”

“Sampson does not mind it, and it does not poison him,” she said as Sampson’s black and white fur appeared from underneath her blonde locks, jumping down and rubbing himself against my legs.

“Sampson would not eat that, he knows it's poison!” I yelled as I cradled Sampson in my arms.

My fake mother held the fish closer to us, and Sampson squirmed in my arms before lurching forward and grabbing hold of the Tilapia between his teeth, swallowing it in one go. The squelches as he chewed it made me feel sick, how could he want to eat such a thing?

“It’s okay, I have another, maybe you will realise it is best to listen to me, perhaps then your mother will be set free,” she said as she pulled yet another fish from her pocket. Sampson jumped down and took the fish in his mouth, presenting it to me, his eyes looking up at me, as he placed his paw upon my knees.

Why was Sampson working with the imposter? If I ate this fish I could die, then my mother would never be freed, but then again, I trust Sampson, he would never hurt me.

His deep brown eyes were as wide as hers, but they were not sinister; I could trust them, they were what comforted me when I was down, so I took the fish from his mouth, bits flaking off as I brought it closer, the smell scraping at my nose. 

I stared at the fish in my hand, contemplating whether to taste its poisonous flesh. Sampson licked my exposed ankles, and that’s when she pushed the fish into my mouth, pushing it down into my gullet, her whole hand inside my mouth. I struggled, grabbing at her arm, but Sampson placed his soft paw on my arm, holding it down, as the flesh worked its way down into my stomach, the taste of which like burning plastic. She removed her hand from inside my mouth and retreated away- dropping the flashlight - before falling through the floor above where my real mother was, like she was a ghost. I scrambled over to where she fell, and I picked the light up pointing it to where I had seen my trapped mother earlier. She had gone, and so had the fish. I stood up trying to see where Sampson was but he seemed to have disappeared also.

I ran towards the ladder, but that too had vanished, and I was on flat floor again, in front of the stairs to level 2; stairs that were now wooden. The pit that was beneath me before, gone, just a basement with Tilapia and other kinds of fish swimming around in tanks, bubbles rising to the surface.

I no longer was worried about the fake mother. The memory of her suddenly faint, a mist in comparison to her thick presence moments before. How curious. 

I exited the basement and as I passed my mothers bedroom, I could see splinters of light pushing through the oceans surface; it was light blue and so clear I could see the kelp swaying in its midst, I could see the bottom of Carol’s Sphere, and she waved to me as she brushed her teeth. 

It is already morning, the night has already slipped away?

I made my way up to level 1, where my mother was gutting Tilapia, albeit not as vigorous as she used to. The clock read 6AM. I sat at the breakfast table which now was wooden, the countertops now marbled white, a nice change from the bright pink. I nodded at my siblings that sat around the table, all in the same blue cordless robe that I was wearing, apart from my best friend who always wore his black and white one. 

As I looked out the glass sphere I noticed that we were a lot closer to land than we were yesterday, I could see the city buildings now, and the blurred green outlines of the trees. My mother placed down our plates of Tilapia, and we ate it. That night I could still hear the thumping, but I knew it was just the gyroscope. 

I should have believed Mother when she told me that bad things would happen if I didn’t eat my Tilapia.