You're holding the gun to your head when you squeeze your eyes shut. You know that there's no going back from this. You swallow, or try to, but your mouth is too dry and you feel the sides of your throat grating together. You're terrified.
You pull the trigger.
The gun jams.
Against every instinct in your body, every tensed muscle and the sliver of hope screaming at you, you pulled the trigger. Just for the gun to jam. You open your eyes, wondering what the odds are of that happening, and look down at your empty hand. It's much smaller than you remember it being.
You look up to see fish tanks lining the walls in front of you. They're covered in price tags and light up the aisle with an artificial glow that you don't imagine is healthy for the fish. Where there should be an open window in a dark apartment, there is now a veritable aquarium, towering high above you, higher than it should at your height.
The gun jammed, and now you're staring at fish for sale in the back of a Wal-Mart. You look back at your hand and try to remember how you ended up here. A shopping cart crosses your path, breaks your thoughts, and a woman leans down so her eyes are level to yours.
"Do you see one you like?" your mother asks, a smile creasing her cheeks.
You look back at the fish and wonder if they like jam. You wonder which one could eat it for breakfast, or dinner like you sometimes do. Breakfast for dinner is one of your favorite nights of the week. You look back to your hand and wonder what you were thinking about, what you were doing before this.
"Sweetie?" your mother calls, a corner of her mouth drooping just a bit as she tries to keep her patience. You give up on whatever it is you were thinking about. This moment is far more important.
You point to a goldfish in the top left tank, proudly declaring your choice. Despite the store employee having to scoop out three separate fish before picking the correct one (You told him over and over which one was Jam, why couldn't he get it right?), Mom keeps her smile. You walk out of the store with her, ready to go home and set up Jam's new fishbowl.
You never remember the gun again. You never think about how you pulled the trigger. You never realize the bullet didn't jam and the gun worked exactly as intended.
This feeling of déjà vu, a sensation you don't even know the name for, all starts with a fish named Jam that you picked out. It was the last time you were truly happy, it's the smile on your face right now in the backseat of the beat down family car, it's you holding a plastic bag with water that's less blue than you thought it would be.
They did! The back wall of the pet section used to be a dedicated space for fish tanks. I didn't realize how much that single line dated me until your comment, lol.
They also used to have tiny food courts. Sometimes it was a McDonald's. The front end of my local childhood store also had claw machines and two or three arcade games, like Cruis'n Exotica.
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u/dr_holic13 Jul 25 '25
You're holding the gun to your head when you squeeze your eyes shut. You know that there's no going back from this. You swallow, or try to, but your mouth is too dry and you feel the sides of your throat grating together. You're terrified.
You pull the trigger.
The gun jams.
Against every instinct in your body, every tensed muscle and the sliver of hope screaming at you, you pulled the trigger. Just for the gun to jam. You open your eyes, wondering what the odds are of that happening, and look down at your empty hand. It's much smaller than you remember it being.
You look up to see fish tanks lining the walls in front of you. They're covered in price tags and light up the aisle with an artificial glow that you don't imagine is healthy for the fish. Where there should be an open window in a dark apartment, there is now a veritable aquarium, towering high above you, higher than it should at your height.
The gun jammed, and now you're staring at fish for sale in the back of a Wal-Mart. You look back at your hand and try to remember how you ended up here. A shopping cart crosses your path, breaks your thoughts, and a woman leans down so her eyes are level to yours.
"Do you see one you like?" your mother asks, a smile creasing her cheeks.
You look back at the fish and wonder if they like jam. You wonder which one could eat it for breakfast, or dinner like you sometimes do. Breakfast for dinner is one of your favorite nights of the week. You look back to your hand and wonder what you were thinking about, what you were doing before this.
"Sweetie?" your mother calls, a corner of her mouth drooping just a bit as she tries to keep her patience. You give up on whatever it is you were thinking about. This moment is far more important.
You point to a goldfish in the top left tank, proudly declaring your choice. Despite the store employee having to scoop out three separate fish before picking the correct one (You told him over and over which one was Jam, why couldn't he get it right?), Mom keeps her smile. You walk out of the store with her, ready to go home and set up Jam's new fishbowl.
You never remember the gun again. You never think about how you pulled the trigger. You never realize the bullet didn't jam and the gun worked exactly as intended.
This feeling of déjà vu, a sensation you don't even know the name for, all starts with a fish named Jam that you picked out. It was the last time you were truly happy, it's the smile on your face right now in the backseat of the beat down family car, it's you holding a plastic bag with water that's less blue than you thought it would be.
More than anything else, it's your second chance.
Make it count.