Gilgamesh. June 2007 - March 2010

I watched my fish die this morning.
He was no average fish.
Gilgamesh had lived with me since the summer of 2007. He followed my finger, he knew my face. He was stronger than any Beta, and had a personality that was distinct. I loved him as best a person who cannot hold their pet can.

I came downstairs from getting ready for work, and noticed him turned over in the corner, his gills fluttering, his head in the rocks. He saw me as I yelped "Gill!" and he valiantly tried to swim to the top of the tank. He was having a hard time turning over and I watched in vain as he continued to burst tiny amounts of all the energy he had left to come up for a bubble on the surface, to reach the food I vainly tried to help him with. I stood there in shock not knowing how to help, and knowing that I could do nothing, but be with him and cry for him as he slowly fell to the bottom. He couldn't turn over, so his head rested on the gravel, but he looked deeply into my eyes placed up against the glass as he flapped his fins holding onto the seconds he had left. We stared into each other one last time, and then he was a lifeless red shell.

I openly wept for my fish, and for watching him and not being able to help. I wept to see his little light go out, for all life is precious, and his was to me.

Long live Gilgamesh, Mesopotamian warrior fish.
Good bye Gilly.