Charlie sat in the booth and imagined that he was color blind. The fish and chips turned an electric orange. The table reflected an orange ceiling. “Here’s your check sir,” said the orange waitress. Charlie thanked her, told her she looked nice and asked for her number. She exited.

Charlie chewed his straw for several more minutes before paying with a neon Benny Franklin.

When he stepped outside he had gone deaf. There were no cars. The Rockies judged him from across the highway, their peaks tipped in cadmium snow. It was so quiet, it was like being underwater. Like a fish tank. Those vultures could be halibut in disguise. The snowflakes, salt in the water. Charlie considered the implications. Should he hold his breath?

He sat on a bench and puffed out his cheeks. The sun began to set and orange turned to blue. Charlie felt light headed. His eyelids did flutter kicks. He wondered if he was witnessing the Rapture, if he was the last man left on aquarium earth. The longer he went without seeing anyone the more reasonable this seemed. He prayed to God and crossed himself. He thanked his mother for raising him to be good and making him take swim lessons when he was four. It grew cold and blue turned to pink. Charlie felt lower and lower as he thought about all the people he would never see again. He contemplated opening his mouth and letting the salmon sheets of water fill his body.

This would kill him. He would puff up like a hot air balloon and float to heaven, somewhere above the filter at the top of the tank. He was about to do it, when the waitress from the restaurant walked by, giggling into a cell phone. Pockets of air slipped from her lips. She was going to drown. Hot pink lights shone down from the restaurant window.

Charlie’s heart hit his chest. He had to tell her. The Rapture, the Rapture. He didn’t want to be alone.

Charlie clenched his teeth and took three airless gulps. Getting up from the bench took everything he had. He walked to her and tapped her shoulder. She turned to him.

“You should get out of here before my manager comes,” she said, putting away her cell phone, “He says you’re scaring the customers.”

--------------------------------------------------------

Most household goldfish live about 10 months. They swim in circles. Some goldfish don’t realize they’re trapped and spend their days barreling head first into the glass.