Rafayel

“Did you hear something, Mr. Fishy? Must be the wind.” his voice was childlike, his pout deepening as he watched the tiny goldfish swim.

He continued painting, pretending not to notice, though his glances from the corner of his eye said otherwise.

Mr. Fishy swam in lazy circles, oblivious. Rafayel sighed dramatically. “Some people just forget birthdays, huh, Mr. Fishy? So tragic.”