I have never liked hairbrushes less than when one killed my fish- and with it, my acting career. Sure, our time on-screen was two minutes a week, but I felt like it could have been the start of something amazing. Rosie and I would have been successful, and now it was over.

The hairbrush was mine, but it was my older sister, Laura, who dropped it into the fish bowl- from two stories up. Rosie had been placed underneath the laundry chute, in her ‘break room’, where she lived when the camera wasn’t rolling. I found her entangled in the hairbrush’s bristles, her rare white scales gleaming. My screams could be heard all the way across the neighbouring lake.

“Rosie was a special fish,” began the speech I gave at her funeral, “not only because she was an albino fish, but because we had a connection. I think- I feel like she understood me. I know she was proud of our accomplishments, and of our casting in the Belleville Morning News Quirky Pets Segment. And now this marvel, this gift of a fish, is gone.”

The next few minutes of silence were not planned, rather the four people attending did not want to talk over my loud sobs. Laura was not one of those four people. I hadn’t talked to her since the Great Horror. I had gained a sneaking suspicion that the hairbrush-dropping was not an accident. It seemed like the perfect revenge. But for what?

I pondered this question for thirty nights… or thirty minutes. I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t process time without Rosie. All of our exploits were fading away into the past. Soon the adventures we’d had would be long forgotten. We would never rise to the top, the envy of the world.

And then it hit me. 

Laura was jealous of our success. I could tell because of her reactions to our sketches when they played on the TV. 

She said “Oh, cool,” one time. It doesn’t take a genius to work out the thinly veiled layers of jealousy in that phrase. She was just itching to replace us, and ready to do whatever it took to destroy our careers, including killing the one albino goldfish in all of Alabaster County. 

Another thought struck me. When I emailed her to tell her she wasn’t invited to the funeral, she responded with ‘K.’ Clearly she did not feel ‘K’! 

‘When will the lies end?’ I howled at her from two stories below her bedroom. 

I didn’t know how to respond to the obvious atrocities that had been committed in my very home! There was only one thing on my mind- revenge.

Laura had never had any pets, so she didn’t know what it was like to have one ripped away from you just as you began to bond with it. Soon she would feel a similar pain.

It was night, and very dark. It was the exact same type of night as when the Great Horror happened. Just thinking about it made me cry. I could barely reach Laura’s room without awakening her. She was probably sleeping peacefully, dreaming about perpetrating more nefarious deeds. Not anymore. She was going to learn from her mistakes. 

It was after I entered the room, paintbrush in hand, that I remembered that without light, I couldn’t see either. My awe-inspiring plan would fail, and I would be left to defend myself against a ruthless fish-murderer. There was no point in trying to paint ‘I KNOW WHAT YOU DID . . . hint: fish’ all over her favourite hoodies. It would surely turn into a worse mess than my attempt to follow a painting tutorial by Bob Ross. There would be zero happy little trees here. 

Disheartened, I turned to exit the room, when I heard Laura moving. With a voice that might’ve been a little too clear for a sleeping person, she said

“Sorry Rosie… I didn’t mean to…” 

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Maybe she knew I was there. Maybe she actually didn’t murder Rosie in cold blood, and felt regret for her actions. That meant that my plan for revenge was useless. But what if she was awake?

To be sure, I swiped the paintbrush full of white paint across her forehead, and then left before I could see her reaction. I still only communicate with her via email.