Sushi

The little guys didn’t stand a chance.

My co-worker swept the fish net through the tank. A lucky few swam fast enough to avoid it, but the majority got trapped in the mesh-like fabric. And there wasn’t any Finding Nemo mastery going on here. No working together to “swim down” and rip the net from the oppressor’s hands. No. These fish were lost, confused and pulled out of the water before they had time to hold their breath.

While struggling to breathe, the fish were transferred to the freezer bag I held in my hands. Their tiny fins beat against the plastic prison as they flip-flopped around, but there was no escaping. My co-worker picked up the acetone bottle, and squeezed its contents into the bag. And I stood by and watched as the acid snuffed out each tiny life.

They told me it was necessary. That there was no way I could take one of them home to safety.

They said it was humane. That the other option was to simply smack them against the wall.

But drowning in acetone is no way to die. And being thrown into bleach the next day isn't any better.

I can no longer hide from the truth of these actions.

I am an accomplice to fish murder. And I can never forgive myself.