Sometimes I cry about things that I think other people wouldn't really care about. Like my pet fish dying. I have another fish, I should be fine. It's just a fish. It wouldn't have lived long anyway, right?
But the thing is, I don't think it didn't die of "old fish age." It died because it was neglected. It was starving. The water it was swimming in was probably not very clean. It was my fault it died.
You see, death is a rather touchy subject for me. I try to avoid thinking about it, because I break down whenever I do. What happens when you die? Where do you go? What if there is no heaven? Will I just be gone? What's the point of living if you just die in the end? Your memories, experiences, opinions, most of the things you did with your life, will they just fade away?
So knowing that something that was mine died because of me... I... I just don't know. And this isn't the first time it's happened. I had another fish, the same type. This fish was a replacement. Not only that, we were actually planning on selling the two fish and their fish tank and all their fishy supplies in a garage sale or something.
What I'm really afraid of is facing my mom about it. How am I supposed to tell her I neglected another animal? I just hope she's not mad at me or anything.
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