ORIGIN: The fish is called siganus vulpinus. But our mirror must be misty because we don’t see the resemblance to a fox.
I am very particular about the words I use. There is no such thing as a red fox. Sunsets aren’t my benchmark, blood is. I know what my face looks like in the mirror, and you won’t find any fish swimming there. I detest comparisons. However, if you are hell-bent on bestowing my name on someone else, at least make sure it’s an all-or-nothing type of likeness.
Thoughts are weightless, they don’t amount to anything. Actions are what define a name, the mark we leave on the world. Someone once told me that foxes have black legs to drink in sunlight and stay warm. I have also heard that blood doesn’t show on dark clothing. Be that as it may, there’s no scarring water. Why would anyone give my name to a fish?
Every time I look in the mirror, something in me dies. I was raised bilingual, that last R is just spare change to me. I’m used to not seeing the same reflection twice. Maybe that is why I don’t mind sharing my name with some fish I have never seen. Out of sight, as the saying goes, out of mind. I wonder if that is what they call a merciful death.
I am a fox. Be it grapes or cheese, I prefer things that don’t belong to me. Who cares if some fish wants to go by my name? Let it swim to its heart’s content. I like how the sunset glitters on water, but I have grown tired of that color. Who knows, maybe that fish’s scales will fall off, and I will finally get my hands on something shinier than cheese.
What’s the point of trying to live up to a name? Fish aren’t meant to live on the water’s surface, and anyway waves aren’t compatible with mirrors.
I don’t know what the white on a red fox’s face is called. I call mine a smile because it tilts upwards. See? I may live in the sea, but I am not a wave. My happiness doesn’t crash and fade to white. You shouldn’t have put a curse on me, but fair’s fair. I will call you waveface fox from now on and count the days.
I have never seen a fox with my own eyes. However, sound travels faster in water than air and every color under the sun can be found in coral reefs. My imagination has sharp teeth. I don’t have to look in a mirror to draw blood and paint my face red. I have yet to meet a comparison that doesn’t end in tears.
The sea doesn’t hold on to memories. Words are alive. They drift and go the way of broken waves. Who cares if I was named after a fox? At the end of the day, it’s just a word. I can redefine it. I can make it my own.
You have brought seven years of bad luck upon yourselves. You should have taken that comparison as a compliment. Did you really think that killing the messenger wouldn’t have any repercussions? Just be thankful that waves aren’t prone to holding grudges. Seafoam disappears after a while. Eventually you will be forgiven, but you won’t be getting off scot-free on my watch.
Neither of them accepted the comparison. That’s what broke the mirror. But why, you may ask, are seven years the price to pay? It’s because fish have a 3-second memory and foxes have 4 midnight-black legs. One found fault with every constellation until even the moon turned its back on it, and the other didn’t bother because the past is just the first course of a faraway river that doesn’t have anything to do with it.
There’s no use crying over spilt milk. Even if you were to pick up all the broken shards and embrace that shared name, the harm is already done. This mirror will never be the same. An undercurrent of enmity will remain in its depths.
Life’s unfair. A calm sea takes all its water molecules, but it only takes one small pebble to break a mirror. The fish took that fox’s name with a grain of salt, but the fox couldn’t settle for its dead fish eyes. Sunsets don’t dissolve in water, but foxes were never untouchable to begin with. Comparisons have never been kind to them.
I’m a mirror. Misleadingly cold to the touch. You believed that I would be impartial, but I never showed any inclination to be the judge of you. My indifference rubbed salt in your wound. Your temperature rose and you lashed out. But I remain silently cold. Deaf to the scream you broke in my surface.
I like the way you think. Come closer, let me return the favor and break you into pieces too. I’m coated in silver, but red becomes the two of you. From now on you will be a kaleidoscope in my hands. You are right, I was wrong. There’s more to a name, and I shouldn’t judge by appearances. So, I will keep turning this kaleidoscope until you show me everything that’s in the name you share.
I ruled in favor of that fish. I hurt the fox’s feelings. I expected to see tears, but the fox just stood there, screaming with dry eyes. “A fish has already stolen my name, the sea won’t get my tears.” Such a high-pitched scream, but it wasn’t enough to shatter glass. I did this to myself. Aren’t mirrors supposed to show empathy?
Sea foam is ever-changing. Fish are hopeful by nature. I sided with the fox, but I knew that fish wouldn’t give up its name. There are cracks in my mirror. They aren’t seafoam green, but I can feel that fish swimming there. Looking for the perfect angle. Hope is such an irrational thing, it blinds you to what’s in front of your face. Those cracks might bring out the resemblance, but nothing will change the fox’s heart.