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"I wish for a new car. I wish my electric bill would disappear. I wish I could quit smoking." Janice said these words with her eyes closed, wearing her uniform, standing over that poor fish, her wish fish. I sat at the kitchen table, my coffee grown cold. "I wish you'd stop wishing," I said. Janice laughed. "I wish Gerald was more optimistic," she said, giving the fish an extra flake. When the fish died, I thought my wish had come true, but a little part of Janice was also gone. The wishless apartment was too quiet. She moped around until I bought another guppy and put it in a fresh bowl of water. But Janice said it wasn't the same. She fed the new fish, but she wished for the Wish Fish.
Anne Earney lives in St. Louis, Missouri. Recent work has appeared in Midwestern Gothic, Hayden's Ferry Review, Natural Bridge, REAL, and other places. She is working on a Gothic novel and a collection of interconnected stories. More work can be found at www.anneearney.com.
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