When I was a kid, my parents used to bring my sister and I to fishing. We would spend a good couple of hours relaxing and waiting for fishing thread to move. If we were lucky, we can get two or three. We would put them back to the water if nobody was in the mood of bringing them back and eating them up.
One time, my sister and I really wanted to keep one, so we brought it back home. The problem was, we didn't have anything even like a fish tank. We didn't want to buy one, either, since we didn't have room for it in our small home.
My dad came up a great idea -- putting it into the toilet tank. It was a pretty small tank compared to this big fish, although it can swim, that tank was probably not the most comfortable place.
After that, whenever my sister and I went to the restroom, we can't help but peeking at the fish, occasionally trying to touch it with a finger. We also regularly brought breadcrumbs to feed it.
One day after school, as usual, we came to the fish but to our surprise, the tank was empty. We checked the floor, and the bathtub beside the toilet, but can't find it anywhere. Our final conclusion was, sadly, that it jumped out of the tank, dived into the toilet bowl and swam away.
I had a mixed feeling about this escape. On one hand, I felt sad that it was gone; on the other hand, I was happy that it finally got out of this place and started a new chapter of life.
I'll never know what happened to this fish, but I appreciate it's courage of jumping out of a place that it probably didn't like at all.
