The last time I got my wish was the day my fish died. Poor Killian Jones.
My fish died of what I assume was a heart attack from being unable to escape the net when cleaning his tank. My dad and sister had been visiting and told me I needed to clean his tank. It was pretty dank, but I can’t help blaming them for his death. At first, I thought he was still alive. His thin fin was still twitching. I waited probably ten minutes to see if he would turn back over, walking in and out of the bathroom every thirty seconds. Although now given my knowledge of myosin motors, that was probably just rigor mortis.
You’re probably wondering what my wish was.
I think I’m not going to tell you. Yet.