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Some have an owner. Some have a master. But Typha belonged to a caretaker of a much higher prestige. This person offered no identity or words to that of which was unworthy of communication with them. Typha knew this person simply as "God."

God is giving, but not forgiving. God is there all the time, but hasn't the time. God keeps Typha for a reason, and there is no higher honor that Typha could hope to achieve from his small, blank world. Typha lives only for God, and God chooses how and when Typha will live and die. This is what makes him a god.

A small fish sat cross-legged in his shallow pool in a tupperware container on the countertop, playing his flute jubilantly. His tiny song played softly in the dimly lit room. Curtains of deep crimson hung from the window and shrouded the night sky on the other side of the glass. The sound of crickets carried through the house from outdoors. A delicate yellow light above the stovetop warmed the setting for Typha final performance; his ode to God. His journey into adulthood had come to an end, leaving nothing left for the young fish but to fulfill his purpose. God had cared for him well, and Typha's destiny to return the favor of God's nurturing grace swelled his heart with joy.

God stood as a towering giant over the fish and listened to his song until it reached its end. Typha bowed from his place in the shadow of God's shape and placed his flute on the water to float away. It was the last he would ever play it...

God lifted the koi from his container and began to remove his clothes. Piece by piece fell into the water as scrap until naught was left in God's hands but a smiling fish with affectionate eyes watching his. And God lay him on the thick wooden cutting board where he lay naked with shines in his scales. His tailfin fluttered cutely and he cradled himself in overwhelming joy. God turned him by his ear to lay on his side, then pinched his tailfin and held it up high. The agonizing caress of God's flaying knife stroked his tail and scraped away his scales with quick, experienced brushes. Typha screamed and twisted this way and that before the other of god's hands held him in securely place. The whaling cries of anguish filled both of their ears. The scent of oil in the pan on the stove's electric burner wafted throughout the air in the room. The micro fish was turned on his other side and crushed under God's palm. Again the knife was there, blade scraping and scraping over his body with his scales rubbing right off and sticking to its shining metal. Once his scales had been flayed away, the screaming koi's tailfin was no longer needed for a sturdy grip, and God hefted a pair of cooking shears to his fin, slicing it off with two quick snips.

He was ripped from his place on his belly and turned around. God completed his task of ridding his little meal of its bothersome scales and fins. He held Typha's head in place and sliced away his long ears with a fast expert drag of his knife over the board. Blood spurted darkly and thickly in from his head but provided him with no distraction from his burning and almost skinless body.

Typha became dizzy, and his mind swallowed itself. God paid no attention, showing neither no amusement or disgust. Typha slowly rolled in a silent half-dead daze, completely ignored for a while as God turned his attention to the sizzling in his frying pan. The oil in it simmered and snapped. God stirred it to spread it around the pan evenly with his chopsticks, with the help of his hand moving the pan by its handle. Typha heard the sound of the pan clinking against the stovetop and God's hands had returned to hover over him with a slice of lemon. God squeezed it to spray Typha with its stinging juice. His eyes went white as the lacing pain from the sour juice upon his last thin layers of skin paralyzed his body. He screamed unlike any before. It slowly dissolved in volume as the last of the air in his lungs emptied out.

God picked up the curling, dying fish with his chopsticks and set him backside down in the pan, dragging him around in the oil as it seared his flesh. Tears of pain. Tears of joy. Tears of sorrow and wonder, as Typha's small and simple life story neared its end. As his mild scent of cooking meat began to flow through the air and his skin and muscles on his back scalded in paradise until he had become a golden color, Typha wept and wept, and screamed and screamed.

Then he was succulent and ready. A once worthless being with little more to offer God than a charming song with his flute or a passing glance from his tank had through this metamorphosis become a prize to be savored. His limp body was lifted between the hot oily chopsticks that were used to stir him and he was laid half-cooked and half raw on a plate to cool. His golden skin crackled on the large lettuce leaf where he lay next to a cup of sauce that matched his blood in deep color. His little tail slowly lifted then fell flat against the plate it a lifeless plop. It would no longer move any more.

Typha watched the ceiling scroll over his vision in his euphoric haze as God carried the plate to the table and set him down. Speckles of pepper rained down upon the koi who was now too weak to react in any way to the pain. A following dash of salt blazed in his skin. His eyes wearily trembled to meet God's hungry anticipating face with a warm tired and loving smile. God grabbed the rare morsel with his chopsticks and carried him away to his mouth. His massive teeth crunched into his meals chest, rending his head and neck with a forceful tear. The last sound Typha ever made was a bloody splatting gush as his lungs were bitten in half, and his uppermost body was chewed. His fragile bones crunched in God's mouth. His skull bursted open with a thick little crack. Hot and warm partially cooked flesh and fresh living blood filled God's mouth.

The last of Typha's lifeless body twitched until it went completely still. God set it down on the plate and swallowed what he had bitten off. He drank his tea, and lifted a magazine to read while he relaxed and enjoyed his supple meal.