The relief was instant. I felt water cascading on my face, down my neck and my gills reviving. I could breathe. I drank the water greedily with my mouth, breathed it in through my nose, let it pour in through my slits. Strength returned to my limbs as I clambered into the tub, letting my whole body slump listlessly as I pressed my stomach on the slippery enamel. I lazily let the water slide on my back then down my tail, relishing the feeling. I turned around and offered my face and my chest to the goddess waterspout, running my hands all over my body, ridding it of the blood, organ bits and feathers. I felt alive once more.
Once I had my breathing under control and felt approximately clean, or at least clean enough to not think of retching at the smell, I plugged the bathtub and watched the water rise. It was a delicious feeling as if a weight had been lifted from my whole body. I eyed my tail, now that I had the leisure and the imminent threat of death having been lifted from my neck.
I really resembled a koï fish: the scales, the color, the fins, everything. At the same time, I was quite pleased with the overall effect and couldn’t help but think that my dream of exploring the ocean’s wonders was still alive. If only I didn’t burn up every time I tried breathing outside of water. My tail was only half-way inside the tub since I was lying with my head on the bottom. I could still feel the itch of dryness on those scales.
Once the water level had reached a satisfying level, I turned off the flow and stayed as I was, my head under the surface. A sudden curiosity about the inner workings of my new condition grew stronger and I slowly let my bust rise to the water’s surface. Once my face touched the air once more, I expected to feel the burn again but was surprised when nothing happened.