[Updated 6/2/07 with honorable mention entries.]

Below, the winner of the “An Imprisoned Fish” mini-contest. The entry contains all the hallmarks of the SA style: randomly capitalized and quaintly hyphenated words and phrases (“Champagne Punch,” “boy-friend”); overly scientific terminology used to describe quotidian objects (“preparations of pudding”); a stern social-hygiene tone directed at the subject (“young people today”); and the tossed-off factoid that itself could become another story entirely (Miss Bowles dared herself to eat Herman).

An Imprisoned Fish

A cry rang through the Halls of Science yesterday when it was discovered that a small goldfish had survived a full week in the stomach of a young co-ed. Miss Marie Bowles, proprietor of the stomach in question, reportedly laughed gaily at the discovery and said, “I thought all the tummy upset was caused by too many marshmallow crèmes!”

Miss Bowles, a Sophomore at a community college in Roanoke, VA, attended a dormitory room party at which was consumed an assortment of victuals such as one would do well not to think about. Imagine a spread containing not just various hot casseroles of a wholesome nature when sampled in moderation (which we are told is not the norm), but also boiled fruits, frozen creams, and many preparations of pudding. Miss Bowles reports that such feasts of gluttony are “part of the fun” and that nothing was out of the ordinary, including the Champagne Punch that the hostess had enticed her boy-friend to procure.

Miss Bowles admits to having sampled the punch, at which point she espied the hostess’ goldfish swimming in his tranquil home, a humble glass bowl. Miss Bowles recalls she then engaged in the game known as “Truth or Dare,” popular amongst young people. The dare, which Miss Bowles assigned to herself in an unorthodox manner, was to swallow this goldfish, known as “Herman,” whole. It is assumed that the alcohol consumed was responsible for the hostess’ unnatural lack of maternal instinct, for she allowed Miss Bowles to attempt it.

Miss Bowles reports that swallowing Herman was “easier than expected” and “not even the strangest thing ever gone down the hatch!” What is meant by this is beyond the scope of this report, but it is possible that this young lady’s unusual habits contributed to the odd fact that her stomach was an unexpectedly hospitable environment for a goldfish. Typically, goldfish are freshwater creatures who subsist on fortified “fish food” sprinkled sparingly into their bowls. While perhaps similar in shape and size, a stomach, however distended from late-night dormitory parties, is thought to be too acidic to support aquatic life. We can only speculate as to what Herman ate during his week in captivity, and wonder at the notion that it might have been marshmallow crème.

This strange mystery came to light when Miss Bowles orally regurgitated the contents of her stomach one week later. Who should swim to the surface, reportedly looking little worse for the journey, than Herman. Miss Bowles then “called the girls over” to marvel at this event. The dorm mistress, passing by and hearing their squeals, plucked Herman out of the foul soup and brought him to the safety of her own quarters, where he has remained since.

It is not the job, nor the pleasure, of this journal’s Editors to comment on the habits of young people today. It does seem a shame, however, that such practices as have been described run unchecked throughout our nation’s institutes of higher learning.

This “Imprisoned Fish” entry by KW features the properly Dickensian use of the word “phial,” plus the mental image of a round-spectacled man of science dropping a string of “your momma” jokes on a goldfish.

As attempts to study long-term effects of chronophobia on actual prisoners were denied to him, Templeton instead monitored his goldfish. As he progressively downsized vessels over several weeks, he observed that the subject seemed to frolic less joyfully. Aside from this unimpeachable scientific notation, however, Templeton’s data collection, as he later delicately put it, floundered.

As he was a noted pacifist, Templeton found himself unable to enact the brutality on his goldfish that actual prisoners were rumored to be subject to. For a period of time, he taunted the goldfish soundly, but as he had not yet moved his piscine subject from a tumbler to a phial, the fish was still able to turn tail and let the reproach roll off his back, as it were.

Finally, Templeton was forced to conclude that he was unable to draw any conclusive results, as goldfish are unable to tell time. But, in his attempt to insert the favorite castle of his goldfish into the phial, he stumbled upon a new and fascinating technique for inserting a ship into a bottle. The patent is currently pending.

This entry gets the turn-of-the-last-century tone right with “under way” and “letter-basket,” the blithe (and formal) “Red Indian,” and the Alcott-era use of “upset,” as well as the elaborate-for-its-own-sake gadget itself.

An Imprisoned Fish, by LM

Most deem fish to be a simple-minded aquatic denizen, and do not consider the complex psyches of the salmon or tasty halibut before dining upon them. Not so Dr. Winston Gravehewn. Employed by the Department of Fish and Game to explore new methods for design of fisheries, Dr. Gravehewn experimented with a modification of the “fish traps” originally used by Red Indians. Indeed, these items, constructed of wood in a latticeform structure and placed into a brook, stream, or other tributary, are found to be quite effective, with a few adjustments to their original, primitive form. A large catch was produced. However, the trout (Salvelinus bonappetitus) captured in this manner were found to be less palatable than those caught on a hook and line. Gravehewn theorizes that an imprisoned fish under stress produces hormones that may affect its flavor.

“I must partly credit my secretary for the idea,” said Gravehewn. “She alerted me to the behavior of other fish upon imprisonment that would be consistent with this physiological response.” Gravehewn’s secretary, a Miss Punctuality Grommet, kept a pet goldfish on her desk that became quite neurotic after a letter-basket was upset into its bowl. Dr. Gravehewn has attempted further experiments on this fish, but it is not known whether the stress may have affected its flavor, as no one familiar enough with the ideal flavor of goldfish could be found to perform a taste-test. “We are searching for volunteer subjects in the local fraternity organizations and elsewhere,” said Dr. Gravehewn. Interested parties may contact him at the address printed in this article’s addendum.

Further observations of the trout prove that while death comes as a speedy surprise to the line-caught animal, those captured in the “fish traps” linger on for perhaps hours while waiting for the fisherman to return, often in a gradually diminishing amount of space in the confined area. These wild creatures are not suited to such claustrophobic conditions, accustomed as they are to swimming free. Dr. Gravehewn proposed that reducing the appearance of captivity may assuage the stress on the trout. Plans for a trap made of glass rather than visible bars are under way.

Aside from the piranha swarm, which is never a wrong writing choice, this last honorable-mention entry really nails the tone of awe in the face of great and terrible Nature that often perfuses these SA pieces. The implication that a bathosphere is involved somehow in this transaction doesn’t hurt, either.

An Imprisoned Fish, by LR

The imprisoned fish writhed and twisted within the cloud of its diminutive captors as if to call out for mercy before at last falling limp and insensible. Not a quarter of an hour prior, I had been watching the noble Epinephelus lanceolatus, a Goliath of the sea, grazing unmolested among the corals of the Sandwich Islands. Then, into my field of view — limited to a sliver by my bulbous copper diving helmet — darted a small fish whose exquisite red spots identified him as a “salty pete.” Another arrived, followed by yet more. In short order there amassed a school larger than my under-sea vessel, composed of individuals no longer than a grown man’s forefinger. The horde engulfed the Lanceolatus and began its grim feast (Fig. 2). My imagination had not prepared me for the lightning quickness with which such fish can move or the savagery God’s tiny, beautiful creatures can enact. I was unused to the stiffness of my diving costume, so my distressed motions failed to attract the attackers’ attention. Within seconds they had devoured the captive Lanceolatus to the bone and drifted away, leaving me to collect its skeleton for future study. Sadly, the other-worldly gleam of my shiny helmet succeeded where my wild gesticulations had not — the spotted multitude noticed and turned on me. Urged on by the bloodthirsty swarm nipping at my flippered boots, I hastily decamped to dry land, clutching the Lanceolatus’ mangled, dripping remains. Such are the terrible wonders of the deep.

Fine work, everyone.

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