It all started when the koi began to walk.

Or at least, that is when I noticed it. I am pretty sure it began before that, but the sight of the fleshy, orange, and recently-terrestrial fish approaching really drove home the fact that things were not as they should be. Their eyes were bulging, as if they, too, were not entirely comfortable with this latest development. One squelching step after another they came, dragging their whiskers along the dirt, unsure what to do with their tails. They crept out of the carefully curated pond, moving at a horrifically slow pace.

I stood up, unsteady on my feet. A quick glance at my bottle reminded me that not too long ago it had been full, but I had never been stalked by ambulatory carp before. I was no rookie when it came to drowning my sorrows in seven hundred and fifty milliliters of cheap Tennessee whiskey, and in my fifty-odd years I had played around with enough mild-altering nonsense to know when I was on a different plane of consciousness. This wasn’t that.

I frequently spent my evenings in the old Tea Gardens off Primrose Street. It was quiet, insulated from the city noise by walls of bamboo, sakura, and Japanese maple. Few ever came later in the day, and I usually had the place to myself to sit by the ponds, stare into the water, tell my secret desires to the fish below the surface, and then proceed to drink myself into a stupor. Typically by sundown, old Master Yao would come find me, kindly help me to a cab, and send me on my way home with a soft reminder to drink some water and perhaps get some help. I usually mumbled something about thinking about it and woke up the next morning dry-mouthed and with a gong going off in my head.

I looked around for the venerable old gardner, but he was nowhere to be seen. I called out, but there was no reply. Just the ever-advancing squishiness of the growing school - or were they now a herd? - of Cyprinus haematopterus. Slowly, I climbed up onto the stone bench that apparently I had fallen off of earlier. My pants and hands were dirty, so it must have been a significant one this time. My vision swam a bit as I tried to focus and leaned forward to try to steady myself. Too far. I tumbled again, face down in the grass and dirt beneath the twilight sky and cherry blossoms. 

I felt their slippery skin move over my hands first, then their fins grazing against my cheeks. With wet intent, they climbed atop my fallen form and I marveled in my terror at the sheer weight of them all. I felt my thumb disappear into the mouth of one, and then the shocking pain of teeth. More mouths on me, everywhere. More pain. And finally a gurgling whisper in my ear: your wish is granted.