You're upset, but you can't remember why. As soon as the memory begins to form in the three-second container of your bright mind, it slips away. Passerbys stop to point and laugh at the little stream of bubbles leaving your lips.
Hic, hic, hic...
You're hyperventilating. You stare wide-eyed at the people pointing at you. Don't they know they're laughing at your grief?
Scales glimmering, you flit about uncertainly, plagued by that haunting feeling of having lost something important, yet unnamed. It starts to occur to you that you could be forgetting an entire life - an entire life that you had once lived and lost before you were put into this tiny goldfish bowl - only now you've gone and lost it again.
All progress escaping through the bubbles, with only a numbed-down heartache to sustain any sense of coherence, of a narrative, of the remains of a meaningful grief...
Hic, hic, hic...
If only you were in a whale's mighty blue bowl - what memories might inspire your spirit there, in that vast blue world? But there, too, all of you would only amount to the tiniest speck of glimmering gold, floating in an endless blue universe full of glorious, greater creatures that all carry more time in their hearts than you. Honestly, would your three-second crusade be anymore meaningful there?
Perhaps it's best to stay at home, after all, and to take up the hobby of examining the curious eyes staring down at you; curiosity staring back at curiosity, transmitting through the curved glass sheet, but only for a brief moment. Yes, this is the perfect pastime, the perfect life, keeping you occupied for precisely three seconds at a time.