Winner of The Goldfish Fiction Writing Prompt Contest: Cleveland W. Gibson

goldfish in dark blue water...

Last week, we asked writers to create a sci-fi story that contained two elements found in our creative writing prompt:

  1. A goldfish
  2. The line: “I just want a nice, easy life. What’s wrong with that?”

And while it was no easy task, we did have several entries that ranked high on our list. We want to give a special shout-out to runner-up Carmen Pienaar for her story about a journey through the stars with the constellation, Pisces (The Goldfish) as a guide. Thanks Carmen!

But our winning entry was a tongue-in-cheek story of a KGB spy and a ventriloquist with a touch of the supernatural by Cleveland W. Gibson. Not only did it make us smile, but it also taught us some fun new British words (Definition of tickety-boo: everything is in good order; fine). Congrats Cleveland and thanks for your entry!

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The Goldfish

Cleveland W. Gibson

I am Russian KGB… number one hit-man but flawed by bad luck with fish, always fish, fish. Here listen well now.
“Check the file, read my instructions,” my boss Boris Kazanski explained. “In London go to Green Park subway. Is nice. Near subway is house of a small cell of bad Russian agents. You kill man in charge.
“Tickety-boo,” I replied. “Tell me his name..”
“Report says he’s dead,” Boris continued. “But you do good check. Kill him for sure. Come back to Moscow with full report.
I smiled back at him.
“Easy, “ I replied. “So I start when?”
“Tomorrow morning. Collect airline tickets from office. So go home after this briefing. Agent Byczekski. Him give you gun in London.”
I grinned as I straighten my tie.
“This guyski you want dead sounds a right laugh,” I said.
“Oh yes, he is good laugh. Him a slippery, like fish. A Clownfish. Is why we want him dead.”


The journey to London went smoothly. My wallet bulged with notes carrying the Queen’s
head. I made plans. Here in London I looked for Mr. Clownfish.
The Ohio baseball hat looked ‘goofy’ and only matched the French Navy blue T-shirt I wore, the one with red-wine stains. Baggy trousers and old trainers completed the picture. I planned to see who visited the Green Park subway and hoped the photo of Clownfish I’d been given helped me in my work.
The easiest way to find the character Boris mentioned was to busk each day for a few coins. On my first day of playing the fiddle I collected £10 from generous commuters. The second day I made £14 but had not completed my mission.
“You are on my patch,” the red-faced man told me. “My strip, see? I have done so for the last two years. Move it. Tramp.”
“Oh, didn’t see you there,” I said. “Not when I first started two days ago. Your patch, eh? Sorry old fruit. Wish somebody had told me.” I coughed.
The grumbler looked at me. “Are you stupid?” He stopped to peer into my face. “Show me your hands. Where did you get that scarit?”
I laughed and told the truth. “Cooking. I was trying to scrape meat off bones but my knife slipped. Bad luck for me.”
The man watched me in silence for a couple of minutes as his face softened. “You need help,” he said. “Come with me and I’ll see what I can do.”
“A job you mean?” I asked.
“No. Not that, yet,” he replied. “But I can give you a meal.”
“Thanks. What’s your job, by the way?” I asked.
“I’m a trainee ventriloquist,” he replied. “I have a super dummy named Goldfish.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “And your name is…, my that sounds a fishy name. Mr Clownfish, how unusual. ”


Clownfish led me to his house and fed me. I was happy with his cooking. But while I ate I thought about my KGB orders. The man Clownfish seemed a pleasant enough chap and that made me wonder how I’d finish him off. A blow on the head seemed messy and I didn’t have my gun with me right then.
“Come meet my best friend,” Mr. Clownfish said. “But first meet the dummy I use in my stage act because it is the double of my best friend. I love this dummy.”
Mr. Clownfish dropped a small ventriloquist dummy into my lap. I stared at the bright golden splash of colour as the goldfish looked up into my face. Clownfish leaned across to flick the cover off something on a nearby table.
I heard the slight splash of water as the goldfish in the glass tank surfaced to blow air bubbles.
Once I saw the goldfish I noticed the hard stare it gave me. Trouble is I have the evil eye. My Romanian-Russian gypsy background kicked in.
One wink from me and goldfish choked on a piece of seaweed. It was only an innocent accident. Oh dear.
But Clownfish cried, over ventilated and he simply died of a heart attack.
My mission had been completed. I checked the house and found the blueprint Boris also told me to locate.
Then I laid the dead goldfish out by his dead master Mr. Clownfish.
I started to leave the house and then I heard a voice I didn’t recognize. I checked Clownfish and his goldfish. Both stayed dead. My gaze shifted to the goldfish-dummy used by the late Mr Clownfish. The mouth opened. I watched in disbelief. A long sigh followed as a tongue poked out.
“I just want a nice, easy life. What’s wrong with that?” the dummy said to nobody in particular. I had heard enough.
I never answered but ran in panic back to Moscow.

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Cleveland W. Gibson is the author of digital shorts Silver Wolf and Only the Best, plus several others available through amazon.com. He was born in colonial India in an atmosphere of colour, mystery and intrigue. In the UK, he worked in the government, trained as a lifeguard and was a road race director(B.A.R.R.) for over ten years. Since taking up writing, he’s published over 200 short stories, poems, articles in more than eighty-five countries. His current project is a fantasy novel, House of the Skull Drum in Kindle format on Amazon. He has an audiobook and framed poetry on the web.

You can connect with Cleveland on Facebook.


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