The clock of the aquarium was digital, with crimson, blocky numbers displayed on the screen that illuminated the room. The woman stood under it, swiping at the screen with a mop in an effort to clean the stains. It wasn’t what she had imagined, being in a new country. But she had nothing else – not her language, her home, her family, not even her name. Now she was just JANITOR, according to the card she had pinned to her breast pocket. She had wanted to buy a dessert from home for her birthday, but she couldn’t find one anywhere close to her. Instead, she sat at one of the tables near the aquarium entrance, holding a cupcake topped with flourite-coloured frosting. The woman didn’t speak when she celebrated. There was nothing for her to say, nothing for her to do but look at the tanks across her – the eels. There was something compelling about them, how they only came out at night, disappointing the droves of shouting customers in the daytime. How they twisted their never-ending bodies. They could be anywhere, everywhere, unbound to anything. The woman waited for them to appear, but they never did; after she finished eating, she slipped through the aquarium doors and locked the building.

That night, the woman dreamt, deep and vivid. She was in the water, but she could breathe. Or maybe she didn’t need to. Her hair, black and brilliant, drifted out behind her. It was stretching, moving in and out of itself, like an eel. There was no beginning or end to it. It was hard to tell if she was moving. She was everything, eternal, infinity