Upon discovering that his daughter was crying and covered in blood, my dad became visibly distressed. He asked me what was wrong and if I was okay and where did all the blood come from? But all he could get out of me were half-sentences interrupted by hyperventilation and random screaming.
I was eventually able to drag him out to the patio where the fish was still flopping around heroically, spattering blood all over our new brickwork. My dad told me to go inside.
From under the covers of my parent's bed, I could hear metal strike brick. Just once. Then my dad came back inside and sat down on the bed next to me. He patted me on the head and asked me if I wanted fish tacos for dinner.