Submission (#7668) Approved

Shimmer sat cross legged on the floor, surrounded by a colourful assortment of paper, glues, scissors, and a small collection of brushes dipped in various colours. Sheets of blue, silver, and orange dotted her workspace. She had her heart set on crafting a small school of paper fish, each one as7 detailed as those she admired in Olympia’s koi pond.

The thought of Olympia’s pond always brought a dreamy smile to her face. The koi, swimming through their water world, were mesmerizing to watch, their scales catching the sunlight in flickers of gold, white, and orange. Every time Shimmer visited, she spent long, quiet moments by the pond, entranced by the way the fish moved. Their movements were smooth and graceful, each flick of a fin creating ripples that danced across the water’s surface. It was a tranquility she loved, and a feeling of calmness she had come to cherish. How she wished she could bring just a small piece of that feeling back home.

“I’ll start with one fish,” she muttered, carefully selecting a square of blue paper. As she folded and creased, her mind wandered to dreams of a pet fish. Shimmer didn’t know the first thing about caring for one, yet the thought lingered, a small wish she entertained with each visit to Olympia’s. Just thinking of her own little aquatic companion made her happy. She could imagine a small tank on her windowsill, with perhaps a single blue fish swimming in circles. She’d name it something like "Ripple" or "Glow," a friend to greet her every morning.

“Ack, darn,” She muttered as she messed up her folds.

She picked up a fresh square of origami paper, smoothing it out carefully before folding it along the first crease. The stall owner at the market had been kind enough to write out a guide, each step neatly numbered and accompanied by a small drawing. It looked so simple, just a series of careful folds, a few tucks here and there, and the promise of a fish at the end. But as she soon realized, the instructions were easier to admire than to follow.

She bit her lip, eyebrows furrowing as she made the second fold, only to realize she had creased it the wrong way. Sighing, she refolded it, only for the next step to somehow result in an uneven shape that didn’t resemble a fish at all. She held up her misshapen attempt, her mouth twisting in concentration, as if staring at it hard enough might coax it into taking the right shape.

“Come on… just a little fin here, and a tail there…” she muttered, squinting as she tried again.

With each new piece of paper, her frustration grew. She had folded five or six pieces already, and they all looked more like crumpled leaves than graceful fish. One even came out so skewed that she couldn’t help but laugh, placing it aside in a pile of what she called her "paper pond misfits." She tried again, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth in concentration as she folded, refolded, and double checked the instructions.

The next attempt seemed promising. She followed each fold carefully, making sure each crease was correct. For a brief, shining moment, it looked almost like a fish shape… until one wrong fold turned it into something completely unrecognizable. Shimmer's ears drooped as she gazed down at the tiny paper creature, letting out a quiet groan.

“This shouldn’t be so hard,” she muttered, her voice tinged with frustration. She flopped back onto her cushions, holding the paper fish up to the light. It wobbled in her paw, more like a smushed butterfly than anything that had ever swum.

Still, she wasn’t ready to give up. The thought of a perfectly folded fish, something she’d make with her own paws, kept her going. With a determined huff, she picked up another piece of paper and started again, biting her lip and scrunching her nose. Her gaze was laser focused, folding the paper as carefully as she could manage.

And finally, after many discarded pieces, Shimmer held up a folded paper fish that actually resembled…well, mostly a fish. Its fins were a little uneven, and the tail curled slightly off to one side, but the moment she looked at it, she could see the shape of a fish through her folds. Her heart leapt in excitement, her eyes lighting up as she held it in her paws, afraid that even the smallest movement might undo her hard work.

A thrilled giggle escaped her, echoing softly in the quiet of her room. “I did it! I finally did it!” she whispered, her words filled with excitement as she examined every crease and fold. She ran her paw gently over the tiny paper fins, marveling at how, after so many crumpled and creased attempts, she’d managed to bring her idea to life.

The small paper figure might’ve looked a bit wonky, with one fin slightly larger than the other and a few creases that didn’t quite lay flat, but to Shimmer, it was perfect. Each imperfection, each little wobble in its shape, showed just how far she had come since her first paper pond misfit. 

She set it gently on the table beside her, giving it a name on impulse: “Ripple.” It seemed fitting for her first creation, a little friend who, even on paper, felt like it held a splash of life and joy. Her imagination swept her away, and for a moment, she could picture a whole school of tiny paper fish, swimming together across her desk in a colourful parade. Ripple was just the beginning.

Shimmer’s excitement grew as she began to dream up new ideas. She couldn’t wait to make more fish, experimenting with different colours and designs. She could make one with silver scales, another in bright gold, and maybe even a speckled one that reminded her of the koi in Olympia’s pond. Each fish would have its own personality, its own charm, all part of a paper family she could keep close to her heart.

For a while, she just sat there, smiling softly to herself as she watched her first fish “swim” on the table. She knew she still had much to learn, and there would be many more crumpled papers along the way, but for now, she let herself enjoy this moment. She’d brought her love for fish to life, in her own small way, and Ripple would be her reminder of her dreams of one day caring for a real little fish friend.