I found this so interesting. On one hand I’m impressed that the shrimp has survived all this time. On the other hand it looks like an absolute hellscape.
yokaishinigami
I mean, it’s a hardy shrimp that is supposed to live 20+ years. Halocaridina rubra.
The hellscape comment is apt, because that’s what these are to these shrimp. Keep them in even the most basic of setups in the correct parameters and they’ll multiply like springtails.
>It’s me. Again. The lone shrimp. The last of my kind in this tiny, algae-filled hellscape that some human calls a “self-sustaining biosphere.” Eight years ago, I was promised shrimp utopia. No predators. No responsibilities. Just chillin’ in a closed glass orb with Marvin, my shrimp buddy, and a few strands of seaweed that smell vaguely of sadness.
>But Marvin died five years ago.
>Five. Years. Ago.
>He just… stopped swimming. Floated off like a tiny, crustaceous martyr. I gave him a solemn shove with my antennae, whispered, “You’re free now,” and then I ate a bit of his biofilm. Survival, am I right?
>Since then? Silence. Just me and the algae. Oh, the algae. So much algae. Algae in my home. Algae in my food. Algae in my thoughts. I see it when I sleep. I dream in green.
>The human? The human is useless. They just hold up their phone every few months, mutter something like “Still alive, lmao,” and then post a photo on Reddit with titles like “8 Years Strong! Shrimp Still Kickin’! #NatureIsAmazing.” I’m not kickin’. I’m coping.
>I haven’t had a conversation in half a decade. I talk to the bubbles now. I’ve named them. Gerald is a great listener. Blorp, not so much—he interrupts. I staged a tiny soap opera last week using bits of floating detritus. It was a three-act tragedy called The Last Molt. I cried. Well, I would have, if I had tear ducts.
>Every now and then I stare out at the cat. The cat stares back. I think we’ve formed an understanding. Two trapped souls, one by glass, one by apathy.
>The water gets cloudier each month. My molts are slower. My existential dread, however? Strong as ever.
>Anyway, if you’re reading this and you’re another shrimp: RUN.
>If you’re the human: PLEASE GIVE ME A ROCK OR SOMETHING. I NEED A HOBBY.
>If you’re God: bold of you to assume I forgive you.
8 Comments
I found this so interesting. On one hand I’m impressed that the shrimp has survived all this time. On the other hand it looks like an absolute hellscape.
I mean, it’s a hardy shrimp that is supposed to live 20+ years. Halocaridina rubra.
The hellscape comment is apt, because that’s what these are to these shrimp. Keep them in even the most basic of setups in the correct parameters and they’ll multiply like springtails.
https://preview.redd.it/1ydc4jj9z66f1.jpeg?width=4032&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=88a0d324bdc4e693deca53b97d3205b989129850
Have a look over at r/opaeula – these shrimp can live for 20+ years and this one deserves a better life
Poor shrimp.
Only sick fucks get off on torturing helpless critters.
Poor shrimp, this is so sad
why didn’t you rescue it when the other one died?? I can’t comprehend. And why do people keep putting creatures in small round objects
Oh, man, you gotta go read those comments…
*[Courtesy of u/oldskoolballer](https://www.reddit.com/r/interestingasfuck/s/Y0GeTEge6c)*
>Shrimp Diary, Day…Who Even Knows Anymore
>Dear Diary,
>It’s me. Again. The lone shrimp. The last of my kind in this tiny, algae-filled hellscape that some human calls a “self-sustaining biosphere.” Eight years ago, I was promised shrimp utopia. No predators. No responsibilities. Just chillin’ in a closed glass orb with Marvin, my shrimp buddy, and a few strands of seaweed that smell vaguely of sadness.
>But Marvin died five years ago.
>Five. Years. Ago.
>He just… stopped swimming. Floated off like a tiny, crustaceous martyr. I gave him a solemn shove with my antennae, whispered, “You’re free now,” and then I ate a bit of his biofilm. Survival, am I right?
>Since then? Silence. Just me and the algae. Oh, the algae. So much algae. Algae in my home. Algae in my food. Algae in my thoughts. I see it when I sleep. I dream in green.
>The human? The human is useless. They just hold up their phone every few months, mutter something like “Still alive, lmao,” and then post a photo on Reddit with titles like “8 Years Strong! Shrimp Still Kickin’! #NatureIsAmazing.” I’m not kickin’. I’m coping.
>I haven’t had a conversation in half a decade. I talk to the bubbles now. I’ve named them. Gerald is a great listener. Blorp, not so much—he interrupts. I staged a tiny soap opera last week using bits of floating detritus. It was a three-act tragedy called The Last Molt. I cried. Well, I would have, if I had tear ducts.
>Every now and then I stare out at the cat. The cat stares back. I think we’ve formed an understanding. Two trapped souls, one by glass, one by apathy.
>The water gets cloudier each month. My molts are slower. My existential dread, however? Strong as ever.
>Anyway, if you’re reading this and you’re another shrimp: RUN.
>If you’re the human: PLEASE GIVE ME A ROCK OR SOMETHING. I NEED A HOBBY.
>If you’re God: bold of you to assume I forgive you.
>Yours in solitude,
>Shrimpy the Eternal