Seven years without doing anything, the scientists had remarked. The salamander had remained perfectly still for seven years. They were astonished.
It had felt many a frequent stare from the scientists. It understood their bemusement. But the salamander itself didn’t see anything wrong with being still.
Where did a salamander need to be? It had eaten ten years ago and to be honest, was still feeling the bloat. It’s only friends were the scientists and an anemone who lived about 30 cm away and happily blobbed next to the salamander in silence. The salamander spent most of its days in a tranquil meditative state. It was easy for the salamander to achieve true zen due to the silence of the water and the gentle sway of seaweed to calm you. It considered itself very lucky to live in the environment where most people pay a lot of money to yoga teachers to tell them to imagine.
It’s peace was often interrupted by the scientists. The humans couldn’t help but talk. They were always peering in and when they thought they were alone would talk and talk and talk until they had to leave for whatever reason. The salamander didn’t mind listening to their problems. In fact it was rather therapeutic. They frequently apologised for keeping it in a tank, but listening to their shit made the tank feel like a small fry issue.
They seemed to judge the salamander for doing nothing, but the salamander was quite content. It had never had anyone telling the salamander it had to be doing something, so nothing felt pretty darn good.
As the humans made their notes, the salamander wondered what the scientists were learning from it. It hoped it was the right thing.