Writetober day 4: Murky

The water is always murky this time of year.
The thick mist always rolls over and the small pond in my backyard.
The small pond left to grow by itself for a decade, where now algae and seaweed blossom, and other things now call home.

A thing with two legs and fish skin, with two yellow eyes and a voice that sounds to much like mine. It crawl out of the pond every night by ten, and watches me, mimics me.
I don't mind it, we never did before.
I teach it to sing, to laugh, to dance, and to cry. Teaching it every part of Annabelle Jones.

I feed it every morning before work and at noon when I get home. Down in the water, it learns and reforms, gnawing at the bodies who of a past untold.
In my pond there are bodies that look like me in every way. They lay dead and wait as the new one gets fed.

I clean my pond from dawn to dusk, making sure it's nice. I know how I want it and I know how others have it. Now the thing lives a day in my life, its appearance is perfect, but its skin is a bit wet. They move along with their day and now they know how to live like Annabelle Jones.

Now it's finally time, and my darling pond is all fresh again. The thing is all done and ready, Annabelle Jones is whole again.
I take off my rings and my jacket and boots.
Annabelle Jones now stares from her home at the thing that once was Annabelle Jones. I bid my farewell and take a deep breath as the water welcomes my embrace.

Now in her pond, there grows a new thing.