The Fountain

January 16, 2012 Off By Jo Hiley

I heard the rich tone of your voice before I noticed you. Nothing had changed, you looked the same. I watched you for five minutes before you turned and saw me. A smile lighting up your face as you strolled over to where I sat. Six months earlier I walked in on you fucking my best friend. You won everyone over with your smile.
+++++I arranged to meet you later by the fountain in the Gardens. You said it would be freezing and I asked where your sense of adventure was and that I would find a way to keep you warm. You were like a fish on a hook.
+++++I climbed over the wall and walked towards the fountain, thankful for the full moon. I sat listening to the ping, ping of the water as it hit the iron base. I had watched a gardener one day cleaning the fountain out, surprised at how deep it was. He had placed a collection of toys feared lost forever around the edge.
+++++I heard you shout as you came towards me, a feeble attempt to make me jump. I kissed you and handed you the brandy. I pushed you down and we sat on the wall around the fountains edge, me on your lap. Your hands were cold on my skin.
+++++You become less and less lucid as the Brandy hit its mark, helped on by the sleeping pills crushed into it. Your head falls heavy onto my chest. The bottle is empty as it drops to the floor.
All it took was one gently push and you fall in. It was easy to hold your head under the water. Your body tried to fight but it was no good. The drugs were too strong. I thought of the lucky coins thrown in for a wish and the lost toys on the bottom. Then your body went limp and I let go.
+++++I went out the way I came, taking the empty bottle with me and throwing it in a litter bin.

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Jo Hiley

I'm Jo and I live in an area of Sheffield called Gleadless with my 19 year old son and my other half. It's where Shane Meadows likes to film his "This is England" series and where Channel 4's "The Secret Millionaire" liked to put us all in the same pigeon hole. I've lived in London and Dublin among other places but found myself returning to Sheffield when my son was born. It's a place where complete strangers strike up a conversation in random places and so provide a wealth of material. I've only been writing for a year or so and I'm still finding my feet. I'm as old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth.

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