J.J. Dunmill

The Desalinated Siren

A transparent, watery, naked woman no bigger than a finger emerges from the liquid trickling down over the top of the fountain. She dances over the stainless-steel top as if it’s a stage while singing the sweetest burbling song ever heard. David yaws back. At once, his hand releases the tap controlling the bubbler. He yanks the water bottle he was filling away from the spout. The flow is cut off, and she disappears with a splash. All the water running over the top of the metal fountain vanishes down the centre drain. Water droplets land on David’s white business shirt with Mercurial Insurance embroidered above the pocket.