I’m telling the goldfish funeral story, so Natasha stays the night. Lamplight low, we’re fully clothed on the bed. It’s a funny story at one a.m. and I miss the sound of laughter in this place.
“My dad really went for it. ‘In hope of the resurrection, we commend to Almighty God our brother Goldie; earth to earth; ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’”
Natasha giggles because she’s stoned, and because I’m the harmless guy who makes girls laugh.
“That’s how I learnt about death. A goldfish funeral in the garden. There’s even a gravestone.”
She murmurs – soft like the sea – her breath slowing, head growing heavier on my chest. I stroke her jet-black hair and wonder what time she’ll wake and leave.
Neil James is a writer from Stoke-on-Trent, England and the author of ‘Stoke and I:The Nineties’ (Pitch Publishing). His fiction has been published by Literally Stories, Twisted Sister and Wensum Literary Magazine.
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