By Abigail Falanga
You arrive that first morning at Cibola High School with low expectations. This is the muggy, muddy, backwater of Florida. The only bright side: you can absolutely dominate the social scene.
So, you enter with a bright smile directed at everyone from that hot basketball captain to the wallflower girl and even the custodian who looks like he’s been there forever. Everyone seems dazzled by your radiance and in the first half hour, you’ve made a dozen friends, a few who might even last the week. Success!
Perhaps it won’t be too bad. Normal even.
Except how everyone falls quiet when walking through that one hallway. Always. Doesn’t matter what conversation is happening, dead, breath-sucking silence falls the instant you pass through that spot under the oldest arch in the building.
Gets weirder, though, when you decide to use that lull to grab a drink from the water fountain that sits there in its alcove.
“Don’t,” your friend, the shy redhead with the big smile, hisses. “Out of order.”
You point to the drop of water hanging from the spout. “But—”
Your friend pulls you away by the elbow, back into the noise of the crowd.
Later, before class, you ask, “What’s up with that water fountain?”
“It’s cursed,” the chubby guy in front of you says.
“Cursed?” You snicker.
But everyone clams up, looking guilty or even afraid, like there’s something deeper they don’t dare talk about.
The whole thing is silly.
A couple weeks later, you come in from track practice, sweaty, tired, and limping on an overextended knee. You pass the out-of-order water fountain and stoop to drink.
It hits you, cold and mineral, unlike any other water in the school. Before you have time to register it, though, the stream piddles out.
You straighten. “So that’s why it’s out of order.”
But strangely, you’re not thirsty anymore. Or tired. Your knee feels better.
Weird. But no complaints.
Days later, drawn by curiosity you can’t ignore, you try the water fountain again when no one is around. The rush of cool refreshment is instant and complete. You feel energized.
You experiment. The water fountain only works about once per week and there’s only enough for a couple swallows, but even a drop from the puddle that sometimes forms under it heals a scratch or bruise instantly. Why or what it is eludes you, but you come to terms with not knowing. It’s your own private miracle, and that’s enough.
Weeks fly by. No one notices, or so you think.
But then as you’re walking away from your occasional sip, you run into the custodian.
He glares. “You’ve been drinking from the out-of-order water fountain.”
“Yeah.” You feel guilty but shrug it off. “What’s with that, anyway? Maybe you should fix it.”
“Can’t.” He shakes his head. “It’s direct from the spring. The pressure is low. You shouldn’t drink from it.”
“Why?” You curl your lip. “What’s wrong with it?”
“You won’t be able to stop, until you’ve lost everything,” he says.
You don’t listen.
Why would you? A gulp from that fountain takes away aches or sickness, floods you with energy.
Meanwhile, you’re the light of the campus. You make friends, attend parties, participate in any activity that catches your interest. Classwork is a breeze—you have energy and focus enough to pass most of the time, and don’t care if you fail sometimes. Because life is full, a swirl of constant, glorious motion. It seems like you’re out with friends more than you’re ever home or at school.
Then there’s Zane.
The latest in a string of boyfriends you almost don’t remember—all cute, but ultimately disappointing.
Zane feels different.
Late one night after a football game, you brush friends off, saying you forgot something, and slip in for your weekly drink from the water fountain. It’s been a crazier-than-normal few days and you’re tired.
A screech of tires comes from the street, then the thud of an impact, and the car driving away faster than before. Drunks from the game. You turn to the exit door, just as someone staggers through and collapses.
“Zane!” You dart forward.
He’s covered in blood and holding his side. Even as he whispers your name, his eyes close and his chest shudders in a rasping breath.
You wrap an arm around him. “Have to—get you—to the water—!”
“Come on.” Suddenly the custodian is beside you, lifting Zane with a grunt. “You sure about this?”
“Course!” You stumble under Zane’s weight around the corner and lay him beside the water fountain, then dart into a classroom to grab a cup. “This water is miraculous. It heals!”
The custodian dips his head. “Yes, I know.”
You gawk. “Have you…?”
His smile is bitter. “A tiny sip, now and then. Not like you. I warned you, all those years ago, but you didn’t listen.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s the Fountain of Youth, and you’ve been drinking of it for the last twenty years. Immortality blurs time.”
“?”
“The paperwork on your enrollment got lost a few times.” The custodian huffs. “Didn’t you ever wonder why your friends changed so often? No. I suppose you were too busy maintaining popularity to notice.”
You start to ask more, but Zane moans and your attention shifts to him. His blood seeping between your fingers, his life draining before your eyes. Suddenly he’s the only thing that matters.
You fill the cup from the water fountain, then gently set it to Zane’s mouth so that he swallows it.
In the moments you wait, praying for him to recover, gripping his hand, you look up at the custodian. “What happens to me now?”
“The water won’t have the same effects now that you know.” His eyes fill with tears and he clasps your arm. “Everything you ever loved before is gone. And now you will remember.”
“Worth it,” you whisper, and smile as Zane’s eyes open. “Absolutely worth it.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The second-person REALLY helped my shock with how fast time went (and nice foreshadowing with the custodian early on!)… excellent, excellent work!
It was really fun to write! Thank you so much!
Abigail Falanga, aka StorySpinne
Ooo… very scoopy!
Great job.
Thank you!
Abigail Falanga, aka StorySpinne
Very clever.
Thanks!
Abigail Falanga, aka StorySpinner
Nice! The twenty years caught me off guard. Good job!
Excellent! I’m so glad you liked reading it :D
Abigail Falanga, aka StorySpinner
Thank you for reading this story!
Also, I apologize for that random “?” in the middle of nowhere. Fairly sure that was meant to go with a word (like “WHAT?” or something equally strong and appalled), and yet somehow it’s just sitting there all on its own. This is rather embarrassing.
Anyway…
This was a fun story to write, and one of the few times I’ve used second person POV, which makes it special. I’ve been reading a lot about the Fountain of Youth lately, and putting a hint of it in a contemporary setting was a lot of fun. In fact, I nearly got carried away with the idea and turned it into a novel. Maybe one day!
Fun fact: I got the name of the high school (Cibola) from a school in my area. It seemed fitting. :D
Abigail Falanga, aka StorySpinner
I actually thought the ? alone worked well. Sometimes we just have confusion with no words. I know it isn’t the right way to do it, but it adds to the jolt with this piece. Nicely done. I had an idea what legendary thing you were writing about but the lead up to the 20-year punch and the well done use of 2nd person spun the tale nicely.
Very good job with second person.
Thanks!
Abigail Falanga, aka StorySpinner
I love how this turned out, Abby! Well done!!
Love the second person! It’s so unique.
Fantastic story! I’m kind of obsessed with healing waters and the fountain of youth. I have stories with this concept, including cursed water, but nothing like this. It sucked me in and the curse was foreshadowed, but I was still shocked! Brilliant!