Sal's One Shot One-Stop Shop

Blurred Vision, Part Two

Sal here. This part was not intended to be posted so close to the 24th, that's just kind of how it panned out. In any case, this may be a tough read for some. Please be warned. Rest in peace, Freddie Mercury.

"No monsters here, that I can see- unless the monster is me," Freddie chuckled as he completed the unintentional rhyme.

The woman smiled again. In her eyes, however, he could see the lingering apprehension, even felt it in her grasp which only seemed to clamp his hand tighter by the second.

"Oh, darling, don't be afraid," he tried to reassure her. "If anything jumps out at us, I'll protect you."

All the same, Freddie certainly understood a little better why she had been so reluctant at first. From a distance, this place hadn't seemed nearly so gloomy. But now that they stood a mere five yards from the river bank, well, let's just say he now knew it was no place for a picnic.

In fact, he wasn't even certain anymore that this was a river at all. The black water was smooth as marble, with no waves or choppiness to speak of, and stretched so wide across that the other side could not even be seen through the heavy mist engulfing the bank; the subtle hiss of the current gave the only indication the water was moving. Vaguely it resembled the ocean's voice when the tide starts rolling in, which reminded Freddie of the song he had partially recorded a few months ago, one he had hoped he would still be able to finish.

Perhaps I will, he said to himself. They may have to put me in a wheelchair to do it, but I still want to see that one through.

Yet despite his new, quiet misgivings, Freddie edged even nearer. So peculiar, wasn't it, how the water seemed to swallow up the red miasma that was the sky, yet it shone like liquid obsidian. Closer and closer they drew until their feet were mere inches from the polished inky waters. Now he could detect a faint, unpleasant odor, like that of a stagnant pond on a hot summer day.

The fetid stench, though not particularly strong, was extremely off-putting nonetheless. Freddie wafted his hand in front of his face, pushing air away from his nose. As he did so, a perfect facsimile of his arm moving in the very same manner appeared on the waters below. Curiosity renewed, Freddie bent over the water, peered down at his reflection- and gasped in delight.

"Darling, look!" he crowed.

For the river's murky waters acted as a surprisingly excellent mirror, presenting every facial feature in bright, meticulous detail unto his wondering eyes. But, even more amazing than that, was the face itself. Freddie did not see the face he wore lately, the haggard mask he could hardly bear to look at anymore, even if he could. No, this face was beautiful, chiseled but not gaunt, and free of blemish. He didn't look a day over thirty-five.

God, I love this place, he sighed. To her, then, Freddie urged, "Look for yourself, dear! It's unbelievable!"

But the woman again shrank back. Freddie of course would not take no for an answer, and continued to badger her. But no matter how much he cajoled, she refused to do something as simple as lean over the river and cast her reflection.

"You're as stubborn as anything, I tell you- even in my dreams," he huffed, then when her jaw clenched as further proof of her obstinacy, he added under his breath, "You would look if you loved me."

The woman exhaled very, very slowly through her nose, expressing her frustration more clearly than words ever could. Deep down he couldn't blame her. Freddie knew it was a bratty thing to say, even for him. But hell, he wanted his way- and if acting like a spoiled child meant he would get it, then a spoiled child he would be.