Sly

Sylvester hated it when we called him Sly. He was an absolute gem, but he was never too busy to laugh at one of us when we got in trouble or tripped over a pebble or something.

Sly hated being treated unfairly. His caramel face would flush with rage, his words would emerge in a rapid fire staccato, and tears would drip unbidden down the side of his face.

When I saw him I couldn’t tell why he was raging, but I could see he was in considerable pain. There was a deep gash just above his right eye, and the blood was mixing with the tears that fell. He was sitting on the pavement outside the pub, looking to all intents and purposes like the local drunk who’s just been kicked out.

“What the absolute hell?”

He had a habit of putting an adjective in every sentence. I would just swear, but that’s one of the things that made us different. He rarely swore and he didn't get distracted the way I do.

Back to the story.

“What?”

That's what I asked Sly.

“This makes absolutely no sense,” he replied. “Come look at this.”

I hadn't realised up to that point that he had in his hand an oddly shaped mirror. I couldn't count the number of sides it had, and it didn't help that no two sides appeared to match. At least it had a nice wide base so I could set it on my thigh as I looked at it.

“So?" I scoffed. "It's a mirror.”

“Look at the bloody thing, will you?”

I tilted it back and looked. It was a little dusty, and a little chipped. Apart from its shape, it was an altogether unremarkable mirror, as mirrors go. But I guess shape is one of the things that makes mirrors remarkable, so maybe it was remarkable.

This is uncomfortable, I thought as I looked at myself reflected dustily, my face looking sickly in the glow of the custom made neon light that had been put in the bar window to advertise in the brightest way possible that it was a live music venue. The light was green, and I therefore expected the music to be terrible.

I suddenly felt more uncomfortable, and I said it.

Sly laughed, a hoarse little croak that I recognised.

“What's funny?” I asked.

“That's the thing with the mirror,” he said.

“What‘s the thing with the mirror?”

“It’s weird. It amplifies things. Feelings. Sensations. Little intangibles that it shouldn’t be humanly possible to affect.”

I laughed. I had to. It was a preposterous idea.

He looked at me, his gaze not wavering. If I didn’t know he was an irreverent joker I’d probably have believed him based on his glare alone. But I knew, so I didn’t. Not for a minute.

I was still musing on this when I caught a glimpse of the neon light in the mirror.

That’s one ugly ass light, I thought.

Sly caught the mirror as it fell from my thigh.

“Do you believe me now?”

“What the…?”

I looked back at the pub to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. The light no longer read ‘LIVE MUSIC’.

Or maybe it did and I could no longer read it. All I know is it was the most poorly formed neon light I had ever seen and I almost threw up looking at it.

“It was just…” I almost said. I’m not sure if I actually got any words out but I was so flustered it didnt matter. I looked at the light again and again, and it just sat there and shone, bright in its acid green ugliness.

A young couple paused in front of the pub as though considering whether to go in for a drink.

“Where on earth did they get that ugly green neon thing?” the woman asked.

Sly chuckled at my discomfiture. He looked at the mirror for a moment, and then one word escaped his lips.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?” I was supposed to be the sweary one, not Sly.

“I just thought that this dastardly pain might be the death of me.”

He pulled up his shirt to reveal a livid bruise that covered most of his chest.

“What on earth happened to you?”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, yes,” I replied. “Surely this little mirror can’t… do that?”

“You just saw it physically or metaphysically change a neon sign.”

“Ah.”

I saw Sly visibly clam up and jumped off the kerb. I grabbed the mirror and flung it to the ground. It bounced. Just a centimetre off the ground, but it actually bounced.

Sly tried to chuckle but he was struggling to breathe at this point.

I called an ambulance, panicking. Sly was drawing deep, shuddering breaths that I could tell were shallow. He collapsed before the ambulance arrived and was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.

Sly was a great guy. I hate neon lights. And mirrors. I detest mirrors.