The Ferryman

My story begins at the end of yours. I am the one who will remember, the one you think about in those final moments as all of time itself flashes across your eyes. I am the one you hope to never see empty handed. A coin is all I ask. You give me a coin and I keep your memory. 

My boat is small, more of a raft now, worn down over the years. Enough for me and you, nothing more. You don’t need anything other than yourself by the time we meet, my price will have been paid. 

My latest passenger was a man of forty-five years. He lived an honest life after a point, they all do when the end approaches. His story is his own and not for me to tell, he will be remembered, it is a promise I give. They say you can’t fully die until no one remembers, I will always remember. 

The boat cuts through the water with every push I give it, no resistance is felt, even the water has no life down here. My oar is simple, a long stick with a flat paddle on one end that was given to me by someone who didn’t deserve a memory.

I have many memories that I have collected, so many souls have paid for passage on my ferry. I will remember them all, some more than others. I have made this trip over and over, some souls beg and some accept the rules and some fight, if you reach me though, it is already too late to do anything more, best just to accept your fate and move on, we all go this route eventually. 

I am the only exception, I will not go the same way you do. My story is long and full of pain and misery. None of it is my own, I think I have always been here doing this. I don’t remember when I started and I have no end in sight. I am the ferryman, my job is to accept payment and take on the memory of you, then take you to the next destination and back again to get the next. 

My latest fair is happy with the service I have provided. We reach the other side of the river and he steps off, offering an additional coin to me that I happily take, for the coins extend my time here. Memories have been stored and now I begin the long journey back. To collect the next soul.

Human life is so fragile. I have seen enough of it to understand how fleeting and precious it is, something about the limited time is motivational. You have such small amounts but experience so much life. As I have said, I don’t have a beginning and my life is not fleeting, in fact, it might be forever. I have no desire to experience life the way you do, maybe that is my true curse. To exist and never want or need, I just simply am and will be forever. 

Why do I do this? Ferry the souls of the damned and not so? Many times I have thought about it, never truly understanding why. Maybe I do it because no one else can or will? Who can really say. We are just ideas and thoughts with very few actions, just a routine that we fill with broad concepts of why.

My journey back is eventless and filled with the sounds of the sloshing water around me. It drains more everyday. The water. It started so long ago. The banks of the styx were swelled to bursting, but that is not the case any longer. It is as if the river itself is life, the more I ferry the less there is. What will happen when the last soul has found its place? Maybe the river will reveal a bed and I can finally rest. 

The journey back is twice as fast with half the weight. I arrive at the meeting place, where all souls must seek my services, coin in hand. I drift up to the pier. Curiously I see no one, not a single soul waiting for me to begin my journey again. I wait and wait. Nothing. Nobody comes. Where are all the souls? I stand on my ferry, oar in hand, waiting for more damned as my oar gently swirls the water around me. A thud. I look down to see the river is completely dry, my bed has been revealed and I am ready for my promised rest. Don’t worry though, I have all of your memories and dreams to keep me company.