My boat is ready, when they come in groups. Orphans, elderly, unshaven men and teenage girls.
The mica in their eyes reflect the river; fear; but in their hands they clutch my fee. But there are those I leave behind. They sleep in tents, and call for help.
They try in vain to trade their goods for coins.
I have a small collection, bribes and trinkets, and my bed is always warmed by girls, believing they can melt my granite soul.
I am Charon and my fee is fixed, and worse than Hades is the nothingness of being left behind.
The image put me in the mind of Charon, and the river Styx. Somehow I wanted the fee to traverse the river being similar as the human traffickers who live as parasites of the misery. Alas not a happy and uplifting piece this week either. I think my prose fell back to poetry this week….
Friday Fictioneers is a blogging group who writes to the same photo every week. We are all working under the leadership of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, who in addition to manage this group is successful as an author. Join us.
March 16, 2016