The souls of the dead queue on the rickety old dock. Their shuffling for position can only be heard by those who were sensitive to the voices of the dead.
I sit alone on the dock with my bucket of pennies. It’s the only way to clear the crowd from the dock, because not many still follow the Old Ways. Without me to cover fares, the line would never stop growing.
Charon doesn’t like it much. He snarls and considers it cheating the rules.
But as long as I have plenty of coins, I can stay off his boat myself.
Inspired by this Friday Fictioneers prompt:
PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright – Georgia Koch
ParkInkSpot 
A very graphic answer to the question “who pays the ferryman?” Nicely done.
Thanks! “Creepy old boat”? One obvious answer.
Dear Dave,
You’ve given me a penny for my thoughts. Nice one.
Shalom,
Rochelle
Wince, the puns. Thanks. 😛
Dear Mr. Spot,
Better to pay the toll for others than have it paid for you. Charon should not complain either. He’s being paid.
Good tale.
Aloha,
Doug
Charon’s just grumpy. Same bloody commute, day after day after day after…
Very amusing (I know, a weird reaction!).
Thanks. Got a few pennies for my bucket-basket?
Charon is too tired to really bother. Well done.
Paying other’s fair to stay yourself .. very clever idea.
Self-serving is always easy for me. That’s ah, yeah, not good, right?
Danke.
An entertaining twist on the ferryman theme – but with a melancholy undertone. Poor man. How long can he sit there doling out pennies?
Clutching onto his window of immortality at any cost. Gotta love pyrrhic victories.