So as you may have noticed, things here have been kind of quiet lately. Like REALLY quiet. The poetry hasn’t worked for a bit and I’ve been busy with other things. Which brings us to this.

Flash Fiction February is an annual challenge to write a short piece of fiction every day for the month of February (it’s in the name really). I figured maybe if I used a different format maybe the creative juices would start flowing again.

The jury’s still out, but here’s the first one.

The Wrong Queue

Teddy was the better part of 92 years old. Specifically, he was set to turn ninety-two in seventeen days. He’d also be the first one to tell you he’s not quite as sharp as he was when he was younger. He often gets confused and ends up having to get a cab back to the home where he lives. The staff have tried everything to stop him wandering off, but to no avail.

Today is no different. Today, he wanted to go to the movies, but got turned around (all too easily). He was on the verge of calling a cab to go back when he saw a queue of people and decided it must be the line to the theatre. Given that most of the people in the line were closer to his age than they were to forty seemed like a good sign. They also seemed unusually quiet except for a few who were muttering to themselves. Even the mutterers did so quietly. This was another good sign because Teddy hated people who talked at the movies.

“If I wanted to hear old farts talking, I would’ve stayed at the home.”, he muttered to himself and made a mental note (for what that was worth) to avoid sitting near the ones intent on chatting with themselves. Probably best to avoid that one who looked to be on the verge of tears as well.

The queue slowly wound forward and he was a little puzzled to notice that a fairly thick fog had come up and he couldn’t really make out the buildings around him anymore. This didn’t bother him much as he didn’t always notice things like that anymore. Not like when he had a young man’s senses (and lack of sense) he thought ruefully.

The fog reached the point where he couldn’t see the person in front of him, or looking back, the one behind him either. 

“Well,” he muttered grumpily, “I may as well keep going and see if I can get out of this bloody soup!”

A few steps later, the fog thinned slightly and he saw the most disreputable looking bum he had ever seen. The fellow was tall, appeared heavily muscled and was clad in worn rags so tattered Teddy wouldn’t have washed the floor with them (not that he had to do that in the home, but still). The figure leaned on a tall pole and held out a talon-like hand saying in a raspy, bass voice, “Two coins.”

“Coins?”, Teddy asked querulously. “Why would I give you coins?”

“Two coins or you go no further and wait here for one hundred years.”

Teddy backed away slightly. “I don’t think I’m that anxious to go to the movies after all.”

“Two coins.”, the figure rasped again in its sepulchral voice.

He backed away some more.

Teddy felt something against his back and was relieved to think that another person from the queue had joined him and would help him get past the coin-obsessed crazy and into the theatre. Turning, he was alarmed to see nothing but the fog behind him.

“No going back. The dead cannot go back.”, intoned the rag draped shape before him.

“What are you on about?”, demanded Teddy. “Are you threatening to kill me for a couple of damned coins?”

A look of shocked incredulity crossed the face of the towering figure.

“I do NOT kill.” If a giant bum dressed in rags could sound scandalized, that was exactly what it would have sounded like.

“Then why are you talking about me being dead?”, Teddy wondered. “I know I’m so far past my prime it’s more of a rumour than a memory, but I wasn’t dead when I got up this morning and so far as I know, that hasn’t changed.” Teddy paused then, “Who are you anyways?”

The figure drew itself up to its full, rather intimidating height. “I am Charron the ferryman.”

“Karen? Weird name for a fella but I guess that’s just how it is these days.”

“Well Karen, I’m Teddy, and I’m still definitely not dead, so how about letting me get out of here. If I hurry, maybe I can still make the matinee.”

Charron looked skeptically at the stooped and wizened man. “Give me two coins and I will tell you whether or not you can cross.”

“Cross what? I don’t see a street or anything but you and this fog!”, snapped Teddy. He was getting angry because none of this was making any sense and he was starting to fear he had slipped into dementia. Maybe being dead would be better.

“Give me the coins!”, growled Charron, also starting to lose patience.

Teddy flinched and dug into his pocket. He came up with a nickel and quarter and dropped them in Charron’s outstretched hand.

Both of them started (although for vastly different reasons) as the coins continued straight through and dropped to the ground.

“You’re not dead!”, the ferryman gasped in horror.

“Finally! Like me standing here talking to you wasn’t a give-away!”, mocked Teddy.

Charron only stared at him. “You aren’t supposed to be here. How did you get here?”

The old man didn’t understand what the issue was. “I was going to go to the movies and I apparently got into the wrong line, now here I am. What’s the big deal?”

Charron once again drew himself up to his full height. “I am the ferryman. I carry souls across the river Styx to the underworld. Only the dead can come to me.”

Teddy rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Well, my doctor says I’ve had one foot in the grave for years. I guess it was closer than I thought. So what happens now?”

“You cannot go back and you cannot cross because you are not dead.”

“So what? I stay here until I die, then I cross. Not that I’m saying I believe you, but if I did…”

Charron paused and seemed uncomfortable. “Time doesn’t work here like it does out there. You won’t get any older and you won’t die. You will just be here, like me, forever.”

“What?”, shrieked the old man. “You mean I stay old like this. No hair. No teeth. No dignity? Forever?”

The massive ferryman gave a small, almost apologetic shrug. “Sorry, but that’s the way it works.”

Feeling dizzy and more confused than ever Teddy sat on a nearby rock. He barely heard Charron ask, “Two questions. Do you like dogs, and do you know how to play cribbage?”

As always, I would love your feedback!

Cheers,