Unconventional Ferryman

Jutting tree limbs peel back like the palace guard making way for their queen. A narrow cobblestone path slices through an intimidating forest. I follow it blindly. What choice do I have? Affliction dissolves here like the cube of sugar in my evening tea; dispersing and thinning until it has become one with its environment. In this I find comfort. I move without the use of known muscles; propelled forward by some unseen force like a discarded grocery bag caught in an icy breeze. It brings me to a place shrouded in a gray fog, the air clings to me like shrink wrap does to raw chicken. Willow trees stand before a split in the earth and bend low; prostrated with grief. A bridge, constructed of rotted driftwood and moss ridden rope, spans the gap between earths; and there he stands. A wheat-haired boy in a tattered tunic fashioned with a single leather belt. His eyes are blue like a frozen concoction picked up at a convenient store and lack their natural dark centers. Everything is still; everything is silent. His soft pallid hand is stretched towards me, palm up in beggar’s fashion, aching for the two coins weighing heavy in my own fisted grip.