Post by Grimm on Sept 5, 2016 14:39:35 GMT -5
“Boneyfiddle was such a nice little town.”
“Yeah, it was. I love these road trip weekends. Just point your car in a random direction, no agendas, and see where it takes you.”
Boneyfiddle was like most every other little town along most every other river. A coffee shop or two. Antique stores filling all the storefronts that used to house the kinds of businesses that used to keep a town afloat. A tidy little park in the center of it all. Murals of varying quality portraying historical scenes and local celebrities, all splashed along the flood walls. So, yes, all things considered, it was quaint and it had been a nice find. But then…
“Where does this take us?”
“Hangtown.”
“Hmm. And where is that, exactly?”
“Across yon river.”
“I’m not familiar with that one.”
“Siri doesn’t know everything.”
The couple stood in front of their car and watched the ferryman pull them away from the dock and onto the water. It had the lovely brown-green color shared by all rivers, but in this light it stood as a ribbon of black winding through the hills. The passengers couldn’t tell if it was the rope or the man’s muscles creaking under the strain as he pulled. As they moved further out, a fog bank rolled around a bend in the river and settled in on them. Thanks to the humidity of these dog days they could no longer see where they’d been. Or where they were heading.
They passed the time by watching the water. Leaves and sticks gave way to bits of rubbish. Tatters and scraps passed beneath the ferry. Broken toys and doll parts bobbed in their wake. A chubby pink hand waved as it went under. Bones and greasy offal eddied in the water, stuck in their own currents.
There’s no earthly way of knowing…which direction we are going.
The couple turned their attention from the water to their guide.
“I beg your pardon?”
There’s no knowing where we’re rowing…or which way the river’s flowing.
“I’m sorry what was that?”
“Nothing. (Is the grisly reaper mowing?)”
“I thought you said something.”
“Nope. Must be the river. It can play tricks on you.”
Off the bow the couple saw the silhouette of a hanged man swinging from a gibbet. A crow hopped, beak deep in a mass of gristle. A cityscape engulfed in flames. Then, nothing but the yellow phosphorous glow of a barge light.
“Focus!” The ferryman snapped his fingers, and the sound shot across the water and echoed off the downs like a muzzleloader.
The passengers felt the need to talk. To make sure this was real.
“I don’t suppose you have snacks on board do you?”
“Snacks?”
“Yes. You know, pretzels or candy or something.”
The ferryman whipped around in a flash of red whiskers and a whiff of autumn. Of the harvest.
“You get nothing.” A few more pulls on the rope. Things – heavy things – thumped beneath the hull. “Candy. Do you know what candy gets you? Rotten teeth. Bleeding gums. It ruins your esophagus and fries your brain. And then you know what that leads to?”
Nothing but water lapping on a shoreline, somewhere.
“The stronger stuff. Peppy little pills in rainbow colors meant to calm you down or pull you up out of your funk. Piles upon piles of pharmaceuticals that whisk you away to a no-man’s land of blood and dragon’s fire. Another world with conjurors dazzling you with illusions. (tricks are what whores do for cocaine…or candy) Probably flashbacks to some pretty ugly things you’ve worked your whole life to ignore.”
“Well. That’s weird, if I may say so. And oddly specific. You must know someone.”
“I’ve heard things.”
The hills had to be somewhere, right? The couple couldn’t see any hint of them or the far shore. But the call of a whippoorwill rotaried around them. Disorienting, yes, but at least it suggested land was near.
“Sure, you’ve convinced yourself they’re for you own good. Your enablers have seen to that. Just because you can’t cope, because you refuse to cope, with this…”
The ferryman took a hand off the rope and waved it around. Waved it at the fog and the river, the growing shadows of the trees and the looming hills. Then placed it back on the rope and resumed his endless task.
“…you just guzzle down more sweets and hope for the best. Sometimes your best isn’t enough. Sometimes you have too much on your plate when the worst thing comes along. ”
The ferryman stopped pulling. He stretched his arms over his shoulders. The boat drifted along the course of the rope and came to rest against this other dock.
“Ah. Here we are.”
The ferryman was right. Siri did not know everything. Siri could not help you when you were in places that didn’t exist in Siri’s world. Or in places Siri feared to go.
“Yeah, it was. I love these road trip weekends. Just point your car in a random direction, no agendas, and see where it takes you.”
Boneyfiddle was like most every other little town along most every other river. A coffee shop or two. Antique stores filling all the storefronts that used to house the kinds of businesses that used to keep a town afloat. A tidy little park in the center of it all. Murals of varying quality portraying historical scenes and local celebrities, all splashed along the flood walls. So, yes, all things considered, it was quaint and it had been a nice find. But then…
“Where does this take us?”
“Hangtown.”
“Hmm. And where is that, exactly?”
“Across yon river.”
“I’m not familiar with that one.”
“Siri doesn’t know everything.”
The couple stood in front of their car and watched the ferryman pull them away from the dock and onto the water. It had the lovely brown-green color shared by all rivers, but in this light it stood as a ribbon of black winding through the hills. The passengers couldn’t tell if it was the rope or the man’s muscles creaking under the strain as he pulled. As they moved further out, a fog bank rolled around a bend in the river and settled in on them. Thanks to the humidity of these dog days they could no longer see where they’d been. Or where they were heading.
They passed the time by watching the water. Leaves and sticks gave way to bits of rubbish. Tatters and scraps passed beneath the ferry. Broken toys and doll parts bobbed in their wake. A chubby pink hand waved as it went under. Bones and greasy offal eddied in the water, stuck in their own currents.
There’s no earthly way of knowing…which direction we are going.
The couple turned their attention from the water to their guide.
“I beg your pardon?”
There’s no knowing where we’re rowing…or which way the river’s flowing.
“I’m sorry what was that?”
“Nothing. (Is the grisly reaper mowing?)”
“I thought you said something.”
“Nope. Must be the river. It can play tricks on you.”
Off the bow the couple saw the silhouette of a hanged man swinging from a gibbet. A crow hopped, beak deep in a mass of gristle. A cityscape engulfed in flames. Then, nothing but the yellow phosphorous glow of a barge light.
“Focus!” The ferryman snapped his fingers, and the sound shot across the water and echoed off the downs like a muzzleloader.
The passengers felt the need to talk. To make sure this was real.
“I don’t suppose you have snacks on board do you?”
“Snacks?”
“Yes. You know, pretzels or candy or something.”
The ferryman whipped around in a flash of red whiskers and a whiff of autumn. Of the harvest.
“You get nothing.” A few more pulls on the rope. Things – heavy things – thumped beneath the hull. “Candy. Do you know what candy gets you? Rotten teeth. Bleeding gums. It ruins your esophagus and fries your brain. And then you know what that leads to?”
Nothing but water lapping on a shoreline, somewhere.
“The stronger stuff. Peppy little pills in rainbow colors meant to calm you down or pull you up out of your funk. Piles upon piles of pharmaceuticals that whisk you away to a no-man’s land of blood and dragon’s fire. Another world with conjurors dazzling you with illusions. (tricks are what whores do for cocaine…or candy) Probably flashbacks to some pretty ugly things you’ve worked your whole life to ignore.”
“Well. That’s weird, if I may say so. And oddly specific. You must know someone.”
“I’ve heard things.”
The hills had to be somewhere, right? The couple couldn’t see any hint of them or the far shore. But the call of a whippoorwill rotaried around them. Disorienting, yes, but at least it suggested land was near.
“Sure, you’ve convinced yourself they’re for you own good. Your enablers have seen to that. Just because you can’t cope, because you refuse to cope, with this…”
The ferryman took a hand off the rope and waved it around. Waved it at the fog and the river, the growing shadows of the trees and the looming hills. Then placed it back on the rope and resumed his endless task.
“…you just guzzle down more sweets and hope for the best. Sometimes your best isn’t enough. Sometimes you have too much on your plate when the worst thing comes along. ”
The ferryman stopped pulling. He stretched his arms over his shoulders. The boat drifted along the course of the rope and came to rest against this other dock.
“Ah. Here we are.”
The ferryman was right. Siri did not know everything. Siri could not help you when you were in places that didn’t exist in Siri’s world. Or in places Siri feared to go.
