Taylor Walker

AN: sorry, this is just a short story, something I did for fun, please R&R! Thank you much

Charon and the River of Styx

Charon dipped the ore into the black waters covered with a fine layer of mist. The moans of the souls who were not properly buried echoed in the endless river of Styx. In the back of his rotted boat sat the newly deceased. It was a man, whom looked as if he had a rough fight to the death. His skin held the grayish waxy hue they all had when stepping into his boat. The man, he noted, had a nasty gash, from under his right ear slicing all the way to the left, revealing the muscles and arteries in the throat. His jaw was also dislocated, making him seem more akin to the wraths that screeched their sorrows to any who would listen.

Charon, also known as the 'ferry man' to the living, leaned his boney frame against the ore which was now embedded in the water of 'hateful', and lifted his clawed hand towards the mans mouth, and demanded with his hoarse voice, "The fee."

The man's head jerked, his empty eye whites rolling around listlessly in their sunken sockets. Then his jaw fell open, hanging on one side by a thread of tendon still clinging to the bone.

Like all others Charon had seen in this thousands of years serving Hades as the 'ferry man' the newly dead were disgustingly lacking their nervous system, making the dead twitch and jerk.

Charon smiled within the depths of his black hood, as he saw the gleam of gold fall from the mans mouth, rolling towards Charon's bare feet.

He grimaced slightly at the cracking and snapping that his back made as he bent down to retrieve the fee.

He chuckled, a wet gurgling noise to anyone else's ears, and nodded once to him as if in satisfaction before, picking up his ore and dipping it back into the water to move the boat.

Hissing at the rejected souls within the water, Charon yanked fiercely at the ore, which was currently being held tenaciously by a couple of women with begging looks in their pale wet faces.

"Off, be gone with you." Charon roared into the river of souls.

With hopeless screams, the woman flew away floating with the other dead.

When the boat began to move more swiftly through the river, the passenger in the back, cracked his skull open and made a strangled moan but otherwise ignored the thick black blood oozing from the back of his head.

For the first time in thousands of years, the ferryman looked back at the soul with his black eyes which may have flickered with something short of sympathy, and then glanced away, continuing his duty, but he said softly " May the gods be with you warrior."

' Above, the family members gathered by the grave of Brutus who died in the battle against the Thracians. His wife dressed in black for mourning, whispered softly to herself and then lifted her head up and called out loudly "I will tell you about a myth; about the ferry man and the river of Styx" . . . "May you travel peacefully, to the gods Brutus."

AN: I know, the grammer was horrible but I took a break from writing ^_^ I'm coming back though