part one;

The wind was sparse, smelled of burnt iron shavings, metallic and crisp. The craft bobbed on a black ocean filled with blue eyes, glinting, unblinking. We were many; the departed. Our captain and oarsman stood at the bow, his shaft going in and out of the black ocean, his head never stirring, focused on an unseen destination. We all knew where we were going; the land of the dead.

Just as legend would have it, we awoke on a beach, its sand gray and fine. We had just died; some naturally, some intentionally, some accidentally. We spoke, all questions, all confused. He organized us, like a sheperd. Told us to form a line, and walk solemnly up to his vessel, a boat of dark, menacing, ancient wood. We did as we were told.

He seemed on edge, I don't know, that's just how I took, I am very sensitive. When I passed him on my way up his craft--he twitched, like, I were some atrocity. I was a very nice man; everyone liked me. Or maybe, he twitched because of my wife, who was behind me; she'd make any demon twitch, she herself being a demon of nagging and finickiness. My son followed her; we all died together in the jeepney I was driving. Accidental.

We all sat, then he came aboard. He paused for a moment infront my party of three; it was almost imperceptible, but he did pause. It felt like we were in the middle of our voyage when he disrobed, exposing an awesomely white skin, thin yet tough, fragile yet impenetrable. He faced his cargo.

"I have decided to quit. I've done this a long time. I am tired; and frankly bored. To get to the other side one of you must take up my robe and my oar; if you don't you won't get to the other side, where relatives and friends await; and in the world where you came from--no one will die."

We were all awestruck. He turned his back to us, and jumped, into the eyes, into the black liquid eternity.

I was a good driver, when I had lived. Never hit no one. When we died we were hit by a drunk taxi driver, I'm guessing he is here somewhere with his passenger, a young girl, unless of course, they both survived. A pity, I would not have minded if the taxi driver died with us. An eye for an eye; the golden rule.

This is an opportunity. If I don't take this surely my wife will be nagging me until the end of time, that is, if time were to end. This way I can buy my time, be useful; until I'm bored, then I can either go the way of the boatman, or go down the otherside--which I guess, actually, is unlikely; who would want to be me once they are on the other side, assuming I take his position, and power. Power. I never had power.

I stood; a few stood as well. I did not spend more time analyzing--I ran for the robe. And took it; the other two hopefuls, stumbling into each other and crashing on the floor of the craft; my craft now. My craft.

I turned my back on them. Whatever magic which unables us to speak is glorious; my wife's scowl nearly stabbed me to death.