Short Story #2: The Ferryman; and other thoughts

Okay, ten - twenty minute writing exercise based on an idea I've been having.
The premise of today goes a little like this:
1) 10 - 20 mins writing (duh!)
2) No going back once its written down. Once I'm done, I'm done. (lets hope its good!)
3)Let's see if I haven't burnt myself up with all the writing I've been doing the last few weeks.

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The Ancient Greeks once believed that to cross into the next life you have to pay the ferryman, Chiron, to carry you across the river Styx. I always found this thought to ring true. Let's face it, we're born into this world kicking and screaming; we have to pay to survive, to have the basic essentials like water, a roof over our head and food, to get an education, to fit in, even need money so you look good when they bury you in the ground. So why should death be any different? If we have to pay all our lives to live, in only make sense we have to pay to get an afterlife.

Closing the man's eyes, I placed two credits on top and say a quick prayer. It was the least I could do, considering I just killed him. His mouth is still open, his tongue poking out like a fat, distorted worm. Poor guy, the shock of seeing me behind the barrel of a gun having to be the last image burnt into his mind is a cruel, unfair thing. But, he was part of the job.

I can't exactly remember the details in the contract; exactly why he had to die. Maybe it had to do with his own little piece of turf in Lower Middletown was expanding, that he rubbed a rival ganglord the wrong way. Maybe he was pimping out the Clockworks, or selling Green to the Rads. Maybe he did a thousand other things to warrant a contract on him. Sometimes people want other people dead just because they look funny.

But, business is business. I do what I can to survive, even if it means I'm ankle deep in blood and brain matter. Cleaning up scum like him is what I consider a bonus in this grim job. Maybe I've made Middletown a better place, maybe I've opened the door to something a lot worse. Who knows, who cares. If the credits are good, I'll do nearly anything. Because let's face it, money makes the world go around.

And you know what? Those Greeks were on to something.
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Okay, that was about ten minutes. Not exactly what I had in mind, but have to stick with my own forced rules. It's funny how a story does that to you. You start off with what you had in mind, a grand scene painted in the dark corners in your mind. Somehow during the writer process, as thoughts become words, the image changes. Soon you forget who is in control, you, or the story.

I say this because, as of Wednesday, I have finished a draft of my novel. A novel five years in the making in the dark recesses of my mind. I still have the original draft all those years ago and I am amazed how it had grown in all those years. Now that I've typed the last word, I feel weird. A little lighter, a little bit humble and a little bit sad. No longer is my story a part of me. If the gods are kind, it will be published and read by other people. It will grow, entertain people, and hopefully make the world a little bit brighter.

Now I have a slight inkling to what it means to be a parent.

Interesting, huh?

Untill next time

-Kickingfrog