[ WP ] Death clears memories and drops people at a river . With no knowledge of how people come to be there , you 're one of the ferrymen who hazards the deep waters to bring people across before they disappear . You 've never failed a crossing , until today .

Thay were talking and not talking like thay always do. Abrupt starts and stops, `` So... where are we?'' `` I always knew I'd come to a place like this.'' `` Hi, what's your name?'' ``...'' just a few of them today. I always liked when it was just a few, felt more like the old days. The river was high today, must of been a snow melt or that global warming the new ones talk about. In fact, some places my pole could n't reach the bottom. But 200,000 years of doing this gives ye some sense of confidence. I stretched my arms down pushing for the bottom. I knew whe'e the big rocks were. It's not that far across in truth but feels like eternity some days. Usually, I'll push upstream a bit before pushing over and let the current pull me down to dock. This time was different and I knew it, the current was fast and water can carry you if your note careful. In all my years I'd never missed the dock, never gone past the bend thereafter. I pushed upstream twice the length I normally did. Up there the river narrowed and trees hung out above, closing out the stars. Much further I did n't think I could go, roots stuck out and crawled into the water. I turned the boat out and started across. One man spoke to me, he said, `` In all my years, I've never seen such red waters. You know the old sailors saying, red sun, well it's not the sun this time is it?'' He seemed to answer his own question with his silence. I never speak to them anyway. Clutching the pole I struck mud and rock, and pushed us forwards. The river pulled us downwards. The river pulled but my arms held firm. Again I drew up and again I sank in, pull. Push. Pull. Push. We were nearly half way when I pushed in the water but felt nothing below. Again I pulled up, and pushed down and felt nothing. Like an extension of myself, I could n't feel the ground beneath my feet. My nerves sizzled, my skin bristled. I felt us drifting with the current. I reached down again fishing for anything. Searching for a hold, I found none. It'd never been this deep. Immediately, I knew we were lost, untethered from the world. Stubbornly, I kept pulling out my stick, pushing it as far down as I could. Still I felt nothing but water pushing round the boat, gripping with its pudgy fat fingers. The people did n't seem to notice anything was wrong. Thay kept yammering about the news, how some guy had passed away, or looking searchingly in each other's faces for'do n't I know you?' Poor sons and daughters, thay did n't know what was on the other side. Whe'eas me, I did n't know what was past the bend, I'd never missed the dock. I could see it there, firm despite the high water. Old wood that'd never rot, not in any thousandth year. I felt like I could be that firm. I felt I had proven myself, I could make it. Again and again I pushed, searching for the hold, if I could just get out of the middle we'd be good. But nothing stuck, not even when I dipped me hands past the water line, it was like the bottom had fallen out. So past the dock we went, and still I pulled and pushed. Again the old man looked to me, he said, `` There's more than one way to skin a fish, the grass is always green in the bush, insanity is doing the same thing a lot a lot, oh my where has the time gone, I held it just a minute ago...'' I tried to ignore him, but coming closer to the bend I could n't help but want to see. Pushing and pulling and looking up, where does it end? Finally I felt something, I turned the boat towards shore and pushed as hard as I could. Then again felt down and felt hard rock, I looked back up stream but I could n't see the dock, we were fully past the bend. I looked down stream and the river widened more and looked calmer and crisper until it was just a flat line with only darkness beyond. It looked like it just ended. I pushed again, but we were still being pulled further down river. Thay were all clashing and clammering speaking nonsense at this point. A young woman started singing, `` I went down to Georgia, I ate apple Sue, fox trot salad Sunday!'' A man in a black suit cradled himself in the hull biting his thumb, I could hear it crunching. I remembered the dock standing firm, I could be like that. Just get close to shore in the shallows and the current will become soft. But the more I pushed to shore the wider the river became. The wider the river became the further we were from the dock. The further we were from the dock the closer the horizon. The black empty horizon. I wanted to see it. It could n't be the end. I needed to reach shore. I pushed. Again and again I could feel the ground. I could move us, but again and again I looked and saw us closer to the horizon. Never receding we got closer to the horizon. I needed to see it. The old man spoke, `` What goes around, must come up! My uncle told me, never count by threes, when the cheese comes we all go out in xylophone!'' It was inevitable, as I should have known. We would meet the horizon. And then we did, and it felt like being pulled over the edge of a waterfall. Like those fat water fingers gripped and gripped and squeezed until nothing was left. My lungs felt squished and unable to open. My eyes tightened shut. I felt small as a dot. And I heard their screams, awful sickly screams, congested throats, gurgling and gut wrenching. Until all they were was water, and I a speck of dust, or not even.
