LXR: the importance of proper footwear

For the longest time, Ken drifted. A warm nothingness lapped against him like the bathtub he had played in as a child. A deep, immeasurable peace had settled over him and he realized with absolute contentment that he had died.

After a long period of silence and rest, he felt something in his stomach. It was as though a mighty hook had snagged what was left of his colon and was now pulling him forward, although the sensation was not unpleasant. Gradually the nothingness faded from view and he found himself on a rocky bank beside a river. Around him were untold thousands of other people, men and women, children and adults, of every race imagineable.

They were all moving toward one spot, up ahead. Even though he stood head and shoulders above most of the crowd, Ken couldn’t see what it was they were moving toward, but he allowed himself to be drawn with the crowd toward whatever it was.

At long last, he could see that it was a bridge. And at the bridge was an old man with a hooked nose and eyebrows that jutted out an inch from his forehead, a tangled gray beard, and an old, worn cossack.

“Give me your toll, sir,” Charon told him. “I can’t let you across to be judged if you haven’t got your toll.”

Ken fished around in his pockets, and to his dismay found that all he had was two pennies. He held them out nervously.

“All I’ve got is two cents,” he said.

“Well of course it is,” Charon grumbled. “Inflation’s driven up everything else, and you’d think that with all the people dying these days, that I could get a raise, but noooo… management’ll never hear of that, will they?”

Ken nodded understandingly. It was the same everywhere you went.

“‘They’re dead,’ Minos tells me. ‘You can’t go robbing the dead. Pfaugh.” Charon turned his head and spat onto the dirt beside the river. “Thinks he’s so stinking special, judge of the dead and all that. Let him try ferrying people across the Styx for a few thousand years. He’ll see what real work is like.”

“Oh,” said Ken, wondering for a moment if he had gone to the wrong afterlife. “Um, is there going to be a boat or something?”

“No, and thank you for reminding me.” Charon was growing more heated now. Behind Ken, the shades of the dead were starting to shuffle their feet and stamp impatiently. “No, Rhadamanthos had this great idea a millennium ago. ‘Why not build a toll bridge instead?’ he says. ‘It’ll cut waiting times by years. Plus, a bridge’ll make it easier for people to cross, so we’ll have fewer toll cheats. The whole thing will pay for itself.'” Charon mimicked the speech with a high, nasal whine. “Pay for itself in a pig’s eye!” he shouted. “Our entire bond rating has been shot to hell by that idiot’s fiscal mismanagement.”

He glanced at the backlog that was gathering behind Ken. “Never trust a Republican to make things easier. What do they care? They’re not the ones stuck paying the bill. It’s us poor working class stiffs who pay everytime. And now they’re talking about outsourcing my job to some stiff from Albania because it’ll cost less. They say all my years of experience have made it too expensive to keep me on, and I’m nearing the 4,500-year mandatory retirement.” He glared at no one in particular. “Bastards. See if I care when the whole afterlife comes crashing down. Come beg me to take back my old job, and see if I’ll listen.”

There was a pause while Ken searched for something comforting to say, and then Charon seemed to notice him for the first time. “Your toll, sir? You can’t cross the bridge if you don’t pay your toll.”

“Um, I gave you two cents already,” Ken said.

“Oh. So you did,” Charon said. “Well, get a move on. Can’t be dilly-dallying the time away here. Get moving, get moving.”

“What a strange man,” Ken thought to himself, but soon he had other things on his mind. The bridge ahead of him was empty, and he had to race to catch up with the crowd, which already had crossed. To his delight, he saw two familiar faces waiting for him.

“FOAF!” he said. He gave a hug to BBrucker, then realized his mistake and gave him a second hug as he said “And Bullfeather! My excellent good friends. What brings you here?” FOAF looked put out, having received neither hug, even though he was sure he was one of the two people just referenced.

“Um, well, we died,” said Brabantio. “I was electrocuted, and Bree here died from your hibernation pill.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Ken said. “I guess I did too.”

The three of them moved forward with the line. Up ahead was a giant city, with gates made of pearl. At each gate stood a judge, and each judge was reading from a book. As he read from the book, one of two things happened. The person either was admitted into the city, or he disappeared from view.

The men moved forward, talking about the strange events that had brought them to this point, and wondering where the others were. As they drew nearer the city, Bibliomaniac looked up for a moment, then tugged on Ken’s sleeve.

“Ken, can I trade boots with you for a minute?” he asked. “It’s kind of important.”

“Huh? Oh, sure,” Ken said. He took off his boots and handed them to Badinoff while he and FOAF talked about the odd quirks of fate in Australia. He barely even registered when Blackleg handed him a different set of boots and he put them on.

And then suddenly he was there. He looked up, and found himself utterly surprised by the face of the judge before him. It was Harvey, the Purple Hippo.

Hello Ken, said Harvey. Let’s see what we have here. Well, it says here that your sins were all forgiven by Christ. That’s certainly good. But have you heard about heaven’s dress code?

“No,” Ken said, confused.

Well for starters, that nehru jacket you have on is right out, said Harvey. And then there’s your footwear. What were you thinking?

Ken looked down, and realized he was wearing boots made from the hide of a purple hippopotamus.

There was silence so absolute that it was chilling. It lasted half an hour, and when it ended, Ken felt his doom at hand.

I have never, in all my years of working this detail, seen such effrontery, Harvey said at last. What were you thinking when you put those on? Is this supposed to be some kind of a joke?

“Wait!” he shouted. “I can explain!”

Goodbye, said Harvey, and Ken was gone.