They say that death is a shape-shifter. It’ll come to you the way you imagine it to be. For the fun of it, i imagine death as a cashier.

As luck would have it, I’m dead and I’m standing in front of the cashier. His eyes are tiring, and his shoulders are drooping. This guy has had a long day, i suppose.

‘So, you’ve come to cross the mythical river. I’m afraid you’ll have to make a payment.’

Caught off guard, i stutter, ‘payment?’

Sensing my fear, death is emboldened.

‘Do you have enough tears to fill the parched river, so that you can row the boat across? Do you have enough people remembering you so that they offer you food for the ravens to collect?’

For every question he posed, i nodded my head sideways. He lost his marbles.

‘ then what do you have?’, he thundered.

‘Well, i think i have collected a few tears of my own when i watched movies and cried when a sentimental scene came up. Oh, and i also have tears that i collected when i made folks laugh witless’

‘Meh. I don’t get enough reward to think. Here, it says you need tears to cross the river. And, you have it – technically. So, go ahead. Don’t bother me.’

‘You mind if i sit next to you, watching you work? I think i can learn to be assertive from you.’

‘Assertive? Me? Mkay’, he shrugged.

The next soul came, and death transformed into an enormous black wolf.