The boatmen travelled through the town where the boy lived. Going from somewhere to somewhere, they carried with them trinkets from the places they’d visited, money for victuals and, most important for the boy as he ran to meet them: stories.
“Tell us again about the other worlds,” he said, as one of the boatmen reclined against a yellow tree with crimson leaves, casting purple shade on the emerald grass, and lit his phosphorescent pipe.
He took a puff, then let out a plune of varicoloured smoke.
He narrated.
When he was done, and evening almost come, the boy asked, “What’s the scariest world you’ve ever seen?”
The boatman thought a while.
“A world in which everything, even morality, was black and white.”