“That will be 100 cubes, sir.” The man said. Sliding up the very scratched, glass window.
“I thought it was half price. That’s what you were advertising, Toll Man.” He replied, agitated. Starting to dig around in his cloth pockets. Looking for a piece of metal that had the ad printed on.
“It was… before I got to look at you. Which is an insult in case you are confused. A lot more effort and time – equals more cubes. Which then means if you don’t have the currency – you need to leave and let the next living body through. We do not accept the undead through the holiday season.”
He looked around. People behind him were grinning with long jaws. Shaking uncontrollably, sending their limbs clutching to the air – unsound and sobbing. Between the deep inhale of breaths, snorting noses and a bad speaker system, he just wanted to get out of there. “Right.” He responded, pulling out a small rectangular box and started to count them. Only to realize that was all that he had, so he just handed the box to the Toll Man. Who took it carelessly. Running is long fingers across his new payment.
Written by Alecia Writes
1 thought on “Half the Price, Half the Rights”
I enjoy your stories! Keep them coming.
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