Status: FIRST DRAFT
Grim
One
Tommy had a friend. One friend. His only friend.
Although most people would say that Tommy had no friends at all.
See, the problem with having a friend that nobody else could see was that, well, that nobody else could see them. And as most adults and many children believe, if you can’t see it with your own eyes then it doesn’t exist.
But Tommy knew that previous statement to be false, because even though only Tommy could see the man, his friend, he knew that he was real.
The first time Tommy saw the man it was six years ago at some old hospital where his grandfather lay coughing up blood on his death bed. Tommy didn’t know exactly what was wrong with his grandfather because his parents didn’t tell him. He guessed it was because they didn’t want to have to explain death to a nine year old. But Tommy did know about death, he knew a lot about death.
Tommy was a curious boy and a certain topic that greatly enticed his sense of curiosity was death. Not in a creepy way, well, as un-creepy as a nine year old boy who is interested in death can be.
Anyway, while Tommy was sitting outside playing his Gameboy whilst his grandfather took his final breaths just in the next room, a man, maybe about 25, wearing a black cloak and holding something in his right hand that Tommy recognised as a sickle, stumbled past him and into the room. There was a loud cry and a gasp and Tommy knew that his grandfather had died. Tommy loved his grandfather but death didn’t worry him.
The man in black stumbled back out of the room and went to walk back past Tommy again when Tommy said, “Who are you?”
The man slowly turned around, a look of astonishment on his face. “You can see me?”
“Well, of course I can see you, silly. You’re not invisible.”
The man looked down at himself and then back up to rest his eyes on Tommy’s. “Actually mate, I am invisible. Just not to you, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Laughed Tommy.
“Hey kid,” said the man, his rough voice nearly washed away by the storm of noise coming from the next room, “Do you think you could do me a favour?”
“Sure.”
“Can you touch my hand?” said the man holding out his hand to the young boy.
“Um, sure.”
Tommy reached out and grabbed the man’s hand in a loose handshake. A jolt of electricity ran through him, just like when he would go down the slide at the park near his house and then touch something metal.
“Tickles.” He said.
The man looked astounded. “It’s not meant to tickle, kid.” He said, and then to himself, “they just keep pickin’ ‘em younger an’ younger.”
Tommy was confused, this man was strange. He was thinking about shouting for his mum when the man said, “What’s your name?”
“Tommy.” Said Tommy.
“Well, hello there Tommy. Pleased to meet you.” Said the man in black, “My name is The Grim Reaper but all my friends just call me Grim.”
Although most people would say that Tommy had no friends at all.
See, the problem with having a friend that nobody else could see was that, well, that nobody else could see them. And as most adults and many children believe, if you can’t see it with your own eyes then it doesn’t exist.
But Tommy knew that previous statement to be false, because even though only Tommy could see the man, his friend, he knew that he was real.
The first time Tommy saw the man it was six years ago at some old hospital where his grandfather lay coughing up blood on his death bed. Tommy didn’t know exactly what was wrong with his grandfather because his parents didn’t tell him. He guessed it was because they didn’t want to have to explain death to a nine year old. But Tommy did know about death, he knew a lot about death.
Tommy was a curious boy and a certain topic that greatly enticed his sense of curiosity was death. Not in a creepy way, well, as un-creepy as a nine year old boy who is interested in death can be.
Anyway, while Tommy was sitting outside playing his Gameboy whilst his grandfather took his final breaths just in the next room, a man, maybe about 25, wearing a black cloak and holding something in his right hand that Tommy recognised as a sickle, stumbled past him and into the room. There was a loud cry and a gasp and Tommy knew that his grandfather had died. Tommy loved his grandfather but death didn’t worry him.
The man in black stumbled back out of the room and went to walk back past Tommy again when Tommy said, “Who are you?”
The man slowly turned around, a look of astonishment on his face. “You can see me?”
“Well, of course I can see you, silly. You’re not invisible.”
The man looked down at himself and then back up to rest his eyes on Tommy’s. “Actually mate, I am invisible. Just not to you, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Laughed Tommy.
“Hey kid,” said the man, his rough voice nearly washed away by the storm of noise coming from the next room, “Do you think you could do me a favour?”
“Sure.”
“Can you touch my hand?” said the man holding out his hand to the young boy.
“Um, sure.”
Tommy reached out and grabbed the man’s hand in a loose handshake. A jolt of electricity ran through him, just like when he would go down the slide at the park near his house and then touch something metal.
“Tickles.” He said.
The man looked astounded. “It’s not meant to tickle, kid.” He said, and then to himself, “they just keep pickin’ ‘em younger an’ younger.”
Tommy was confused, this man was strange. He was thinking about shouting for his mum when the man said, “What’s your name?”
“Tommy.” Said Tommy.
“Well, hello there Tommy. Pleased to meet you.” Said the man in black, “My name is The Grim Reaper but all my friends just call me Grim.”