Billy Bob and Grim

A heavy wind carrying something dark, eerie, washed over the vase golden-brown wheatfield that hid a small wooden cottage away from the view of unwanted eyes, the long stocks of wheat swaying noisily in the angry gust that come out of nowhere. On the porch of the old cottage stood alone rocking-chair that seemed to symbolizes more than just the fact that there was only one rocking-chair, it screamed out loud and angry that whoever owned this cottage was alone. The slightly rotting light brown wood of the cottage seemed to darken as the wind picked up creating a little twister of dirt and dried leaves in front of the cottage. The sky, blue and dusted lightly with thin white clouds blackens, a purple tint coming over the black sky, a ghostly green hue mixing with the purple. The clouds, becoming long and thick turned a dark grey color stretching over the sky above the lone cottage like claw marks - long and fierce seeming to split the sky open into four rough lines. Through the broken sky the stars could be seen even though it was eight o’clock in the morning.

Underneath the strange sky, in front of the mini twister on the cottage’s porch rocking in the lone rocking-chair sat Billy Bob the owner of the cottage. A straw cowboy hat with a cow-printed sash was mirrored on the top of his head and his hands held a shotgun. He sat in wait for whatever was goanna emerge from the storm playing out in front of him, ready. The piece of wheat in-between his lips twirling as his tongue flickered over his bottom lip, moistening the dry flesh. His booted feet lay flatly on the porch, there speed picking up in the pushes he was giving to the chair when he looked up at the starry sky.

The horrid wind picked up when lighting flashed overhead its loud brother thunder falling shortly after. This is it, Billy Bob thought restlessly, here comes Grimm.
The lightings pace picked up, striking quicker, the angry yellow light struck the mini twister rapidly. The quick flash the only thing giving light to the world as the world seemed to grow darker, colder, the more the twister was hit. Billy Bob could practically see his own grin as his face slit in two, a huge grin covering most of his face. He stood his shotgun raised and aimed at the angry white purplish greenish twister.

The first shot went off when the wind began to settle. Billy Bob continuing at a swift pace stopping only to reload and then he was raising hell again. The bullets being sucked into the decreasing wind had to be hitting something because once there were in the never came back out. Billy Bob let out a jubilant “ Yahoo!” as he rained down a lead storm on the wind. Billy Bob paused to reload again and as he was shoving a shell into his gun the wind disappeared and Billy Bob whipped his head up, his eyes taking in the cloaked figure with an excited glare.

The air around the cloaked figure smelt like death, a rotting smell rolling of the figure in suffocating waves. He hovered over the ground, the place he flouted darker and colder than anywhere else. His face was covered, his white bony hands the only thing not covered by the cloak, the place where his feet were where uncovered too but the only thing that was seen there was mist.
“ I've come for your soul.” The cloaked thing claimed its voice watery and bottomless; the tone of its voice held a hint of finales to it. A single bony finger pointed at Billy Bob.

The thing hovered closer to the man on the porch. Neither its finger nor hand ever stopped pointing at Billy Bob as it moved closer. When the cloaked skeleton reached the man, Billy Bob let out a shrill laugh, his face twisting into another painfully large grin and his hands tightened around the shotgun needing something to hold onto. “You’re...”A giggle pushed past his lips once again stopping him short. “ Gonna take m’ soul?” He questioned his voice light and filled with amusement. “Don’t ta make m’ laugh!” The air around the cloaked thing seemed to get darker at the man’s amusement.

“This’ll go just like ta other times. You’ll try to take ma’ soul, I’ll beat ya half blind and then I’ll live for anther century waiting ta’ beat ya punk ass again! Grimm ya spineless punk, Imma’ take that ere’ cloak! Then Imma’ coming for ta scythe!” Billy Bob’s smile never left his face as he stared down the Grimm Reaper, clear blue eyes staring into dark holes where Grimm’s eyes would've been. “Then...” Billy Bob started lowly his voice dark with a hint of something you didn't want to mess with lining his tone. “I’mr get ya soul with ta new scythe!” Billy Bob yelled as he throws his head back, a laugh that could only be called crazy, pushing through his lungs and into the heavy air around them.

Grimm’s hand dropped, his flouting started again backwards away from the crazy man this time. He had heard that laugh to many times over the decades to not fear it, every time he heard that laugh he got his ass handed to him. “I could just come back another time, right? I mean I don’t really need your soul yet...”Grimm laughed weakly, his bony hand moved to scratch his hooded head. “You’ll let me go right? Please Billy Bob...”He begged sheepishly, his bony cheeks tinting pink. Why was he the Grimm Reaper begging a mere human to let him off the hook? He questioned himself angrily. Simple, he answered back, Billy Bob was hella scary. “We’re friends right, bubbly old pal?” Grimm tried again.

“Naw...”Billy Bob muttered, raising his shotgun and taking aim. “I want ya cloak.”