Pleasant tweeting trickled through the window along with a cool brisk air, twisting its away around the room. Stirring the black robe draped over the chair, wrapping around the intricate carvings of the smooth beds surface. The hinges resisted for a moment as if to hold its sleeper for just a blink longer. A bony arm stretch a high arc into the air.
Grim slipped out of his coffin.
What a night it had been.
That new memory foam mattress was doing wonders for his back. He kicked his legs over the edge jumping to his feet. He was feeling more lively than he ever had. There was something about the cool stale air after a hards night's rest. He grabbed the robe still dusty from his last chase. Edward R. Phillip had been quite the handful. Six bullets lodged in his chest cavity and it still took twenty minutes to die. He had almost made it to the hospital when Grim saw him dripping all over the pavement.
Grim wondered if he had ever looked that pathetic.
He shook the thought from his head. He had unknowingly walked into the bathroom. The mirror was smudged with grease and dried up windex. His gaunt face could not have been looking better. The whitening was really paying off. He tossed a boyish grin at the mirror.
What he would give for a pair of eyebrows. As a matter of fact he knew exactly what he would give, that god forsaken sickle his dad had given him as a coming of age gift. That thing was a real lady-killer, literally. Try picking up a girl at the pub with a sickle, its harder than it looks. Not that it is often seen.
Grim downed his cup of black coffee, threw in a tic-tac, and glanced back in the mirror.
Today would be one hell of a day.
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