The farmer stands solitary at the peak of dawn gazing over his crops. He cradles his sickle in his right hand, the breeze whips across his face grazing his hair across his brow. Slowly he fetches his friends slicing their feet and bunching them in his napsack. Patience he says to himself slowly, patience echoes through his skull. the field of copious friends grows shorter by day.
“no one will take my friends” he whispers to himself. over and over, the farmer is solitary, his friends, the crops. A bird drools on with a sharp scratch to the farmer. An old willow hangs its victims for the world to see. The victims a dingy green now. The willow is favourite of the farmer, it gives his ego a senses a stagnant tingle. A crow strides down from the heights of the sky.
“No one touches my friends” The farmer belts up flailing his scythe around at his target. The farmer lets out many blood curdling screams, even after the crow is long gone. He stays with his head tilted back promoting his battle cry. He sloops down head below his shoulders taking in large doses of air. He starts rallying his party again. Erratic swipes, he grunts commonly through the rage. He continues to say it. ‘no on will take my friends’. The farmer’s wife is no more the kids on the block say she’s hiding in the farmer’s freezer, waiting to eat child’s souls if the go near the log cabin of the farmer. Who knows if electricity even gets to that place. Only god knows what happened to his kids.

A boy playing Frisbee with his friend, the dawn has broken and the summer day has begun. The dandelions floating in full blossom and fruit harbours abundant on their trees. The Frisbee glides across the area and settles on a patch of grass. This grass isn’t like other grass. it’s darker. The cabin of the farmer shadows the ground which upon the boys Frisbee lies. the boy’s world seems to go into a sepic tone as he sees his fate trailer in his head. He can see the farmer now screaming that cry and charging towards him with his kindle axe raised above his head. The boy slowly wandered towards his Frisbee. He could see the farmer down the slope harvesting his crops. The boy exhaled with a sigh of relief. *crack* he tripped on a stick. He was barreling down the hill, sliding down the slippery mud covered slope. The boy rises, mud slides down his face, out of his hair and out from his mouth. Dare he cough to attract the farmers attention his heart is thumping like a drum and the adrenaline is surging through his veins and there’s blood running down his shin from a stick that protruded the mountain. He feels no pain only a fear worse than a stand off with Hitler.

The farmer hears a sound. He looks around put slides it aside against his sanity’s decision. His breathing again hastens and he again hears his noise. He screams lifting his blade with his right hand to lye it in his left hand. He walks treading heavily on his peers as he walks. Again the rustling and disturbance to his garden of friends. His walk has increased to a jog and his breathing is producing spittle projectiles as he paces. Another blood curdling scream to top all to that day. The blood rushing around the farmers body he starts swinging his now weapon while screaming.
“animals leave my friends alone, they’re my friends not yours.” A cold thud meets the farmers scythe. Mwahaha the farmer breaks out into laughter at his achievement. He brushed back the crops to see the boy. A deep gash driving down his throat and across his clavicle. The tear was grown as the boy gurgled for breath. The farmer’s laugh dropped. He examined his sickle to see a ruby, viscous liquid coating the sickle. The farmers eye’s turned to a black sludge. He drew his sickle close to his chest a pulled a line across his chest. A new sludge attached itself to the blade. Pulling it close to his neck he half giggled the words.
“Now my friends and I can live forever.” The boy still alive and grasping for air lay witness to the farmer, holding the sickle to his neck. To then see him swipe it across his throat. A spurt of black-ish blood crawled out of the farmers neck as he fell to the ground.
“forever.” he whispered. The boy survived. But for those that don’t know what happened to the farmer, they just say he joined his wife in the freezer waiting to take the eyes of the soulless victims of his wife. The boy also got his Frisbee back.