Billy Big Bill
By Rotimi Adesina
Here is a new story from Rotimi Adesina, our Coordinator for this Forum. He now lives in Harare, Zimbabwe and he is in the Eighth Grade, at the Harare International School. He is 13.
Children, today I’m going to tell you a story about a thing that happened in my town when I was about ya age and just as naughty too.
Long ago, when the west was wild and hadn’t been subdued, there lived a cowboy. He was a gunslinger wizard on two legs. He made a house look like a baby dollhouse. The world seemed like a playground in his eyes. His name was Bill, Billy Big Bill. The name rode on his arm wherever he went, and the sun made it shimmer. Billy Big Bill lived in the ravishing town of Austin, Texas. The town was a amicable place to any weary traveler who was passing through. There was a big saloon that you saw when you first walked in. The sheriff’s office and the jailhouse looked so ghastly that anybody would dare to get into trouble with the law. The hotel towered above all the other buildings, “the town’s mother” they called her. The bank was immovably guarded 24/7 by the toughest dog-darn critters you’d e’er seen. The were bigger than the sib tiger you see in India. They was so furious, they’d tear a bear in two in seconds.
One hot ‘n’ scorching Saturday afternoon, a visitor came to our dear town. He looked like a twig on two legs but his eyes were as sharp as a razor. He was only carrying one lone bundle on a stick. He walked up to a little ol’ lady and grabbed to his side and held a gun to her head.
“Well lady, betta start talking or I’m gonna blow ya head off.”
“Wha…. wha… what do you want??”
“Tell me now where that dog-darn sheriff Billy Big Bill might be.” The ol’ lady was terrified by this man. He didn’t seem to notice her waterlogged forehead draining sweat onto his arm. He just kept on pushing his gun harder and harder into the poor lady’s head. “Answer me. Where might he be? Speak up!”
“H… h…. he’s in the jailhouse down the road on Elm St.”
“Much obliged lady”, and with that he pushed out of his way and started walking towards the jailhouse. He walked in enormous strides that were longer than a swimming pool. All the townspeople gathered around to see this strange man walking towards the jailhouse. Suddenly, the man stopped and yelled in a broad voice.
“Billy Big Bill. Come out of there ya two headed gunslinging boobanic moron. Come on out if ya not chicken. Let me blow that darn head off. You’ll pay for shooting dear Fer in the back.” There was no answer from the jailhouse. People just stared wide-eyed at the door.
“I wonder if he’s really going to come out,” the bartender uttered quietly.
“Of course,” snapped the clerk at the grocery store, “Bill never would give up a chance to kick a fugitive’s butt.” All eyes were glued to the door. Unknown to any one, Bill was standing right there with them, only they were all too concerned about what Bill should do. Suddenly, a young boy yelled out, “There he is.” All eyes turned and looked. There he was, tall as the hotel, standing behind the skinny runt.
“Well, well, well if it isn’t the younger brother of the legendary bank robber Ferry Grunt. You know you shouldn’t be following your brother’s example. You could land into serious trouble.” And with that Billy Big Bill downed Grunt Jr. with a blow to the face.
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