The Bull

Satire

It steps into the ring and I feel all eyes on me.

I feel the dry heat and my wet sweat on my face.

Not again.

The last time I stepped into this ring I left with a wounded ego,

This time I am not sure if I will even try and fight.

But the Bull is out for blood.

The Bull struts and the crowd erupts.

I see my friend in the stands but I cannot hear what he shouts.

Then I see that wink in his eye

And I know exactly what must happen.

We eye each other down, the Bull and I.

The golden ring in its nose shakes with its shallow breaths.

Strafing in opposite directions, we close the distance.

And then the Bull makes its charge.

It is in this second that I become the Matador.

I draw the Bull in,

Once in my space I can feel its movements.

I look into those black eyes.

Those deadly black eyes

And then I know its weakness.

It brushes through my cape

Catching it with its horn. 

My cape ripped from my hands, I am naked.

No sounds but the two creatures breath

A blur of man and Bull, almost one.

We separate, still in close proximity.

I fall to a knee, looking into the eyes of the Bull.

Slowly I rise, and then come back down.  

This time closer to the Bull.

Slowly, I withdraw my sword from the beast.

The Bull moans, and I wipe the blood off my blade.

I never looked back at the Bull as I walked away.