Corrida Venganza

I don’t know where I am—and I’m scared.

Four walls and darkness surround me. Beyond the walls, I hear the faint but feverish babel of human voices. It sounds like there’s a lot of them.

A door suddenly creaks open and blindingly bright sunlight pours into the room. Wary, I walk toward the light, toward the voices—louder now. I exit the room and find myself standing at the edge of a fenced-in ring.

Sand covers the ground beneath my feet. A crowd of people surround me, rising ever higher.

BANG! A gate behind me slams shut, trapping me inside the ring. I feel my pulse quicken, my stomach tighten. Desperately, I try to force open the gate with my horns—but it just won’t budge.

Disoriented by the din assaulting me from all sides, I turn back around and survey the ring. I discover I am not alone in here. A little ways away stands a man—his colourful clothes unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

The man also holds a bright pink cloth. He flaps it, snatching my attention. I go to investigate. As I draw near, however, he vanishes behind a little wall by the ring’s edge—one of several around the ring I didn’t spot until now.

I go to inspect behind the wall when suddenly a voice off to my side shouts at me, rising above the cacophony of the crowd. Turning, I see the man has somehow transported himself all the way across the ring. His clothing have changed, too. They’re now a different colour.

Again, he shakes his pink cloth. Again, I go to inspect. And again, as I near, the man vanishes behind one of the walls, and then reappears on the other side of the ring—clothes changed.

Confused, I stare across the ring at him. He shouts at me, once more flaps his cloth. This time I charge fast at him, so that he can’t disappear behind another wall. But when I get close, instead of trying to hide, he just twirls out of my way, sweeping his cloth over me.

The crowd clap their hands.

A blare of sound suddenly splits the air. Across the ring, a gate opens and in enters a pair of tall hooved creatures—the likes of which I’ve never seen. Atop the beasts sit men in sand-coloured garments. Each one carries a long wooden pole with a sharp metal end.

The men-and-beast duos move to opposite ends of the ring.

The man with the pink cloth starts stalking toward me, violently flapping his cloth. Frightened, I run away from him, toward one of the men seated on the tall creatures. As I near, the beast makes a sudden jerky movement and cries out. I panic, ram into it with my horns.

Suddenly, a jolt of excruciating pain shoots through my body. I cry out in anguish, look up. The man on the tall creature has thrust the sharp end of his pole into my neck.

A roar erupts from the crowd.

Hot blood rushing to my wound, I thrash about until the pole comes loose, whirl, run away. Immediately, three men with familiar pink cloths encircle me. Feeling threatened, I charge one of them. He just spins out of my way, dragging his cloth across my body—like the man from earlier.

Next, one of the other men from the trio stalks toward me. I try to ram him, but he evades. So does the third man when I rush him. I feel myself getting tired, my breathing becoming ragged, my wounded neck growing weak.

Sudden motion in the edge of my eye snatches my attention. Whirling, I see the other man-and-beast duo stalking my way. The man extends his sharp-ended pole toward me. Trying my best to avoid it, I ram him. But somehow, the man still manages to pierce me—again in the neck.

Another wave of pain crashes over me. And again I thrash about to dislodge the pole from my flesh. As soon as it’s out, I run away—toward the center of the ring.

Another blare of sound rings out.

The men-and-beast pairs exit the ring and three men enter. They all carry metal sticks in both hands. Upon further inspection, I realize these sticks have sharp pointed ends—almost like miniature versions of the poles that pierced my neck.

One of the trio raises his sticks above his head, starts running toward me—but not straight toward me. He approaches in a curving arc. I follow him with my eyes, turning. And when he gets close, I thrust my horns at him.

The man jumps out of the way, not only evading me but also managing to bury the pointy ends of his sticks in my shoulders.

A sharp jolt of pain shoots through me. Again, I thrash, struggling to shake the sticks from my flesh. But unlike the poles from earlier, they don’t come out.

I suddenly hear fast-approaching footsteps. I whirl, see another of the men rushing toward me—pointy sticks raised in the air. I try to fend him off but I’m too weak. Too slow. He plants another two sticks in my shoulders.

I anticipate another surge of pain. But instead, rage fills me. A burning hot rage.

For a third time, I hear the blare of sound. Everybody proceeds to vacate the ring—except for one man, who carries a cloth. His isn’t pink, though. It’s red. Deep red.

He flaps his crimson cloth at me. Anger welling up inside me, I charge him—head down, horns up. The pointy sticks in my back swing and dangle as I bound along. The man dances out of harm’s way.

My fury swells.

I rush him again—and again, he evades me. I try a few more times, but the result is the same. The man is untouchable. And all my efforts have left me so weary, so weak—I can hardly even stand.

Just then, much to my surprise, the man turns his back to me, starts slowly walking over to the edge of the ring. The crowd erupts in applause.

This is my chance.

Seizing the opportunity, I charge at the man—as fast as my weary legs can carry me. As I rush him, I hear voices begin to shout. A gasp goes up from the crowd. The man whirls to face me at the last second, tries to get out of the way.

He’s too slow. I plunge my horns into his chest, lift him off his feet, slam him to the ground. Then I start stomping and trampling on him with my hooves.

Meanwhile, men flood into the ring through an opened gate. They scream, wave their arms at me. One of them tugs my tail. I raise my hindlegs, kick him hard, sending him sailing through the air.

The distraction gives the other men time to help the man I gored. A group of them hurriedly carries him toward the open gate. Before they can make it, though, I charge and ram into them, knocking the men to the ground.

Despite my rage, I don’t stop to trample them.

I plow right through, continue through the open gate and out the ring, into a narrow surrounding ring. Horrified cries rise up from the crowd. I notice some of them flee into tunnels.

A way out? But the crowd and the tunnels are elevated high above me...

Another tug on my tail snatches my attention. I whirl, see a mass of men at my back, armed with sharp poles and sticks. With their pointy objects, they force me back into the main ring. They close the gate behind me, trap me in a circle.

Keeping one eye on them, I once more inspect the ring, searching for a way to get to the tunnels. My eyes land on one of the little walls around the edge of the ring. A narrow gap separates it from the ring’s fence.

That could work…

My sights set on the wall, I paw the ground, sending dirt flying behind me. I hope the threat will frighten the men surrounding me, maybe cause them to break their circle. But they hold their ground, close in on me.

Bracing myself for their sharp sticks and poles, I let out a loud bellow, then start running as fast as I can. I plow right through the circle of men, but not without consequence. Several of them manage to stick me with their pointy objects, drawing fresh blood.

I push through the awful pain, keep racing toward the little wall, picking up speed with each step I take. Pound! Pound! Pound! My hooves hammer the ground. I wait till I’m a few strides away and then I leap with all the energy I have left.

My front hooves land on top of the ring’s fence. My back come down on the little wall. I stand there a split-second, then jump into the crowd—knocking over some of them, crushing others.

The people around me panic, scream, scatter. I race for the nearest tunnel, mowing down all in my path. With nowhere else to run, some of the crowd actually flee into this tunnel. I follow them.

They lead me along hallways, through more tunnels, down flights of stairs—running as fast as their legs can carry them. I allow the quick to keep on leading the way. The laggards, however, I show no mercy.

Eventually, I come to an open gate. Sunlight from outside pours in through it. The people frantically fleeing from me pour out.

I chase after them, running toward the light. The space between me and the open gate slips away. A few more strides and—suddenly, I feel a sharp prick in my foreleg.

I stop dead in my tracks, look to the source of the pain. A tiny pointed stick protrudes from my flesh. As I go to remove it, I hear a loud burst of air, and then suddenly an identical pointed stick appears in my leg, accompanied by another painful prick.

Turning, I see a pair of men with guns pointed at me. Our eyes meet, linger. The men scramble to reload. Before they can, though, I charge the duo and skewer them—one with my left horn, the other with my right.

Returning my attention to the gate, I notice it’s been closed. Also, the area around it has cleared out. All the people from moments ago have vanished.

I go to the gate, inspect it.

As I look for some way to get it open, a wave of exhaustion washes over me. My legs suddenly feel weary and wobbly. My eyes almost too heavy to keep open. I ignore these sensations, instead try to force open the gate, bashing it as hard as I can.

Again and again, I ram into it, my energy waning with each failed attempt. Ultimately, my efforts are in vain—and they drain me of the little strength I’ve got left. I feel like I could just collapse where I stand. I’m ready to give up, to give in…

I hear footsteps—soft, light. I turn, see a young child warily edging toward me. I watch as they walk right past me, up to the gate, pull it open.

“Vamos!” they cry, waving their little hands at the gate.

I take a moment to gather my strength...and then I charge out through it. Crossing the threshold, I feel sunlight hit my skin. Its warm touch fills me with a renewed energy. Behind me, I hear the child slam the gate shut.

I run and run and keep on running.