Hell Hath No Fury Like A Bull Scorned

It's been three years since our entire town witnessed the massacre of a mother cow and her two calves that was displayed in front of us as a grandiose statement of power by our new mayor, Thomas Glover. As the gruesome spectacle played out, the counterpart of the cow, a massive dark bull roared and bucked against the tall iron gates that held him back. I'm sure more than a few of us thought he was going to burst through and surge through the crowd; sending both bodies of dust and actual bodies flying through the air. But slam! after slam! the gates held strong and the crowd, high on adrenaline, cheered on.

Only when the Mayor had given his final bow, and the lifeless carcasses were removed from the scene leaving large areas of the sun-baked ground soft with puddles of dark blood, did people begin to walk away. I watched as kids and even a few adults slung their arms around each other and high-fived. Everyone seemed pleased, in fact extremely elated with what they had just witnessed. Everyone but me. Soon enough, I became the last man standing there as I looked around in complete shock and disgust. The heat wasted no time carrying the stench of death over the small arena. Meat had long since become an approved part of our diets but what had we just done? If we had not killed for meat production, did we kill for fun? I couldn't help but feel sick to my stomach.

The sun was beginning to set now and from where I was standing, he could have easily been mistaken for a small pile of truck tires or even a gigantic heap of coal. He lay sunken at the base of the towering metal, defeated. My heart wrung itself thousand times as I took slow steps in his direction. Animals were thought to be dumb and careless around this part of town, but I knew better. We had just murdered his entire family and forced him to watch the whole thing. What proved to be the source of others' laughter and dancing only just a few hours ago, seemed very sinister to me and had to be, without a doubt in my mind, earth-shattering to him.

I kneel on my knees in front of the gate as he lays just a few inches away. Whether he is asleep, doesn't notice me, or is too heartbroken to care, I wasn't too sure of but I'd bet a million dollars on the latter. I watch for a moment as he draws in short shallow breaths as if even the simple task of breathing has become unbearable. Then, knees pressing into the harsh dirt and hands gripping tightly onto the iron bars, I lean closer, and whisper, "I'm so sorry.". He doesn't even move an inch at the sound of my voice. He could lay here for the rest of his life, feeling broken and hopeless. And I know this only because I've been there. In this same rabbit hole of agony. The one that is way too easy to get lost in.

I didn't know whether everyone was too high off of the killing that they forgot to relocate him or if they would be back to claim him tonight after the further celebration that distant music and laughter told me was still taking place throughout the town. All that I knew was, by hell or high water, I was going to get him out of here and set him free tonight. What they planned to do with him was unclear but I wasn't going to let him stick around to find out. Especially taking into consideration the atrocity that we'd all just witnessed. Even If I was the only one that viewed it as such.

Luckily for the both of us, there was no hell or high water because, after a few minutes of looking around, I notice a set of keys hanging on a crooked hook protruding from a dry piece of wood that's fastened to the gate. I rise gently, not bothering to bat my clothes of the dust and I pluck the keys even more gently fearing that the jingle surely would stir some sort of reaction. If I unlocked the gate and quietly left, I doubted he'd muster up the strength to try and burst through the gates again before his captors showed up. I knew what I had to do and it was risky, but if I was judging his emotional state correctly, it could work.

With trembling hands, I place the key into the silver padlock and begin a short countdown in my head. One...two...three. I twist the key in one swift motion, letting the padlock fall to the ground with a soft thud and then swinging the gate door outward all the way back with myself right behind it so that it presses me against the gate.

"Get up!" I wail at him through the bars, "GO!" My breath hitches in my throat as he unsteadily lifts himself off of the ground. I've never squeezed anything so tightly as I sandwich myself between the heavy bars but I keep my gaze steady on him while he tries to process what is happening.

"GO!!!! NOW!!" I shout again. This time his thick hooves pound the dirt a few times, sending clouds of dust billowing around him. Then a few deep huffs and puffs and I nearly shit myself as I think for a second he might just ram my backside through the gate. But he doesn't. Instead, he takes a few steps toward the side of the gate that I hold open and then hauls ass like I've never seen any bull, actually any animal, do before. Not even on my small black and white television. He charges north, toward the endless acres of tall yellow grass and I don't start breathing again or let the gate go until I see the dark mass of his body part the yellow field. "Whew," I whisper to myself as I release the bars and slide to the ground. I knew then that I would never, ever forget this night or the unfortunate events that took place during the day.

Now exactly three years later, I stand amongst the familiar crowd and listen as the same mayor, Thomas Glover gives a lengthy speech about how much it pains him to step down and relinquish his title and how his time here in the west has been the best few years of his life. His successor, Jorge Mason stands beside him, beaming from ear to ear and nodding every few seconds. The town breaks out into cheers and whistles as he nears the end of his speech but right before he can bend his hip to do his famous bow, a sharp cry pierces the air.

"BULLLLLLL!!!!!!!!"

We all whip our heads around frantically, not only searching for the voice but the...bull? And then I see him. His black mass seems to have doubled over the years and I swear I can see the steam protruding from his nostrils from where I stand. The thick clouds of dust that swell around his body make his entrance almost theatrical. As if the roar of the crowd were for him, he makes his way toward this very same clearing where he had lost everything he loved 3 years ago. The laughter, dancing, and whistling, for once, have all gone and is replaced with loud sighs of disbelief as the crowd freezes in shock. I smile. You see, as I mentioned before, people in this part of the town thought animals were dumb and careless. But me? I knew better.

This time, I make sure I'm the first to walk away and for the first time since Thomas Glover had been the mayor of this small town, I even whistle a tune.