In-pasta bull run

Sploosh.

A red tepid rain washed over the unsuspecting nine-year-old clad in white, a groan escaped her as she spat out a mouthful of the watery sauce. The herbal scent burned her nose as she looked towards the sky and saw a busboy rushing away from an upper window, the girl closed her eyes. Inhaling deeply she slowly opened her eyes gray blue, reflecting the cloudy sky above her the girl brushed the sauce from her face with her sleeve. Pale tanned skin stained red from the lingering heat and tomato made her look feverish, her platinum white hair was holding the color as well as her formerly white blouse. A sigh spilled from her lips.

“Shiro?” A boy a head shorter than her scampered over, tears threatening to spill from his hazel eyes welling in the corners. Her younger brother, wiping her hand clean on her black pants she then ruffled his fluffy chestnut hair and smiled weakly “Don’t make that face Hero, I’m fine it didn’t hurt.” He whined tugging at her sleeve “You should wash it off in the fountain” Frowning she shook her head, her eyes narrowing she glanced around subtly starting to walk attempting to brush some of the clumpy sauce away “Hero, you know we can’t do something like that. Let’s find where we’re staying tonight. I have a place in mind”

Slumping his shoulders, Hero picked up a basket from the ground dusting the cover a bit before following his sister “Yes Shiro… Er… Sister” Hero pressed his lips together until they hurt, he almost called Shiro’s name too loudly, he remembered he shouldn’t do that. They were hiding here from bad people, speaking Spanish poorly and learning the language, at least it was easier than English and French. Of course neither of the children realized they had incredible skills, both having learned five languages including Mandarin before either of them were ten.

Shiro and Hero were ghost children, lost in the war, names merely the whispers they could recall. There were no family or middle names either could recall, normally in Italian families the child inherits a grandparent’s name, yet that was false for both siblings, as if they were born to vanish. Shiro was named for a simple saying ‘Brava Shiro’ ‘Good girl.’ Hero was normally pronounced ‘Eroe’ a very distinct term, which he aspired to live up to, Shiro adjusted the large messenger bag around her neck then held Hero’s left hand in her right and mumbled “Thanks for worrying little brother. Let’s get back first though. I wish we can stay here a bit longer, the art here is amazing and plentiful places to hide.” Hero nodded, they hadn’t gotten to rest much since they left their home in Bari.

Like smoke the two tried to fade from view taking the shadowy paths through the city of architecture, art and eyes. No matter where you look there are people looking back at you, and with the two of them being chased it’s the riskiest place to be usually. Yet, the two were dressed more locally than a child from the heart of a fashion hub like the coast of Italy, so they had a bit less tension on their shoulders. Shiro was still frowning attempting to brush sauce off her with her free hand a task that was far from easy, as they walked towards the edge of the city toward the motorway and the farmlands it became a bit freer, they could see the trees as they walked through the more impoverished area and Shiro froze in her tracks.

Grr. Fwoosh.

Thoughts flashed through her mind at a mile a minute, she pulled her heavy satchel over her head and shoved it into Hero effectively pushing him off his balance and into an empty archway, he landed on his rear with a cry of surprise and a gasp when the weight landed in his lap. Turning on her heel Shiro ran back towards the city in a dead sprint, before Hero could understand what happened he could feel the ground shaking. His eyes widened like mirrors as he saw a black bulky bull stampede past where his sister was just standing.

“Don’t run in a straight line, missy!”

Shiro could feel her muscles screaming as she pushed herself faster, running over the uneven paving stones, ignoring the changing of stones under her she charged by memory. Sounds weren’t reaching her ears. Neither the screams that were tearing through the crowds as she neared, cheers echoed down from those in higher places out of harm's way, amazed and glad for the show. Hundreds of thoughts, maps and plans ran through the nine year olds head, she wanted to escape the bull. Maybe trap it, or even just get on it’s back. As long as she could do one of the above she wouldn’t have to leave her naive brother alone for long. The strength of the bull made her hesitate even considering fighting against it, even now she could hear it’s snorting grunts getting closer behind her.

Shiro breathed in deeply and lowered her posture and started to weave, zigzagging as if she were dribbling a football drastically. Moving like an electric current she started an erratic pace preparing her escape, with a wince she stared at a high wall before her, there was about a three foot drop behind the four foot high fence she was going to leap over, with a propelling force she put her hands in front of her grabbing the fence between a few spikes and pushed off the ground swinging her body like a puppet with a string cut, she let go and flew freely, flipping clumsily and knicking one wrist, sweat was beginning to eat through the stains on her face.

Thud. Clang. Boom.

A loud clanging crash behind her said the bull charged through the two foot stone fence with the two foot iron rod decorative fence on it and was still on her heels. Staggering Shiro continued running, she stuck to the shadow of the buildings back here one place on her mind. Nearby there was an old church that was being renovated, during the week at least. Over the weekend no one was present in that building, although she pitied the workers who would need to replace the floor beaming again, she wanted to get back to Hero soon. This few miles was wearing her down and she was nearly certain it wouldn’t go in her favor much longer. Angry grunting bellows were getting closer, the church was still about a block away, even disorienting the black bull didn’t help much, it was said that bulls had better memories than cows and were twice as vengeful. Shiro couldn’t help wondering idly if this was the bull she’d stolen the water basin from one night as she pushed herself harder.

Lungs burning, she pushed the massive door of the church open and bounded in, finding her footing awkwardly on the beams of the floor and moving quick as she could across them, after all would they collapse under the bull, she couldn’t know. She got to the untouched altar stage and turned toward the door finally giving herself a moment to catch her breath, pulse in her ears she watched the monster who was hunting her. A bull at least twice as tall as her and at least as long as a car charged in, then it sank, legs falling between the panels. Cracking under its weight the beams began to cave in and the bull fell to the basement below and began rampaging, Shiro watched horrified, feeling the building itself tremble a few times. After a short while she carefully headed out the servant entrance and back towards where she left Hero, retracing her steps.

As she walked she watched the destruction in her wake, hoofprints here, torn clotheslines there. Scattered about were branches, toys from yards destroyed. Rubble remained of the damaged wall and a crack in the cement from where the bull jumped down, drops of blood from her arm on the pavement not far she took care to stomp out before continuing. The street was littered with fallen food, papers and other unexpected trash, she picked up a few scarves discreetly as she walked, no one took notice the path was now abandoned after the scare. Some coins here and there, a grocery bag discarded, Shiro wasn’t hesitant acting as a good samaritan with windblown hair, she gathered helpful things. By the time she got back to Hero her collection was a large handled satchel full of goodies.

Hero was defending the bag and the basket from some ruffians, when Shiro approached the child took a step back, after all he saw the bull charge the girl. Who would mess with her unless they had no choice. The boy smirked and walked towards her “Oi, d’ya think ya became a big deal ‘scapin’ a dumb cow?” Shiro didn’t step back, she straightened her spine and countered in Spanish sounding a bit more fluent than his laughing dryly “Ha, did you think I’d be too tired to deal with some punks? Touch my brother, go ahead. You will find out why hands are so important. Punk.” Flushed red with anger he made a move to swing at Hero “You mean this crybaby?” Despite still being tired and overexerted she tackled the boy to the ground jabbing her knee into his spine twisting his arm behind his back she leaned and whispered in his ear “Foolish mistake. Trash. Let me hear you cry then.” She laughed and shoved a ball of fabric in his mouth muffling his shouts.

Pop. Crack. Crunch.

Hero shuddered, the sounds of breaking bones were disgusting, he could taste blood; he had a strange quirk, he got hurt so much when he was even younger he can imagine pain hearing about injuries and it made him feel ill. Shiro was ruthless, finger by finger she crippled his dominant right hand ignoring his muffled screams. She climbed off him and picked up the bags in one arm and took Hero’s hand again “Let's go.” Hero followed her into the cabin she’d found for them to share and helped tend to the wound with the first aid kit from his basket while she fiddled with her toys of defense while she ignored the searing pain in her arm “Hero… shall we head to Pamplona next? They probably won’t expect us to watch the real running of the bulls huh?”

Hero laughed as he tied the bandage and went to get the spaghetti off the stove for them. “I’d love that Shiro, as long as you’re not the one running again… I don’t care how strong you are… I don’t wanna be alone again… It’s scary… I don’t care if we never go home, as long as we’re together... “ Shiro smiled and sighed “You’re so needy my little hero, what are you going to do when you find someone you love, huh? You can’t be like ‘my sister is more important than you’ after all.” Smiling brightly showing his toothy holed smile “Why not? If it’s someone I treasure, they have to love and appreciate you and my friends too, or they aren’t worth it. I don’t care who it is, if anyone tries to be more important and says bad things I won’t pay any attention to them. Even if it’s the pope! Even God isn’t as important as sister!”

Shiro laughed and shook her head “Blood may be thick, but the water of a vow is truer. One day you may share a drink with someone more important than me.” After twirling a fork of spaghetti she pushed it into Hero’s mouth to cut off the protest “Of course, only time will tell, after all you’re only six my dearest brother. Don’t make that face” She grinned.