When Legs Beat Water

The seas were rising at a rate faster than ever. Nobody in the town of Villarue knew what going on, nobody- except the mad fisherman who lived along the shore. It was just minutes until the annual "Villarue Bull Stampede" was to commence, and unless somebody alerted the mayor of the rising tides, it was set to be a disaster. The insane fisherman chuckled to himself as he questioned whether or not to allow the race to happen, that being, the race between the totally outraged bulls and the even more outraged sea. There was something all too alluring in the idea of watching the town go berserk, for what better time was there to eat popcorn?! So it was, the lunatic of a fisherman waltzed off to a nearby hill, ecstatically awaiting the imminent chaos to strike little Villarue.

Back in town, Mayor Buddy Monroe, a short and stumpy fellow, had just finished giving his overprepared and all-too-ignored speech. He was just about to cut the ribbon for the stampede. As soon as he did, the bulls would be let loose, ready to storm the narrow streets in all manner of discord. Every villager was avidly watching, some from the safety of their windows, and others from off of their balconies. Mayor Monroe gave a loud holler as he grasped his over-sized scissors... and snap! The ribbon was cut! He scurried away to the sound of angry hooves pounding the ground. Nearby villagers began to cheer, and somewhere off in the distance from a high up hill, a fisherman’s lengthy cackle could be heard.

They were off! Around two-hundred-something raging bulls began to push and shove their way from out of the enclosure and onto the street. It must have been only but a minute before the sound of intense rushing water could be heard echoing from within the streets of Villarue. Instantly, the villagers’ cheers and sounds of joy transformed into whispers and mass confusion. The fisherman’s cackle, however, remained. No one was yet able to see any sign of rushing water, but they sure did hear it. Even the bulls began to speed up their movements as they realized what was to come.

Somewhere on a tall hill in the distance, a peculiar and unruly fisherman’s popcorn was running out. He ceased from his rooting and tooting, and hysterical leg-smacking, only to fetch another round. Where he got it from with the tide so high is, to this day, unknown; as there was nothing in sight, no popcorn-source around.

Before long, after the bulls had all filtered out of the enclosure and onto the streets, the waters had arrived. Crashing and smashing past where the ribbon had been cut, they quickly forced all onlookers inside. People slammed their windows shut and began to board their doors. Everyone recognized this was no ordinary flood, no ordinary storm. It was now a race of nature versus nature: bulls versus water. Lucky for the bulls, they had gained a pretty decent head start, and things were looking up. They had already made it past multiple streets, but the sound of crashing waves didn’t keep from growing louder and louder. These bulls must have run faster than any bull to roam the face of this earth, because they actually managed to remain dry for quite some time. Just the same, that didn’t stop the floods from making haste and rushing even harder. You can imagine the bulls had all lost their rage at this point and were simply running for their lives. Another street had passed the bulls by when the rampant tide had finally caught up to them. One-by-one, bulls began to be swallowed up by the current. Not too many were swept up, however, before the open fields at the end of Villarue had finally reached sight. Almost all two-hundred-something bulls had managed to outrun the tide and survive the rising water from within the city streets. Boy, was it a sight to be seen when legs outran water in the middle of Villarue, in the middle of spring; and a nutty, old fisherman witnessed it all, sparing not a single kernel of popcorn.