Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Drabble: To The Death

To The Death

The matador sweated. He’d already fought two bulls to exhaustion, though without his sword he’d been unable to give the coup de grace. But the bulls just kept coming. How long could he last before he was too tired to fight, before he made a fatal mistake?

He judged the animal’s charge, stood firm to the last, then stepped aside. Dust clung to his cape, to his sweaty skin.

The bull wheeled for another charge. The matador danced aside again, but this time just too late; the bull tossed its head and gored him through.

The crowd moo’d its approval.

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