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May 4, 2009

Ted: Arena

The sand drinks like it was some sort of effrit awaiting sacrifice.

The novillero stood his ground while the bull charged one last time. Flecks of saliva ran down the bull's chin, blood flows from his hump where the picadors had taunted him, wearing him down before the final blow.

The bull commits to his charge, his rage centered on the man who would be his butcher. His killer stands arrogant before him, the capote de paseo resplendent.

The young man feels his blade slide home and the tug of something against his breast.

The effrit is well fed today.

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