Billy the Bull

I wrote this short narrative a couple of years ago when the topic was very personal.

Billy the Bull

They called Billy ‘The Bull’ since Billy silently made his move on his prey–the other kids. No kid was singled out, they all were pinched, bitten, scratched, tugged or licked. The Bull soared through the day, biting, shouting, tugging, tearing – ripping carefully ironed pants, exposing bodily parts meant to be hidden. This day The Bull lay broken. His face scarred with red indentations of teeth. Teeth dug deep into bare flesh. Swallow, spat, lick–the pain stayed. Billy grinded his teeth, snorting rage like a real bull. Rage, brokenness, silence whirled. The Bull’s prey–the other kids, are no longer. The kids prey is now The Bull.

Until next time Debbie.

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