The large black bull

Within the close quarters of a housing estate, there was a bull. The largest blackest of bulls, and on its head an intricate set of horns ejaculating in all directions. It could have dreamt it was a moose, but it wasn't. On both sides of its body were singe marks where a branding iron had been: "Service with a Smile". Its hooves made a rhythmic but urgent heartbeat on the dirty tiles, on which children played daily with the dust and mayhem.

We saw the bull grunting from three levels below and knew it was coming for us, Target and me. Not sure why he was called Target but that's how I knew him. He could have dreamt he was in another dream, but he wasn't. He seized my hand and ran us to our enclave behind the refrigerator in our flat, which was behind the orange wooden door, which was behind the highest rusted gate. But the bull must have sensed exactly where we were and rammed its way through the barriers to drag us out of our hiding place. I looked down and clearly saw its left (front) hoof grasping my hand, and with its right (front) holding Target's. With the two of us on either side it dragged us out in plain view of the rest of the estate. I did not expect any aid, no, just eyeballs on us from behind their own steely gates. The bull walked, on its hind legs, somehow, and I knew it wanted to do unspeakable things to us. "Let us go," I said, not really expecting it to understand, but it said, "Shut your trap." I looked over at Target and saw he was as frightened as I was. I began a process of negotiation with the bull. As one would.

"Why do you need both of us? Two people are harder to handle than just one."

It kept walking.

"The last thing you want for these kinds of operations is any surprises, believe me. And Target is full of surprises," I said, hoping it was somehow true. "You won't outrun us, our made-to-run upright posture against your four legs, two of which you are using for a purpose other than walking right now."

"I can't choose between the two of you," it said, starting to sweat a little.

"Slip it past the goal post, take me," I said, "More holes and such like."

The bull looked me up and down with its cloudy eyes and a raging lust swelled from its loin chops. "Fine," it said, and relaxed its right hoof. Target was pale in the afternoon sunlight. I'm not a hero, I said in my head, you have to kill the bastard. The bull slowed down to a pace that suggested we were lovers taking a scholarly stroll through these narrow corridors toward the faraway unmentionable place. I turned around to look at Target one last time, already missing his fear. But he held out his right hand and in it was the largest blackest of guns, with a silencer no less. The last thing I saw of Target was his taking aim. I waited for the sound of the shot, but it didn't come. Take the fucking shot, Target. Still there was no sound, and just when I thought it never would come, the bull was flat on the ground with a hot river of blood streaming from underneath its carcass.