By: Aidan Shea
There was a rodeo last Sunday. Unfortunately, it will be our last. Looking through the sea green glass of Forgreen’s department store, one could view the spectacle. Fifteen men took part in the running of the bulls. Now, one might argue that a rodeo and the running of the bulls are of two very distinct cultures. They would be correct, yet the town of Creekweather did not discriminate against entertainment. The men had lined up about fifty meters before the store, far enough away to where the sound of the event was of primary interest to those in Forgreens. As the onlookers awaited with sweaty palms and unblinking eyes, the firing of the signal echoed throughout the corridors of the streets. Soon enough, one could satisfy their eyes with the view of terrified men, regretting their ignorance of their lack of physical ability. Yet, to Forgreens, it was a spectacle long awaited. The views pleased eager eyes and provided fodder for the hysterics of the onlooking children. The jubilation of tear-crested optics continued after the men had passed. It was a sight to behold. The tripping and the screaming of those unfortunate souls served as a prolonged distraction from the plight that infested the world. Eventually, one could hear the rumbling that soon filled it. The cause of the terror, yet the catalyst for excitement.
The bulls rampaged throughout the street, groaning in a manner that could only be synonymous with profanities had it been comprehensible. There were many of them. It was hard to specify the number, but that was for a reason. The inhabitants of Forgreen’s were too distracted by the tsunami of destruction that came in the wake of the beasts. They could only gack at the shredded tapestries and shattered glass of the various storefront windows. The cobblestone became chipped, and unattended chairs were left convulsed and broken. The bulls soon passed and continued with their catalytic actions, only to be stopped a number of minutes later. The patrons of Forgreens were horrified. They praised higher beings for their survival and quickly flocked to the streets in an effort to gage the carnage.
It's all for Forgreen himself. He grimaced at the sight befalling his storefront and turned to the backdoor. He left out the door and was confronted by a group of ruffians. Allegedly, they patted him down for all the valuables on his person, taking advantage of the chaos that distracted the public. Eventually, he was seen arriving back inside and grabbing his carpentry kit and his employees. He made the trek outside his storefront and began to offer his services to those affected by the beasts. He charged an arm and a leg, but he was able to do so due to his department store's monopoly on materials and those with experience in repair. Many begrudgingly paid him what he demanded and moved on, partly doing so because of their sympathies towards his robbery that took place earlier. He worked throughout the day and is still working today. We expect that he will be kept busy for quite some time. Many view him as a savior, yet for a boy with keen ears, he was anything but. It had been a business interaction, not a mugging, and the shakedown had been with the people of Clearweather.
"My trip to France won't pay for itself. I thought I told you to make those bulls wreck through Abernath and McLutchy Street too. "
-Master of Stories