She blew a mouthful of smoke into my face, sat forward on her seat and asked, “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”
I stared at the label on the beer bottle -- a blue bull -- and pondered the question. I’d done lots of crazy things in my life: eaten live crabs, skateboarded nude across a church rooftop on a Sunday, walked into a bank wearing a George W. Bush rubber mask. Lots of crazy things. A whole slew of nutty experiences flitted through my mind. Then, still staring at the blue label on the bottle, I remembered the bull.
Setting my beer on the counter, I grinned and said, “I once fought a bull.”
“Like in Spain? Wearing a cape and holding one of those rapier things?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
Smiling like Heath Ledger in the Batman movie, she said, “Fought a bull, huh? Tell me about it.”
***
It was a summer evening and one of the neighborhood girls, Joan, and I were walking alongside a sweet smelling meadow. She pointed past the barb wire fence and said, “Look at that poor old bull.”
I turned and saw the pitiful animal. It was a weak-shouldered thing, head bent down, face in the high dry grass. I picked up a rock and pelted its flank. Raising its head, the bull switched its tail and gave a snort. It continued to work its jaws in a side-to-side manner, chewing a mouthful of dry grass.
“Why’d you do that?” Joan asked. “The poor thing wasn’t harming anyone.”
“Bulls are vicious,” I said. “Like scorpions.” I snagged a branch off the ground and tossed it over the barb wire fence. “I’m going to fight it.”
Joan laughed. “I hope it kills you.” But when I positioned my hands between the barbs, raising one wire and lowering another, she said, “Don‘t be stupid.”
I stooped and got myself between the wires and into the meadow. I picked up my branch and watched Joan frown. After I’d taken several steps toward the bull, she said, “You better get out of there right now before you get yourself killed.”
Clicking my tongue to get the bull’s attention, I cautiously advanced with my weapon. The bull didn’t move. It stood in the same place it had been when I blasted it with the rock, still gazing at me, still switching its tail, still working its jaws.
Fifteen yards or so before reaching the bull, I turned to Joan and said, “This old thing is ready for the belt factory.”
Joan’s eyes got big. Her mouth opened and she raised an arm and started jabbing the air. I whirled and caught the bull slowly approaching. Holding my branch in front of me, I said, “Come on you old bull. Show me your stuff.”
***
“You’re full of crap,” the woman said. She shook her head and lit a fresh cigarette off the one she’d been smoking.
“I have a scar to prove it,” I said, reaching for the top button of my shirt. I unbuttoned the top button. The woman crushed out the shorter of her two cigarettes and said, “I don‘t want to see your wound. Go ahead and finish your story.”
***
The bull bent its front right knee and dragged the hoof against the earth, bringing up dust. It’s nostrils flared.
“Get out of there!” Joan cried out from the other side of the fence.
I remained poised with my branch. The bull charged with its head lowered, pounding the earth with its hooves. Just at the point when the bull could have driven one of its horns into me, I stepped aside and as it flew past I whacked it on its big rear end with my branch. It skidded to a stop and slowly came round to face me. Once again the bull worked its front foot against the ground. Its moist nostrils flared much more rapidly than prior to its initial charge. Snorting, the bull rushed me again.
I attempted to repeat my maneuver, but this time I was not quick enough. As I stepped aside, the bull’s horn tore the left side of my shirt and ripped into the flesh above my left hip. I dropped the stick, bent over and grimaced in pain. The bull, now several yards past me, screeched to a halt.
It came around, narrowed its eyes, and as it prepared another attack steam came out of its nostrils.
This time when it rushed me, even with blood soaking my shirt and Joan screaming her lungs out, I managed to step aside in time and avoid the bull’s passing horns. Before it could get itself turned around I swept up behind it and wrapped my right arm around its neck. I tightened my grip, leaning back, lifting the bull’s front legs off the ground. In an attempt to free itself, the bull kicked at my kneecaps with its back legs, narrowly missing. I squeezed the bull’s thick neck even tighter. Finally, after flailing a bit the bull lost consciousness and went limp in my arms.
Somehow, wounded as I was, I managed to make it out of the meadow and with Joan’s help, stagger home. At the hospital, where I stayed for nearly two weeks before being released, I was stitched up and told how lucky I was not to have been killed.
***
The woman lit another cigarette and gestured to the barkeep for another beer. “That’s the biggest shit story I’d ever heard,” she said. She shook her head and added, “I was being serious when I asked you what the craziest thing was you’d ever done.” She blew another puff of smoke into my face and looked past my shoulder. We passed a moment in silence. Then her beer came and she got up with it and strode past me to the other end of the bar, where she sat down between two young men.
I downed the remaining beer in my bottle and paid my tab. Walking past the woman on my way to the bathroom, I heard her say to the two men, “That’s the guy. What a liar he is.” They both laughed.
In the bathroom I stood in front of the mirror and unbuttoned my shirt. I took it off and turned, raising my left arm above my head so I could see my left side in the mirror. I stared at the scar the bull had left me. Five of the scar’s nine inches stuck out of the beltline of my jeans, raised and thick and shiny. I stared a long time at the scar and wondered if instead of trying to impress the woman with my story about the bull, I should have told her about the fifteen mini-bottles of Jack I once downed during a two hour flight. No. She probably wouldn’t have believed that, either.
***
This is a good story-a-day effort. It still feels like a first draft, there's scope for polishing, but the underlying story is there and works fine. I enjoyed it.
I think because of the way you provide the setting, which is minimal, it's not immediately clear that there's no real relationship between these two. This is just some woman in a bar, and tired of his story she moves off and sits with two other guys. Maybe it just needs something small in the opening to establish that more clearly.
I thought the opening exchange, prior to the start of the bull tale, was a bit baggy. I wasn't sure you needed the second paragraph at all, and the dialogue could lose a couple of lines as it only serves to set the scene and introduce the bull tale. Also, I don't know how Heath Ledger smiled in Batman so that reference was lost on me.
I turned and saw the pitiful animal. It was a weak-shouldered thing, head bent down, face in the high dry grass. I picked up a rock and pelted its flank. Raising its head, the bull switched its tail and gave a snort. It continued to work its jaws in a side-to-side manner, chewing a mouthful of dry grass.
In the above, I would consider dropping the first sentence. Pitiful comes from the description that follows (might need a tweak), so you're kind of telling then showing the same thing, and it's taken as read that you've seen it to describe it. So opening it with 'It was a weak-shouldered thing...' works fine, I think.
Clicking my tongue to get the bull’s attention, I cautiously advanced with my weapon.
I think during revision there's an opportunity to go back over word choices and find more effective combinations. You've got the story down just fine. Here, 'cautiously advanced' sounds a little formal, but maybe that's just me. There are other phrases, too, that made me feel similarly. And 'with my weapon' is okay but not particularly visual. Something along the lines of 'I clicked my tongue to alert the bull and crept forward with the branch raised.' Not that you need to use those exact words, it's the idea I'm trying to convey.
“I don‘t want to see your wound. Go ahead and finish your story.”
I don't think it's a big deal, but sometimes you can cut quite a bit from dialogue and make it more effective. Here, I'd consider reducing this to:
"Finish your story."
It conveys that she doesn't want to see the scar, and, I think, her attitude towards his tale.
“Get out of there!” Joan cried out from the other side of the fence.
A little bit of spoonfeeding the reader here, as we know Joan is the other side of the fence. I think removing the extra words increases the pace.
I remained poised with my branch. The bull charged with its head lowered, pounding the earth with its hooves.
The first sentence here is also spoonfeeding a little, and I think going straight from Joan crying out to the bull charging is more effective. Pounding the earth with its hooves is a bit of a cliche, I think. Not a big deal, but maybe you don't need anything at all there or maybe there's an original alternative.
Just at the point when the bull could have driven one of its horns into me, I stepped aside and as it flew past I whacked it on its big rear end with my branch. It skidded to a stop and slowly came round to face me. Once again the bull worked its front foot against the ground. Its moist nostrils flared much more rapidly than prior to its initial charge. Snorting, the bull rushed me again.
It feels too wordy in places, where perhaps you're trying to be too precise. For example, everything up to the first comma could be replaced by the simple, "At the last moment" or similar. What you have is perhaps more graphic and visual, but it feels too wordy to me. I also note that each time you avoid the bull you use 'step' or 'stepped' aside. In particular with the final usage, I think you need an alternative. Stepped is quite sedate. It sounds okay the first time, but I think as you up the ante, this guy needs to do something more than step. Also too wordy, for me at least, is 'Its moist nostrils flared much more rapidly than prior to its initial charge'. Consider, for example, "it's nostrils flared rapidly". Moist at this point is unnecessary, maybe you want moist the first usage where you're creating the image, whereas here we have the image and you're giving us the action. Rapidly probably does enough to convey that it's more than the first time.
I attempted to repeat my maneuver, but this time I was not quick enough. As I stepped aside, the bull’s horn tore the left side of my shirt and ripped into the flesh above my left hip. I dropped the stick, bent over and grimaced in pain. The bull, now several yards past me, screeched to a halt.
Here's some more formal language, in the first sentence, with 'attempted to repeat my maneuver'. Perhaps you can avoid that line at all and just have, "I was too slow", but either way it's about language choice, and I think as written it sounds too formal (but hey, a lot depends on we come from in making that judgement, it's not by any means black and white). I wasn't keen on the bull screeching to a halt either. Maybe because it's been used a lot, a bit of a cliche, but with mechanical things such as cars. I'd consider looking for an original alternative more applicable to a bull.
This time when it rushed me, even with blood soaking my shirt and Joan screaming her lungs out, I managed to step aside in time and avoid the bull’s passing horns.
Here, I think you really need something more than step. He's got blood spreading across his shirt, probably running down his body. Joan is screaming her lungs out. This guy should be throwing himself out of the way. I also think 'passing horns' is too plain and perhaps passive. Something more consistent with a large mammal with potentially lethal appendages bearing down on you is appropriate. I think the language here has to match the action and at the moment it's too weak.
In an attempt to free itself, the bull kicked at my kneecaps with its back legs, narrowly missing.
I think phrases like, "In an attempt to free itself" are not only spoonfeeding, they slow the story down unnecessarily. Much better, in my opinion, is to cut it and go with the bull kicking at his kneecaps. On that note, kicking at is quite weak. Something like lashing out or similar might be worth considering.
The ending goes where you want it to, and I don't think there's anything wrong with that. An alternative, not necessary but possible, is to have her insist at the end on seeing his scar after telling him she thinks the story is bullshit, and him not doing so then going into the bathroom and examining it. Not necessarily any better, but I can see this woman at the end of the story wanting to see the scar.
Usual caveat, many of the comments are about how I might write this. You're under no obligation to accept them.
Cheers,
Rob
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