It might have been a dream . . . Yeah, it probably was a dream . . .

I was in the arena, the sun high overhead. The crowd in the stands, quiet now, waited with mounting tension for something to happen. I looked down at myself and saw I was dressed as a toreador complete with cape and sword. At the far end of the arena was an arched door with a carpet of roses before it—a place for winners! I felt a great need to get there. However, there was one problem.

The white bull stared at me through bloodshot eyes, fiercely red in stark contrast to the snowblinding hulk sporting them. The head, held low, swayed a little. Its nostrils flared as it inhaled and snorted. Deep inside, down where the guts are, I knew I had to get past him. It was him or me.

I began to circle to the left and its intense eyes followed me. It didn’t move to face me until I was about 90 degrees from where I started and then it came about in a single jump. It wasn’t charging me but it wasn’t letting me get past it either. It snorted again and stood there, daring me to do anything.

I couldn’t help thinking the thing was being pretty casual about this whole affair, as if it wasn’t terribly concerned whether I did anything or not. But I wasn’t going to let it beat me! I brought my sword vertically up to my face in salute and then en garde.

The bull snorted. “You’re not scaring me,” it seemed to say.

I circled to the right this time and again the beast waited for me to go 90 degrees before it quickly swung around. Maybe I could rush past him if I tried suddenly before he adjusted his position. Its head continued to sway slightly, back and forth, its bloodshot eyes still daring. “Come on,” it seemed to say, “make your move!” How could it know what I was thinking?

I circled right some more and made a quick feint and, faster than a blink of the eye, it blocked my path. “Okay,” I thought, “so that’s how it is, eh?”

I brought my sword to point at the bull’s neck, aiming for a fatal thrust. The bull just snorted and stared. I think it was laughing at me. Desperate, I tried a thrust. The bull nonchalantly swung its head, its horn deflecting my attack like shooing a fly.

I looked down, contemplating the dust on my shoes. I wondered how long this had been going on. That bull has been in my way since day one. Should I just give up and let the thing win? It’s beginning to look that way. I should just give up and go do something else. NO! I just can’t do that. I’m going for a walk in those roses!

First I had to get past that white bull and it wasn’t having any of it.

Suddenly I realized I was already 511 words past that immovable, snowblinding beast! I turned and, indeed, the bull was many steps behind me, still staring with those bloodshot eyes, its swinging head low and snorting.

So much for the white bull. I headed for the roses!