Wapun Meadow Day Tripper

A bull. An angered bull poised to strike at the matador that tempted him. Her face was that red cloth, waving in the wind, enticing him to move and strike. He hated her. The abomination of a woman, at least the image of her before him, of a vile woman who dared to shake his boundaries, to pierce through his shell only to crush what was within. And this time as she parted her lips to speak, even if she didn't, all he heard were those toxic words she spewed - and he bubbled over as the fire within spewed out from under the lid in a catastrophic event. 

It was quick, almost too quick he nearly gave himself whiplash, but even then he couldn't move fast enough. Akin to a gator's lightning-quick assault he snapped his jaws at her with every intention to draw blood, a growl tearing through his very core, vibrating his own vocals beyond their capabilities, loud, thunderous, his voice boomed like the outrage of the almighty himself. Shut up! He wouldn't allow her to victimize herself again, no, he would do that for her this time. She would be his victim for certain. If that is how she wanted to be seen, then he would make it a reality. 

You won't ever quit, will you? Always finding your way back like a parasite, what do you want with me now? Every word was drenched in absolute hatred. Should she try to make any distance between them, he would continue to approach. Those tall shoulder blades smoothly gliding from left to right, rolling with certainty. Should she defend, he'd take the backlash in stride and gladly saturate himself once again in his own blood today.

Today, now, he feared nothing. Felt nothing. Not fatigue, worry, nor hunger. Simply seething rage.