THE RED BULL by Fred Shelton
The Red Bull torments me day and night. Even though he stood on the hill that fateful day and observed everything, he continues to walk to my fence line and taunt me. Just today, he stared at me, and with that sinister smirk on his face, shouted: "You poor, pitiful horse. I saw what you did to that man. It was all your fault!"
No, it wasn't all my fault. But his words fill my ears with guilt, and the guilt slowly seeps down into my heart. But he will not stop. He has no sympathy, no pity, no understanding.
I loved my master, Mr. Bob. He groomed me every day. He gave me sugar cubes when I behaved well. He fed me twice daily and even provided me with an air-conditioned stable. So when he told me, "Jake, I'm going to ride you up to the north side today to look for some stray calves," I was happy and ready to go.
How was I to know there was a copperhead lurking under brush on the trail? How was I to know he would strike at me, startling me and causing me to rear up and throw Mr. Bob off?
When I nudged Mr. Bob's face, the Red Bull was watching. But Mr. Bob did not move. When I screamed out to Mr. Bob, "Please get up! Please get up!" the Red Bull just stood there, chewing on his cud, with saliva dripping from his treacherous mouth. In desperation, I galloped to the house, seeking help.
Help came. People in white clothes. Red lights flashing. I sensed a feeling of despondency coming over them. Then they put a white sheet over Mr. Bob. And looked at me. My heart sank. I cried out, "It was an accident!" But they didn't hear. That day was the last time I would ever look into a human's eyes.
"Shoot me!" I screamed. "I deserve it. I killed my master. I'll never be any good again." But they ignored me. They took away all the conveniences that Mr. Bob had provided me. They put me into an overgrown pasture and never rode me again. They never even spoke to me again.
But the Red Bull speaks to me everyday. Words I don't want to hear. Words that only intensify my guilt and pain.
@ Fred Shelton