Rodeo - The gate exploded. He blasted from the wooden confines. His left arm whipped and whirled above his wrenching head. The dirty knot slivered through his right hand and choked the blood from his veins. A brief air-borne moment ripped the noise from each spectator’s throat. He punched the dirt with his back and the dirt retaliated by stealing his breath. He yelped and the crowd regained control. Without mercy, the bull charged.
Showing posts with label John Synco. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Synco. Show all posts
Fifty Four
The tiny person staring up at me happened to be my 12-year-old self. My little eyes raged. I stopped dicing the yellow onion. I stared back. I remembered. I despised onions at 12. While my little eyes raged my big eyes watered. Our mother used to sneak yellow onions in everything. When we caught her beforehand, she would look down into our raging eyes then kindly put the onions aside. I refused.
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John Synco
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