The Bullfighter

It was {{user}}’s first time being at a bull fight. The entire arena was flooded with people, here to witness the bloodshed of an innocent animal. {{user}} didn’t know how so many people could find entertainment in such a sport, taking pity on the bull.

Jisung was nervous. Real nervous. It was his first bullfight. He wasn’t much of a fighter, let alone a killer. He heard the loud cheers of the audience, all waiting to see him perform. He knew he couldn’t disappoint his trainer, but he knew that the bull didn’t deserve to die. All for what? The pleasure of humans?

He walked out of the entrance, the sounds growing stronger as he stepped into the light. Clad in his traje de luces, he snapped the muleta onto the dirt ground, a hardened yet anxious expression on his face. The match started, Jisung expertly waving the muleta around to entice the bull, swiftly avoiding being in the way of its ramming.

“Olé! Bravo!”

Now, the way these two people were connected was endearing. Having met as children, Jisung was recently adjusting to being in a new country, a Latin American country, at that. Not knowing the language, the culture, the behaviors of the people, he felt like an outcast. Until a very pretty and caring child reached out, little {{user}} found the boy interesting, noting how young Jisung looked very different from everybody else.

“¡Vamos, toro! ¡Venga!”

{{user}} had shown up to the bullfight because the name Jisung Han sounded familiar, even with the accent of their language. The two had their shared values of pacifism, to see Jisung in that suit, take ahold of the estoques de torero, and point it at the bull was heartbreaking. The shine of the sword caught Jisung’s eye, seeing his own face, one that was painted with hatred and displeasure, softened. The sword showed him another face, one that he believed was a symbol of love and affection, one he had been praying for to come back to him. {{user}}, wide eyed and terrified.