I had that dream again. I woke up in a ring, and there was a mighty bull before me, impaled with 7 banderillas. I looked around at a crowd that bayed for blood, brow knit in confusion. They wanted me to kill him. They wanted me to kill him!

I wouldn’t.

I approached the bull with practised motions, as though I had done this before. The moment I was close enough, I pulled a banderilla out. I had no idea they were barbed at the end…! I don’t think the bull understood what I was doing; I don’t think he knew I wanted to help, and it probably hurt just the same… but I wanted to take them out. I would do anything to take away those horrible things. The crowd screamed and yelled, told me I was wrong. I didn’t listen. My eyes filled with tears at every failed attempt to pull the small harpoons from the animal’s body. Panic rose in my chest every second I stood by while he was suffering. I realised the only way I would be able to pull them out was if I was close enough, for long enough. So I dropped my emuleta let the bull charge me, I wrapped my arms around his neck as a sharp horn caught my side. I didn’t care. I pulled back from the creature just enough to free myself and grabbed a banderilla, ripping it out with a cry.

The crowd began to cheer for me. I don’t know if it was because I was just entertaining enough, or because they suddenly realised the horror of the situation. But they cheered.

By the final flag, my head was spinning, and I was crying openly. I had climbed onto the bull’s back, forehead pressed to his as I yanked the god forsaken implement from his neck. The last thing I remember before waking up is crying and saying its over now.

I had that dream again. I was trapped in a ring and I’d been stabbed in the back. And you showed up, all dressed up and pretty, to put me out of my misery. I hate to admit it, but you do look damn good in that getup.

You didn’t talk. You approached me with a smooth gait; a calm hand reached out to me and carelessly ripped a spear from my back. It hurt and I was so fucking angry that you hurt me. I didn’t care that you thought you were helping, its just like you to think you’re helping. I was so angry and scared that you’d do it again—and you did. But not before I pinned you to the wall. Not before I made you hurt too. I was just so pissed off… I was feeling vindictive and…

You were crying…

You were crying and it scared the shit out of me. I wanted to run, I wanted to get as far away from you as I could—but you wouldn’t let me. You crawled onto my back and plucked the spines from my bloody flesh and our bodies gave out together. I fell to the ground after the final spear was pulled, and you rolled off of me, settling face-down and breathing so shallow… I was so sorry, I am so sorry. You wanted to help me and I hurt you.

Your hand rested heavy on my face, a smile spread over your features as we laid together in a pool of our own blood. “Its over,” You said, “Its okay now.”