Bull Runs and Fatherhood

freestyle fiction

by Joshua Coffman

Rats everywhere. Gross smells lingered in the air, it seemed like at least two distinct smells kind of merged together, sometimes really strong. It was day time. The sunlight pierced through a smog of sorts. You could see rays of light burning their way through the clouds of poop fog.

Small children, barefoot played football in a small clearing. There was some grass, a tiny bit of green in a world of orangish hues. Every once in a while you could make out a glimmer in the sunlight coming from the sides of the buildings. They were the security cameras.

On this corner, every few hours, a giant man with long dark hair would stand up from his porch chair and walk to the street light brandishing a large broadsword only to look both up and down the avenue and return to his throne. It was a kingly throne, a relic of sorts, it was a handmade rocking chair with a worn blue cushion.

The security cameras watched the giant without blinking.