Pink Room
He stood there again, the bull, statuesque in the pink room with that old wooden door that won’t stay shut. Hoof hitting the floor over and over. Heavy breath turning into a slow fog. Purple dusk of the evening creeping through the windows, purple caressing the beast’s enormous body, perfectly outlined in the dark. “What do you want?” Violet whispered with discontent. She was unsure, for he appeared each night at the same time. He seems to know of her presence but does not come close. Turning away, he saunters outside, back into the brush. Violet watches from the edge of the hall as the door creeps back to a close.
