The Chase

I’m running for my life.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been going, but it feels like hours. I can’t get away fast enough. My lungs feel like they’re on fire. My adrenaline is coursing through my veins at a speed that I didn’t think was possible.

The bull is gaining on me. I run through field after field of grassy hills, but I cannot get away.

My breath is fast. My heart is beating so rapidly, it feels like it’s going to explode any second. I take a quick glance over my shoulder. The bull is inches from me now. I trip over a rock and I’m knocked to the ground. I’m trampled. I’m bruised, but I’m still alive once he’s done raging. Eyes closed tightly, I manage to curl up in the fetal position, praying for this creature to leave.

I need him to leave.

“Please, God,” I say. “Please, make him stop.”

Tears are streaming down my face, but I wont let the bull see them fall. My face is hidden as I chant my prayer in my head. I can hear the bull battering my surroundings with its long, pointed horns. The damage done by this one animal is hard to believe. I peek up and see him bashing his horns into the grass at full force. Hole after hole, his energy is endless.

“Leave me alone!” I shout at him. He glares at me with the intensity of a roaring inferno. I can see only hatred in his eyes. There is no love or compassion. I cower and bury my face into my knees as I hear the bull rearing up again. He grunts and I can feel the heat of his breath inches from my face. Then I hear the bull turn around and leave.

…..

The door slams. I can finally lift my head from my knees. I look around at my broken bedroom, everything torn to pieces. Glass from the picture frame that once sat on my dresser is shattered onto my wooden floor. The floor is a mess. My clothes lay scattered and torn everywhere and the contents of my jewelry box is in disarray, dispersed everywhere. The grass-green walls, once so lovely and beautiful, now have new holes punched into them. That makes 9 this week.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. My father has always been a mean drunk, and the drunken days are getting more frequent. I cant tell you how many times I’ve curled up in this exact position, hugging my legs to my chest, head buried into my knees. My heart throbs in my chest. I can barely breathe.m and I feel like I’ve been running for hours. I’ve seen the bull in full force, but this is by far the worst attack I’ve witnessed. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said prayers asking God to help me, only to have the same thing happen again the next night. Will it ever end? They say you’re supposed to grab the bull by the horns and deal with your situation with confidence. That is so much easier said than done. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to stand up to my father with confidence and power.

I stand up from my spot on the floor and begin to pick up the pieces once again. I gather the shards of glass and dump them into the garbage. I pick up my the jewelry that isn’t broken and put it back into my jewelry box, even though the box is missing the lid from the last time my father threw it. It’s hard seeing my belongings treated so badly, but it’s even harder to look in my broken mirror on my dresser and see the black eye forming on my face. I can’t believe a father can hurt his own daughter like this. I don’t know what the next day, week, or month will bring, but I know one thing for certain. I know that one day soon, I will be able to leave and say goodbye to the bull for good, and that day cannot come soon enough.