Leonid Afremov's Corrida

There is one man. He wears a gaudy gold and crimson suit embroidered with threads of silver. His shirt is ruffled, and his pants are golden. He flourishes a red flag and taunts his opponent—the charging bull. The bull is a black but colorful blur. The background is smeared, placing emphasis on the intensity of the competition. The matador concentrates. The audience watches as the battle between man and bull unfolds; but these people don’t matter. Their cheers fade away, and now only the Bullfighter and the bull exist. The Bullfighter oozes confidence; he is prepared to win yet another match. He knows he is a champion and is ready to defend his title. No bull can outsmart him. A bullfighter is brave, cunning, fearless; just like him. He can outwit any simple brute. After all, what tough animal would be provoked by the appearance of a color? After this win, just one of many, he will celebrate with his friends, and everyone will shower him in their admiration. Oh, how amazing he is! He is glorious and wonderful—Champion of the Bulls! Meanwhile, the brute’s eyes bore into his crimson colored flag; it charges with ferocity in its eyes. It, too, is prepared to win. “GRR,” it thinks. “THIS TIME I WILL WIN!”