The raging bull

The bar’s neon sign flickered weakly against the darkened sky, casting faint shadows over the dust-covered parking lot. Inside, the air was thick with the staleness of spilled beer and bitter resentment. Chuck Dower sat at the bar, his broad shoulders hunched over a whiskey glass. He looked like a man whose best days were behind him, though no one in the room dared to say it aloud.

At 40, Chuck was a titan of the town—a rancher who once commanded respect through his sheer presence. But tonight, he was just a man grappling with heartbreak and humiliation. Across the room, Daisy Miller laughed softly, her voice a melody that Chuck could pick out of any crowd. She was sitting with Zeke Tannen, the new kid in town, a wiry 21-year-old with a cocky grin and a gleam of youth Chuck could never reclaim.

Daisy wasn’t the kind of woman you forgot easily. Her dark waves of hair framed a face that could switch from mischief to menace in seconds. She wasn’t kind or particularly graceful, but she had a magnetic pull that made men think they’d found salvation—or destruction. Chuck had thought she was his forever, but now, here she was with him.

Zeke leaned back in his chair, his boots propped casually on the table. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. That infuriated Chuck.

“How dare she bring him here?” Chuck muttered to himself. This wasn’t just a bar; it was his bar, his refuge from the world. And now she was parading her new fling right under his nose.

“Francis!” Chuck barked at the bartender.

Francis, a wiry man with thinning hair and a perpetual nervous energy, approached cautiously. “Yeah, Chuck?”

“Send them a drink,” Chuck growled. “Her usual and… a glass of milk for the boy.”

Francis hesitated, but Chuck’s dark eyes dared him to refuse. Moments later, Daisy and Zeke stared at the drinks now in front of them.

“What’s this?” Zeke asked, lifting the milk with a bemused smirk.

“Chuck’s way of saying hi,” Daisy said, her voice laced with irritation.

Zeke grinned, leaning toward Francis. “Send him a daiquiri. Put a little umbrella in it, too.”

Francis looked horrified. “You don’t want to do that, kid.”

But Zeke insisted, and a minute later, Chuck stared at the bright pink drink, umbrella and all. His face darkened like a brewing storm.

“You think this is funny?” Chuck snarled, standing.

Zeke rose to meet him, unflinching. “Not funny. Just fair.”

The tension thickened as the bar’s few patrons edged toward the walls. Chuck towered over Zeke, but the younger man didn’t budge.

“Enough!” Daisy’s voice cut through the room. She stood between them, hands on her hips. “You want to settle this? Fine. Let’s see who’s really got the guts.” She pointed toward the corner of the bar. “Let’s see who can last the longest on The Raging Bull.”

The room fell silent.

The Raging Bull
The mechanical bull wasn’t just a bar attraction; it was a legend. Built decades ago by a rodeo-obsessed mechanic, it was said to be the meanest, most unforgiving ride in the state. Its glowing red eyes and smoke-snorting nostrils weren’t for show—they were a promise. Over the years, it had thrown riders into walls, cracked ribs, and broken bones. It had even claimed a few lives.

The sheriff had shut it down years ago, but Francis had never been able to bring himself to dismantle it. Now it stood as a dusty relic in the corner, a reminder of its bloody history.

“You can’t be serious,” Francis stammered. “Nobody’s ridden that thing since—”

“Turn it on,” Daisy said firmly.

Francis hesitated, but the looks on Chuck and Zeke’s faces told him this wasn’t up for debate.

Chuck vs. The Bull
Chuck went first. He climbed onto the bull with practiced confidence, though the years of wear showed in his slower movements. “Start it up, Francis,” he said, gripping the reins.

The bull came to life, its red eyes glowing ominously as smoke hissed from its nostrils. It began with a slow sway, almost mocking Chuck before it erupted into violent bucks. Chuck held on, his massive frame jolting with each movement. But the bull was relentless, and after 90 grueling seconds, it launched him off like a rag doll. He crashed into the bar with a groan.

“How’d I do?” he asked, breathless.

“Ninety seconds,” Francis said.

Chuck smirked. “Let’s see you beat that, boy.”

Zeke’s Turn
Zeke approached the bull with the calm confidence of someone who’d been in tougher spots. He adjusted his grip, gave Daisy a wink, and nodded at Francis.

The bull started slow, but as soon as Zeke found his rhythm, it ramped up. The machine bucked and twisted with a fury that seemed almost alive. But Zeke didn’t falter. His years of rodeo experience showed in every movement. The bull grew angrier, its speed increasing until it was a blur of smoke and metal.

By the four-minute mark, the crowd was holding its breath. When the timer hit five minutes, the bull stopped, defeated. Zeke dismounted with a cocky grin.

“Well?” he said, looking at Chuck. “No hard feelings, right?”

The Final Showdown
Chuck’s face darkened. “You take my girl, my pride, and now you want no hard feelings?” He grabbed the shotgun from under the bar.

The room froze.

“Chuck!” Daisy gasped.

“You’re coming with me, Daisy,” Chuck said, his voice trembling. “Or no one’s walking out of here alive.”

Zeke stepped forward, calm and steady. “Put the gun down, old man. This isn’t the way.”

Chuck’s hands shook, torn between rage and regret. Before he could act, the door slammed open.

Two gunshots echoed through the room.

The sheriff stood in the doorway, his revolver smoking. Chuck crumpled to the floor, his rage extinguished.

“Figured something was up when I saw that damn bull running,” the sheriff muttered. “Someone want to tell me what happened here?”

Francis stammered an explanation, but Zeke turned to Daisy.

“You still owe me that ride home,” he said, grinning.

Daisy smiled, slipping her arm through his. “Let’s go.”

As they disappeared into the night, the Raging Bull sat silent once more, its red eyes fading. It had seen its fair share of legends, and tonight, it added one more.