Nothing More

To say the fight had been raging would be a lie. The bear wrapped his paws around the bull's shoulder, his legs pushing his opponent's hindquarters away—a typical jiu-jitsu move. The crowd looked on and placed bets. The bull began to look exasperated, a look of bewilderment betraying his normally fierce eyes. Had this beast finally met his match? The wagers piled in. The bookie struggled to stay even as the flow turned sharply one-sided. One did not even need to look over to know that the beast was close to done. And if one had looked over, one might have seen the sorry sight: what had once been a majestic fighter was now covered in a blanket of long, brown fur. There was seemingly no escape, with the bear's jaws fully penetrating the plentiful muscle in the bovine's neck and snuffing out all senses but one: panic. Yet, in that moment, a glance would have been well advised, for out of the corner a young Oriental girl tossed what looked like a piece of paper in the bull's direction. It was almost imperceptible, and the moment shared between them lasted much longer in their imaginations than it did in reality. "Don't die, Bully," she whispered soundlessly, her lips steady. The aurochian looked at her through a herbivore's side-stare: pure and mindless calm. He had not seen the green pastures for months, nor tasted the sweet air of the mountains, let alone felt the beauty and innocence of a human child. It was at that moment that he remembered why he was there. He was there to MAKE YOU RICH. He was there to take you to the moon. He was there for Valhalla, not an inglorious death on packed ground. Bully arose, hind legs first. In arrogance or miscalculation, the bear had overcommitted, losing his balance when trying to press his long snout against the spine, hoping to clinch the finisher. This was not to be his day. With his hind legs at half extension, the bull pressed his horns backward and shed the rug that had been his smother all this time. In a panic, the bear retreated, facing the bull and preparing himself for a charge. Bully's eyes, fresh with renewed focus and flickers of controlled rage, stared at his opponent head-on... This is a true story, but I can't tell you how it finishes. I was there, but you'll have to ask the girl. Her name is J. Huang, and what she wrote on the paper is no mystery. Written in calligraphy of an eerie precision were the words: "There's been a lot of talk about a bubble. From my vantage point, I see something very different."