Bull King

For the first time since that place was built, years ago, I set foot on it. I walked through endless corridors, following an endless thread that rested on the ground, a red thread, almost the same crimson tone that awaited me at the end of my path. I was surrounded by the silence of absolute repetition, that silence that comes from seeing exactly the same consecutive image before my eyes over and over again. Being certain only of the sky above me that changed a little with each step I took.

Various marks could be seen from time to time, distinctions made by the monstrosity of my shattered ego. Whether it was cracks in certain places that seemed to be at the height of their brains or small mountains of bones that seemed to be methodically arranged and separated by each shape in them, but that at some point resembled the way a child arranges his toys by size or color... some suffered from small rotten pieces of meat on them, whose smell kept (involuntarily) my head on the ground and in turn made me wander into the fact that their current state was a direct consequence of my self-aggrandizement.

It had been a while since the only possible sound storms to hear were my shoes hitting the ground in an increasingly frantic manner and my breathing amplifying its anxiety by the second, I managed to reach the destination established in my brain. I knew I had arrived before even seeing it, the smell of rust was intoxicating, it seemed to be my greatest guide during that last stretch in which I began to ignore the trail of its victimizer.

Once I was in the center, the image, although expected, was disconcerting. Lying on the ground was the most imposing being in my domain, surrounded by a puddle of clots that had already turned brown from exposure to oxygen. A beast charged with plunging me into dishonor that seemed to be covered by a layer of my already dying authority. The one who was seen as desolation at the moment of opening the doors, responsible for an uncountable amount of spilled entrails, shattered souls, mutilated bodies and worms infested flesh, now seemed to feel so much peace... he smelled calm.

The movement of my steps was automatic as I approached, for the first time I knelt before something, putting myself at its height. Every question that crossed my head fell asleep the moment my hand reached its cold fur. Everything was erased, there is no memory from then on, nor do I know what I felt when I made my clothing, also correctly perceived by me as my new chains to a divine punishment.