Hello World!

It's a new day, and I have a new attitude. I'm stepping away from politics for a while to allow my frustration of the whole thing to manifest in some random writings.

I'm going to start this new blog with an oldie but goodie. In 2006 this story was submitted to a website that publishes horror short stories, and was published. Our heroine, Bossy, looks innocent enough, and to the average person, acts normal. However, look closer. Inside those soft brown eyes burns an anger that can't be diminished. It is the kind of anger that never comes to a happy ending. Read her story.

Mad Cow

Bossy could feel the sensation coming over her again; the familiar anxiety and slow burn that was becoming more and more frequent. She glanced anxiously at the barn: how was she going to get over there to feed her need without attracting attention? They were all supposed to be out grazing just now, at least for another two hours or so. She was beginning to feel as if she were losing her mind, and a tear slid down her soft black and white muzzle.

How it Began

It all started about a month ago, and it was an accident. Of course, she had always seen the little devils around the farm - they tended to hang out by the barn where the mice and other vermin congregated. She had resented them from day one. They hung around the humans, they ran free, they were even allowed into the big house. She was sure that once, from a distance, she had seen one lying in front of a warm fire one cold and snowy evening. And it wasn’t just the fact that they lived this privileged life; they were arrogant. They had this cold stare that would just stab her in the heart whenever her eyes locked with one of theirs. On this particular day a month ago, she had wandered out a little further than normal into some deeper grass. Normally she preferred the shorter grass that was just the right height for her mouth, but she was feeling a little frustrated this day and wanted to get away from the others. She was standing there gazing into the distance, feeling frustrated, when she heard a movement in the grass, and turned her head just in time to see one of the little demons pounce on a mouse and crush it in his jaws. Holding its prize, it turned to Bossy, and had the nerve to arch its back and make this furious hissing sound. Bossy was livid, but held her ground. The little demon moved in closer, hissing, and Bossy lost it. Faster than she had moved since she was a wee calf, she ran up to the little hisser and stomped down with all her might right across its humpy little back. Oh, the noise was horrendous, as the thing wailed and thrashed. Bossy quickly stomped down again, this time on its little head with a satisfying crunch, looking around to see if anyone had seen her. The sensation that she felt was indescribable: a pure, unadulterated joy and satisfaction, and a shudder racked her entire body. She had never felt anything like it, and she felt her anger and anxiety slip away into a liquid pool at her feet and quickly evaporate into tiny white butterflies that flitted into the air and dissipated. Bossy was hooked. After she recovered, she started planning how to get more of these things. She remembered that they hung out at the barn, and so began her secret obsession.

The Hunt

As Bossy strolled toward the barn trying to be inconspicuous, stopping from time to time to take a bite of grass, she reflected on the Hisser’s deaths that she had been responsible for over the last month, and it eased her anxiety a little.

She had found one napping peacefully next to a hay bale three weeks ago, and, after looking around to make sure there would be no witnesses, she moved her muzzle close to the pointed little Hisser ear and let out a low “Moooo.” There was no response, so she softly nudged it in the side with her hoof and another “Moooo.” The yellow eyes slowly opened and focused on her, and she had just enough time to witness a look of terror as the Hisser realized its fate, as it saw Bossy, pumped up by adrenalin and hatred, rear up on her hind legs before stomping down with both hooves. There was no sound but a soft squish as the Hisser met its demise. Working quickly, Bossy pawed at the straw behind the bale to make a hiding place for the hideous little mess, nudging the body into place and covering it with more loose straw. Panting and sweating with exertion and glee, she trotted to the barn door and then, reaching the door, she realized that she should look like she had real business in the barn so she went back and grabbed a mouthful of hay, and walked out of the barn, chewing slowly. She found a shady spot and laid down, slowly chewing, chewing. Two weeks ago she had chased one down exiting the barn with a mouse in its mouth. The stupid thing thought she was playing some kind of game, so it wasn’t moving as fast as it was capable of, and she had closed in on it quickly, stomping its hindquarters. It let out an ear piercing shriek, whipped around and actually SCRATCHED her before she could stomp it to death. Although the scratch was deep and painful, it added to Bossy’s excitement and pleasure, as she licked the wound and tasted her own blood. Last week she caught two of them in flagrante delicto, shrieking for all they were worth. The sound and sight of it made her blood boil. She rushed up to them, and as they tore themselves apart and ran in opposite directions she was forced to make a snap decision. She chose the one who was on top because he hadn’t completely recovered yet and was a little slower. She bore down on him with all her might, and after stomping him she found that she wasn’t quite satisfied and so proceeded to smash the remains to smithereens, until they were hardly recognizable. That time, however, she had glanced over to see one of the nosy herd, an old busy-body of a cow, looking across at her curiously from the field. She hurriedly covered the remains with straw and headed out to graze with the others, ignoring busy-body’s mooed inquiry about what she had been doing thrashing about by the barn.

Each one of these encounters left her hungrier and hungrier. She had hoped that by now her incessant anger would have left her, but to her surprise it would trickle back stronger each time. So as she strolled toward the barn she hoped with all her cow might that she would catch a Hisser. As she trotted past the old abandoned car, she heard a soft mewling sound. Whipping her head around and grinding to a halt, she saw a fat white Hisser moving stealthily toward the car, and realized that it wasn’t the Hisser making the sound but whatever was in the car.

What’s in the car?

For the past two weeks, Bossy has been trying to get near the abandoned car. With tears of frustration in her large soulful eyes, she has watched the white Hisser move in and out of the car, always checking to see if there are any threats. But Bossy hasn’t been able to get near it. The stupid little micro-humans have decided to play around the car, and they have discovered whatever it is that has intrigued Bossy. Bossy knows that if she were to put her hoof down, go over and start stomping young humans, it would mean the death of her. She’s no dumb cow. So she bides her time, waiting, waiting. Choking back a sob, Bossy throws her head back and lets out a slow, mournful moo. If she doesn't smash something soon, she will lose her mind, and she knows it.

Confrontation

It’s deep into the night, only a few hours before dawn. The moon was full and lustrous in a clear sky. Bossy has been planning this for weeks, and she has been praying that she’s not too late; that that which lives in the car is still there and she will be able to satisfy her lust. She knows that this confrontation will be worth all the weeks of tears, frustration and agony that she has suffered. She had lost her appetite, and the vet had been summoned, probing her, forcing things up her rear and adding to her humiliation. Several weeks ago she decided to channel all of that energy into a foolproof plan that would end in the annihilation of  that which lives in the car.

The plan was simple. Wait until late at night, then wander out to the car. Bossy, being no dumb cow, knew in her evil heart that that which lives in the car were most likely helpless infants. She would quickly dispatch the mother, in her sleep, preferably, then lure the little ones out with a few drops of milk from her swollen udders. Bossy had refused to be milked for the past week, and her udders were finally engorged to the point of leaking. She would allow them to congregate under her, then quickly stomp them to death and return to the barn, keeping one of the tiny bodies as a souvenir. She didn’t think she would get another opportunity like this for some time. Lately, there had been talk in the barn. The other cows averted their eyes and avoided her, pushing their curious calves away. She had overheard a funky little goat telling another that “the old cow’s mind stinks.” She decided that she had business with him too, but this first.

Under a clear moonlit night, Bossy quietly sauntered toward the car. The grass had grown quite high around it, and for a fleeting moment she felt a bit of apprehension that the grass may be obscuring something, but she ignored it. Closer, closer, and as she came within 20 feet or so of the car she felt a warm flow of urine down her back leg, escaping from her excitement. She stopped and let it pass, so as not to make a sound. Then closer, closer. 10 feet. 5 feet. Shhhhhhhhh. Shhhh. Suddenly there was a whooshing sound to her right. As she whipped her large head around to check it, she felt a ripping, tearing sensation on her left flank. Whipping around, she saw at least a dozen large hissers closing in on her with murderous yellow eyes, just as one of them leapt from the top of the car and landed on her face, all claws, teeth and energy. Bellowing, she stomped blindly in all directions hoping to catch one, and at the same time she felt tearing sensations all down her back, where several had landed, and needle teeth burrowing into her throat. Too late, she saw at least another dozen zooming in on her from the right, and staggered as they hit her side, seemingly all at once, clawing and tearing. Bossy’s mind went blank. This was not supposed to be happening to her. She had it all planned, it was supposed to be simple. How could they have known; how could they have been so organized? Bossy bellowed and whipped as best she could through her haze of pain, and finally lost her footing and fell really hard onto her side. With a fleeting moment of satisfaction she realized that she had crushed at least two of them under her massive body, but the satisfaction was quickly replaced by agony as she felt needle teeth and claws tearing into her underside and ripping her udders apart. Oh, the pain, the pain. She made an attempt to rise to her feet again, and the last two things she saw before she was blinded by ripping paws were the white faces of the other cows looking out into the night, then the full moon winking out. Weakened by the loss of blood and by pain, Bossy gave up and laid her head down, losing consciousness as her enemies continued their assault on her prone body. In the moonlit night, the tiny yellow eyes of that which lives in the car peeked out of the car and mewled at the victory of their kind, knowing somehow, that they were safe.