Friday Fictioneers



He stood in the kitchen as if he’d never been there before, in this tiny house purchased with the last of his bull-riding money.

She begged him to quit, afraid one day the sport would destroy him. That she’d wake up one morning, missing the sound of his boots on the wooden floor.

He was a cowboy, never happier than settling on the back of Bushwacher, Little Yellow Jacket or Bodacious, knowing he was up against one of the best bulls in the circuit. If he won here, no telling where his career might go. Sweat beading the rim of his hat, he shifted his weight. Nodded

Just stay on, he told himself in the second before his world turned upside down. Just stay on.