User blog:SmartProtagonist/Bull Run Antics.

I hissed under my breath, remembering the foul incident with the Wurms back then. I had with me four coloured flags. I waited as the others got into position. I distinguished a few instantly.

One thin, skinny guy, with what looked like airmats and some headband that said he managed to run an 8K without stopping for a break. Sweating, as he laced up and stood in position.

Them there was a huge, muscled brute with sideburns. He was doing push-ups, flexing at the crowd, and just showing off like some sort of infantile seven-year old.

Then there was this admittedly funny bugger, who had a red comic relief nose presumably for gags, a red spinning bow tie, and these huge, red baggy trousers. He was bopping the noses of the Minotaurs and patting their heads through the bars.

Then there was this military vet, who was a mix of all three others. Looked fast, but strong, but not burly. More of a sort of lean and mean. But he did have a cheerful outlook on the whole ordeal, waving to some friends and chatting with a show runner for details.

Then me. Awkward, with four coloured flags poking from my pants. A red, a yellow, an orange, and a pink. The burly guy came around and slapped the flags out of my pants.

“Yew gonna’ pom-pom them to death, squirt?” he chortled. I reached down to pick them up, only to recive a massive kick to the groin by the fast guy, who I didn’t even see move. I was going to get up, when the funny guy pulled a squirty flower from his pocket and sprayed my face. I had a second to react before “Burly” grabbed me by the face and shoved hard. I went sprawling on my back on the sand. By now the crowd was in hysterics.

Oh, he WOULD pay for that.

The alarm sounded just as I dusted myself off, and lined up. As the gates opened, the tough burly guy just about winded me with a well placed punch to the rib. One centimeter lower and his fist may as well have kept on going, right through my skinny frame. I fell backwards and gasped as they run off.

But not all of them.

The vet reached over and helped me up. “He didn’t hurt ya too badly did he? What a scumbag.”

“Yeah, a real waste of space, that chap,” I mumbled, standing up. The vet headed off first. “Best of luck!” he yelled back to me.

“Thanks,” I said vaguely. How were some people so thoughtful while others were dipshits?

I put it behind me as I ran off, turning left and exiting the stadium.

I had reached what I assumed was highway NA 2303, and the horn rumbled through the city. I gulped, catching up to the beefy old bulltard that winded me earlier.

He currently had several water bottles tucked in his pants, and was scoffing a fucking merangue someone had thrown from the stands lining the street. The vet had tonnes of food given to him, the funny bugger was eating a sandwich while trotting, and the fast bastard was too far ahead.

Same crows as last time, this lot was.

Fortunately, I had four guys from college waiting in stands. Unfortunately, none were going to throw me food. But they would aid me.

This is where the flags came in.

I ran up to within waving distance, and pulled my red flag out, waving like a scarecrow in the middle of Hurricane Sandy. He waved back, and tossed a can at me.

I caught the thing before it just about slipped from my grasp. I held it up. Success! It was Bitrex. A spray can of it. Whichever evil genius who invented this could have sprayed it on every morsel of food on the planet, but he used it for good purposed.

My purpose was quite the contrary. I caught another drinks can flying at the burly guy and tossed it at his chest. It bounced off and barely even slowed him down, but he reached, by turning suddenly and shouting, “YOOOUUU!”

That was his big mistake.

I sprayed it in his mouth. Hell, I even went as far as to empty most. Of it all over his face. He stopped, spitting and vomiting a bit. And he fell over. Even I didn’t know that shit was bitter to the point of tears. So, I kept running. I tossed the can away and turned back to watch my handiwork.

The bastard was getting raped by a Minotaur, and his face was being humped by a second, while a Holstaur held him down. Ha.

I screeched on the bakes. They were here already.

I began running at full pelt, my possibly anorexic body working overtime to stay out lf their grasps. I tossed the red flag on the street, hoping it would make the (literally) old cows lay off. It did! I barreled on.

I caught up to the funny guy in time to see the fast guy turning at what I though was some marketing club. I pulled the orange flag out, waving it blindly.

A small remote was tossed in my direction. I reached out and caught it.

A fucking hackey-sack was tossed in my general direction. I made a grab for it, and saw a note attatched to some stitching.

“Press the button and throw in face.”

I was at a loss. There was no real way I though my friend could have made a more confusing thing.

Really, what was it going to do, I thought, tossing it at funny bugger as I overtook him, explode?

To my amazement, the second I bit the button on the remote the entire thing unfolded on his face. Literally like an unfurling old tea towel. It had been folded on the inside of the damn thing and had apparently unfolded to block his vision. I glanced back, to see him try to get it off his face. Perfect. He ran into one of the barriers and crashed into the chains, falling head-over-heels. They showed no mercy. And the veteran was still running.

I caught up with the fast guy after two roundabouts and a bout of cussing. I waved the yellow flag around, and was greeted with a basketball to the face. So, I bounced it as i sprinted.

When the fast bastard finally came within striking distance, I turned the basketball around. A zipper. I unzipped the basketball, and pulled out bolas. I dropped the basketball, already swinging it in an arc, and fired the thing right at his feet. He tripped up, but didn’t fall.

Instead, he began to fast jump at a pace I couldn’t even keep up to. He then, with some difficulty, hopped one one leg and untied the fucker.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. He dropped it on the side of the road, and comtinued sprinting. I sighed, trying to catch up.

At NA 6026, I was all or nothing. I waved the pink flag.

A small, red ball flew across the street. I just managed to catch it. I then turned, and threw it hard.

It landed in front of him. It exploded in pure red.

It was a red paint bomb. And apperent;y, he ran right into it. The entire front half of his body was covered in red paint. He couldn’t even see.

Then, as I ran past, the wind blew whatever didn’t hit him right into his back. He was now red, head to toe. Staggering. Doomed. I was practically invisible compared to him, so I gave it all I got and ran. The poor bugger never stood a chance.

I made it to the airport to see the vet was no longer running. He looked a bit tired, and looked like he had gotten a stitch. He gave me a thumbs ip as i scrambled into the plane.

He then turned and welcomed his fate in open arms. Probably better for the nice old guy as well.

I just dreamt of my soon-to-be $500,000 dollars.

I knew they’d be after me next time. People were going to hear about it. Try to organise ferocious contests. Unsolvable mazes. Inpossible odds. They’d be under the impression the SmartProtagonist would,crack under pressure.

But I wasn’t. Wurms already down. I has just got Minotaurs under my belt.

I was ready.

End.

These are an absolute PLEASURE to answer. I really hope there will be some more of these. In the meantime, excellent work! I look forward to beating more monster-related contests.