Meet Esteban, a carefree, 21 year old bachelor by day and bullfighter by night.
Since the night of his father's death, Esteban has made it his personal mission to kill every single bull in Espana, no matter what stood in his way.
But what happens...
"JEFE! JEFE! JEFE!" the crowds roar; their unruly hysteria was music to my ears. I look at James and Julio at the perimeter of the plaza as they each stick a flag into the spine of the beast.
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"AhHAA!!!" they gloat in humor and step away as the beast charged past my form. With one final sweep of the red cape, I take my sword and pierced the beast through its eyes.
"VIVA! VIVA! VIVA!" the crowd explodes into cheers.
The bull grunted and swayed in the center of the arena, contemplating whether it would rise to the occasion and fight again or succumb to its unfortunate destiny.
The handsome matador glared at its battered physique in the distance as it revved its blackened hooves to charge at him once more.
"Come ON!!!!" I coax the bull, ready to take on the challenge, but miraculously, it submitted to its injuries and took its last bloody breath. I drop my sword into the sand and collapse to my knees in victory, taking in the amazing feat of the night.
"And what you have just witnessed is history in the making. What a sweet and beautiful victory!" the announcer exclaims over the intercom, "Esteban La Renta has just achieved an unusual feat: killing six bulls in one afternoon, an achievement regarded as an extreme rarity for a 19-year-old!" the announcer finishes his praise.
The crowd cheers wildly!
Thick red blood coated my handsome face; each drop of gore is an emblem of my pride.
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"The 6 bulls El Jefe killed today, represent each year Cristobal La Renta has passed. May his soul rest in eternal peace"
Each of the six beasts were dragged away to be slaughtered for the feast, marking the end of Holy Week. Their trail of blood sent excitement through my veins.
I run and bow to El Presidente, seated in the highest stands. He waves a yellow handkerchief allowing me my victory lap around the plaza. The crowds whistle and cheer as I parade around the stadium, brandishing the national flag of Espana.
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Reporters crowd around Julio, James and I in the middle of the stadium, taking pictures of our bloodied face and garments.
