This bell is a clanging, metal, prison.
And don’t you dare call me “free range.” Don’t. You. Dare. Free means not being weighed to the earth by an ear-killing gong. I’m not free anything.
Free? Don’t make me moo. Let me hold you down and burn your hide with a stupid design so other cows know who you belong to. As if we could forget.
I dare you not to cry when you smell your own hair getting incinerated. I did.
Just wait until I get this bell off. Hell knows no fury like a bovine’s scorn. Sleep soundly… if you can.
Note: That was a little dark, but hey, that cow looked mean! What do you think? Comment with your free-write!