The Running of The Scissors

“Ole!”
Maria yanked the shears from Paco’s hand, slicing his finger.
“These are your father’s shears,” said Maria. “You are still much too young. When you are old enough, you will run with them.”
Paco sucked his finger and scowled. “Luiz is running again this year,” he whined.
“So, what of it?” snapped Maria. “Luiz can lose his other eye.” She handed him a pair of round-edged scissors. “Be content with these.”
By the time Paco’s father said he was old enough to run, Pamplona had replaced the scissors with bulls.
Not that it mattered to the blind, seven-fingered Paco.