Why am I a bullock?

I stop munching on my grass because my head hurts. I swear I can feel the pain down there too.

This body has no pride; the same went for my other one.

If I remember correctly, paradise is supposed to reward animals for their work. I should be in perfect form.

Maybe—just maybe—that raven lied. I should’ve checked if he still had his worth.

Also, my horns are shorter, from what I can see. I went over to a nearby pond to get water. I need to clarify this too.

I’m a different bull too, which I knew because my color had lightened.

So, with my intelligence, I now realize that this isn’t paradise because there are flaws here that stink.

Now my head hurts again.

I go back to eating my grass.

It doesn’t taste as good anymore. It’s a shame—a real shame.

To top it off, a human female walks in and feeds hay to each of us on the field. Humans wouldn’t be in a paradise—that’s disgusting.

My head hurts because now I’m back to square one.

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So I eat the hay when it’s my turn. The human holds some rectangle thing in front of my face, but the hay is more important.

She leaves after making human noises I couldn’t understand and obstructing my space by rubbing her head against my face.

They did that a lot.

She took hay away from me, so now I’m back to thinking. I thought I was done with that old rhetoric.

Right, so I’m not in paradise. Where am I?

Using my intelligence, I highly suspect that I am in a different place. Yes, very different.

I am confident in the fact that I am dead; the paradise the raven spoke of was just some tale. I always knew that winged animals were untrustworthy. I like to think that they can say anything without consequence, because what can anyone do to them? They’d fly away before you could reach them!

My head hurts from thinking about all that.

I go back to eating my grass.

I stop mid-munch to think more because I now realize that I have never been this intelligent. If I had started to think like this when I was in my better form, I would’ve seen through the lie. Maybe I could’ve made a smart play and rearranged the food chain to stop that raven from telling lies for good.

Wait, I need to eat grass, so I do.

I munch. The others are doing the same. I like to think that I’m the only one with intelligent thoughts in my head. They all look brainless.

I stop eating. The others continue, showing another reason as to why I seem to be the only one with an ounce of productivity.

Anyway, I’m thinking up two possibilities: I was always this intelligent, or I gained this new form’s intelligence.

The second one seems very farfetched. This bull had shorter horns; hence, according to the laws of this world, my intelligence must’ve always been like this.

My head hurts now. I pick at the grass; I don’t want to look stagnant. I don’t want to do a mindless activity for too long, or I would be just like them, munching, munching, and munching.

Will the low intelligence of this bull corrupt me? It doesn’t seem like it. I still feel the same.

So I must have always been this intelligent. Got it.

This doesn’t really explain everything. I’m dead, right? Just alive in the afterlife—that’s what that guy meant, right?

I want to eat grass and not think, but I’ll look like I am giving up.

The sun looks like it’s going down. Do I just sleep on this?

Is this a dream?

I need to rest this special brain of mine.