the trouble is you are a monster
The promised short: my take on the tale of Theseus and the Minotaur…from the Minotaur’s perspective. Warnings for blood, death, and a good dose of self-loathing. Full text and requested taglist under the readmore.
The trouble is, of course, that you are unwanted.
You know your mother’s name is Pasiphae, though with your bull’s tongue you cannot pronounce it. On your too-thick lips and too-sharp teeth, the word collapses, as do all others, and their meanings. Your first memory is of the way she looked at you when you tried and failed to speak what you knew to be true.
Of your father you have heard only rumors. The man who should have been your parent is named Minos, whom others call king and ruler and majesty, as they grovel at his feet and beg him for mercy. But when you approach him, he recoils with shame so strong it sickens you to your core. He cannot stand to be in the same room as you.
These two – your mother, and the father you never had, hide you away for the first years of your life. You grow tall, and broad, and horned, and your speech does not improve. When you ask, you are met with fearful eyes and cowering. When you cry out, you are met with the bright, bright points of spears. Soon enough you anticipate this; you lash out before they can strike you, and scream before they can hurl their insults. It hurts less when you harm yourself before they can.
At times, your door opens to admit a man with sad eyes and thin shoulders. You want to ask if he has lost something as well. They call him Daedalus, and he takes your measures, the span of your arms, the width of your chest, the finer details of your bull’s head and the mane which extends down your back. Daedalus is the only person to have touched your horns and left with hands intact. The others who have tried, they were not so lucky.
Always, your blood betrays you. Despite your human flesh, there is something of the animal in you, just beneath the surface. They chain you when they cannot sate you. When they can, still they crawl in fear away. Because they must, and you will make them, no matter what the cost.
Some nights you wonder if it would have been better to throw yourself at this Minos’ feet and beg, just as his subjects do.
The trouble is, of course, that there is too much of the bull in you.
