Beware of the Minotaur

A Story by Kaede16

"What makes a monster, and what makes a man?"

Hiding in the millenary shadows, among the dark endless lanes, the poor minotaur is a coward. There, he hides from everything, even himself. He can’t remember how long has it been, or how many times his hooves have bled, staining the sand from his endless wandering. Torn from the world, before even knowing the unmistakable smell of his mother, the gods abandoned him.

Sometimes, if the pain allows it, he explores the labyrinth. His hands, as human as yours, trembling on the freshness of the wet stones. But after a couple of hours all effort is futile: he falls on the same sand, against the same stones, defeated by thirst and the endless pain of his cursed bones. An agonizing howl rips out of his throat, unable to produce a word; licks an unreachable fern with his gaze. Cries.

Once every nine years the minotaur is happy for a couple of hours. Fourteen people descend to the labyrinth. He welcomes them with open arms, and ignoring his impending agony, gets ready to play. To listen to the stories of his world. To hug them and kiss them as he can. To try, even, how they taste. But they cry and run in horror, hurting the innocence of the minotaur! Tormented, he charges against them, scratches them, gores them, steps on them, kisses them, loves them.

He loves them…

Loves them so much that ends up killing them out of love.

When the frenzy succumbs, only he remains. They are asleep. An amalgam of organs and sand covers the infertile soil. And he cries. Of rage. Of hunger. Of bitterness; while devouring the beloved skin now severed from the bones.

Almost crawling he recoils back to his nest of skulls and ribs. Curled up, he imagines for a second that his mother sings to him. Remembers that he’s alone.

The poor minotaur is coward.