Once I was chosen, and played among the stars, loyal, ambitious, sensual, resilient, and then I was chosen again, to accommodate the will of the gods.
I had to contain what I was, become a compromise knocking at the door of the earth, a spider with seven legs, a once god now the body of a man with the thoughts and desires of a god constrained in the head of a bull, a beast, a monster.
Are you surprised that I could not be contained? Would you ask Zeus to live in a vacuum, a vacuum with horns?
From being a god I become an earthly menace with an insatiable appetite, and the more numerous my crimes of passion, the less willing the Gods are to have me back. SO I must be trapped, not on earth or even in Hades but some other parallel, an ‘otherworld’ where there is no light to pierce the dark, where my misunderstood malevolence can be contained, denied.
I am a snort, a hoof beat, a crunch in the dirt that precedes the screams of death. Who’s that knocking at the door? Another victim whose sins were grave enough to merit such an end.
And so I work, fulfilling the will of the gods, for it must be their will that I am thus, for they made me, and will have me no other way. Do not blame the beast that is created for behaving the only way that it can. I am what I have been made: bloodthirsty, barbaric, desperate. Inevitable.
(This piece was written as a ten minute exercise exploring the inner thoughts of the Minotaur 13. 01.23)
