Humans have always considered themselves above the natural world, but what if the true measure of humanity lies not in our triumphs but in the shadows we cast over the natural world order? 

As I lay dying within the cold, claustrophobic stone walls of my prison and my home, my blood seeping into the cracks and grooves of the maze I had been forced to live in, a small but vivid memory came to me- A white bull and a lovely woman. My parents, I realized. This is why I was condemned to solitude. An unholy configuration between man and beast like me couldn’t possibly be allowed to see the light of day. No, better to cast me away for the sake of the world. I was an unbearable sight.  I hated my father. I hated him for his magnificent horns and snow-white coat, but more than anything, I hated him for his beastly instincts. 

The memory shifted, pulling me deeper into the past. I saw the great white bull, my father, offered in sacrifice to Poseidon. But in his divine cruelty, Poseidon caused my mother, the beautiful queen Pasiphaë, to fall in love with the beast. I seethe with rage even now, as I lay here dying, how I hate Poseidon for that wretched fate. From that cursed union, I was born—a child of both man and beast, neither fully one nor the other. My first memory was of my mother. Soft eyes gazing down at me, full of love and sorrow. She loved me despite my grotesque form, despite the vine of instinct that had already begun crawling its way through my chest. But even her love could not save me. I was given the name “Minotaur,” a vile name for a horrid beast, and I was cast away, banished to this endless maze as just a child, the gods deaf to my mother’s desperate pleas for mercy. No, the child, if one could even call me that, needed to be cast away.  A creature like me could never be allowed to live among men.

I was turned into a scapegoat—the beast to blame for the gods’ wrath upon Athens. In their eyes, I was the living symbol of their punishment, the cursed offspring of a divine cruelty that none dared challenge. Year after year, seven girls and seven boys were sent into the maze, a tribute to the gods, a ritual meant to keep their anger at bay. It was expected of me, the condemned creature, to end their lives. That was my purpose, forced upon me by both gods and men, a duty I never chose but was bound to fulfill. And yet, they resented me for it, as if the cruelty of my existence was not punishment enough. I hated the task as much as they feared it, but no one cared for the agony of the beast, only the fear and fury he was meant to invoke.

When the first sacrifices were sent into the labyrinth, I did not kill them. I was a child then, frightened by my solitude and desperate for companionship. So I let them live, hoping for more than the eternal silence. But they starved, or they feared me, or eventually, they provoked me. My instincts – the monster inside me – strengthened slowly over the years, and soon, I could no longer resist. One by one, I consumed them. Both their blood and my own were spilled in the confines of the maze. And with each life, my humanity strayed further into the tides of rage and hunger.

Now, at the end of it all, I find myself trapped between past and present. Theseus, the young prince of Athens, stands over me. So confident with his string wrapped around his wrist to guide him through the maze. He had come for one reason: to kill me, to end the terror that haunted his people. I peer into his eyes, and for an instant, I recall my humanity. I do not want to kill him. I see in him the youth I lost, the life I never had, the freedom denied to me. In Theseus’s eyes, I saw something unexpected—a reflection of myself, distant but unmistakable. There was a humanity in me that I had long forgotten, buried beneath years of rage and solitude, and something animalistic in him, a primal instinct that he had yet to confront. Perhaps that’s why, in that fleeting moment before he struck, his gaze softened, as if he recognized the tragedy of what I had become. When his sword found its mark, it wasn’t the sharpness of the blade that staggered me—it was that brief understanding. It brought me to my knees, not with pain of my injury, but with the weight of everything I had lost. As I collapsed onto the cool stone of the labyrinth, I felt the connection between us, fleeting but undeniable. Two creatures, each trapped by their nature, each doing what the world expected of them.

The story will go that the young to-be king returned to Athens, head held high. However, in his excitement to go back to his home, he raised the wrong sail on his boat, a black sail, a message that was meant to only be shown has he failed his quest- had I killed the beloved hero. Believing that his son had died, Theseus’s father, overcome with his sorrow, threw himself over the cliffside and into the sea. With his father’s tragic death, Theseus became the new King of Athens. Despite his grief, Theseus was celebrated as a hero—the savior of Athens—his victory over me, the monster of the labyrinth, secured his place in history. Why is this so? Why was the feat of killing a creature such as I regarded with such high praise? Am I truly that animalistic? I am partially human, after all, that humanity is why I met my end. So, what defines humans? What defines a beast? Theseus’s father died at the end of his journey, and the people mourn for the man, but what of me? What of the beast that died by his blade? Theseus will be remembered as a king, a savior of Athens, but he killed me not because I was a threat to his people- no, I was a prisoner, a tool used for their sacrifice. My fate was decided long before I met him. 

I close my eyes, and Theseus’ voice filters in, soft and distant: “Rest now, be at peace.” But peace has never been mine for the asking. In death, I am caught between the man I once hoped to be and the beast I became. My mother’s love, the only true mercy I ever knew, was not enough to save me from what the gods had ordained. Now, I think of her, her soft eyes, her sorrow, the way she loved me despite what I was. But even she could not save me from myself. It was my humanity, her gift, that proved to be my undoing. The spark of recognition in Theseus’s eyes- that hesitation reminded me of what might have been. And in that hesitation, I had sealed my fate.

Now, as I lay here, stuck between man and beast, it seems that my struggle was not against the world at all, but rather with the shadow of that unnatural union that gave me life. Peace remains beyond my grasp, a far-off dream even as I slip away.