I'm a 21 year old gamer from Canada who refuses to accept rational or logical explanations of all things. Armed with a large vocabulary and total disregard for morals and opinions, I fight for Justice. Or Destruction. Which ever gets me teh pwn.
The key easily slipped into the lock. He turned it clockwise and felt the tumblers release the door. As he entered, he took special caution to dip his head down thru the short doorway. He didn't want to ram his horns through the top of the door frame. Not again. Too many people wanted him to fail. Since he had been granted parole for good behavior, and due to the rising civil rights movement, He was a very lucky Minotaur. With the backing of the same lobby that had pushed for his cause, he was given the investment so that he could prove to Ancient Greece that Minotaurs are capable of being contributing members of society.
He had opened a china shop.
The irony alone had the Grecian tabloids up in arms. He had originally gone to prison because he was looking through a china shop for a gift for his 4 year anniversary with his wife. Being a huge powerful lumbering beast, he did his best to maneuver through the store. He checked his steps and controlled his breathing. His temper was in good spirits that day. The thought of his wife and the perfect gift for his love would keep his fabled minotaur rage in check.
Fate begged to differ.
While daydreaming about her reaction to the plate he held before him, he failed to notice the throw rug beneath him and slipped slightly.
To him it was nothing more than slight misunderstanding. He had accidentally slipped, knocking the table down and smashing the plate he was prepared to pay for anyway. Had the shopkeeper not resorted to racial slurs, he could had calmed his rage that had begun to burn up inside of him. The result was tragic. The shopkeeper, fueling The Minotaur's rage, kept shouting obscenities at him, reminding him of the double-standard that society forced him to deal with all his life. The Minotaur was unable to help himself. His ancestral rage consumed him, and he proceed to rain down destruction over the entire store.
The media circus that followed was seen around the ancient world. If it had been any ordinary customer, the story might have pushed to a back tablet, a simple Hoplite Crime report. Since it was a Minotaur who perpetrated the crime, the story was warped into an attack on the very core of the Grecian economy. Blatant racism was in every new report. Protesters stormed the Acropolis. The tabloids concocted stories about The Minotaur's past. Tales of drug use and weekend wine binges were carved into tablets available in every Forum. Shocking accounts from sources close to the Minotaur and his wife told heinous stories of their marital troubles and "escapades" with young boys. Minotaurs everywhere felt the trickle down effect of his actions, shunned by society.
The Trial itself was merely for show. He was paraded in front of his accusers and was given the harshest sentence possible for any Grecian. He was exiled to the Labyrinth. The memories of his own screams of anguish, that had echoed through the halls of the labyrinth, echoed into silence in his own head. He felt IT begin to grow in his stomach. He shook himself. It's over now. It's time to prove them wrong. Taking a deep breath, He told himself to calm down, just clam down. The feeling slowly dissipated.
As part of the conditions for his release, The Minotaur had taken anger management classes. He found solace in simple activities that helped him reach a calmer place. He lumbered over to his mini-zen garden and carefully raked around the stones. His eyes turned to the urn beside it and sighed. It depicted his beautiful wife. He loved her so much. She had never left his side throughout the entire ordeal. Every month, she was present for the virgin sacrifices in the labyrinth. She was his greatest motivator. Realizing the time, he hurriedly, but very carefully, walked to the door and spun an urn to show the OPEN side. He unlocked the door and carefully moved behind the counter.
Business was booming, riding the popularity of his cause, it became the highest fashion to own a piece of China from The Minotaur's shop. He hardly had a moment to spare but he liked it. With each sale he was promoting the cause to fight the racists stance against his people. He was kind and courteous. Moving to the tune of a lute band outside, he completed each transaction with speed and grace. He felt that everything was looking up and he owed much of his success to his wife.
However, with any Grecian tale, there is always room for a tragedy.
While rushing to complete a large order, he was situated in front of a shelf and could see outside. The Forum was bustling with action. He had just grasped the set of cups for his order when he saw something that froze him to the spot. His wife.
She was sitting in on a Patio across the Forum. She had her mane done up like she used to when the started courting, something she hadn't done in years. Her dress was almost scandalous, her hairy thighs were showing! Those were his thighs, The Minotaur thought to himself, why is she dressed up like that? The answer became painfully apparent in the next few seconds.
His best friend, The Hippogryph, came out with two urns of wine, set them down, and then began to kiss The Minotaur's wife.
The cups disintegrated into tiny glass shards as The Minotaur's hands clenched shut with rage. IT had awakened.
Outside, the lute band's friends had just gotten back from an orgy. Clearing their throats, the new comers took a deep breath and began to sing their new opera, "Shrieking Greek Chorus: The Perfect Chorus for One's Downfall". A crowd began to gather.
The Minotaur began to see only red. Outraged, he grabbed each side of the shelf in front of him with his massive arms and proceeded to throw the entire unit across his store. Cups, glasses and urns shattered on the floor, pieces ricocheting and bouncing off other china sets. The shelf smashed into a pillar and snapped into two. With an ungodly roar, The Minotaur lowered his head and charged towards the front desk, completely annihilating it. Images of his best friend and his wife kissing enraged him even more.
Stretching his arms out, he picked up the remains of his desk and threw it at the hanging oil lamp in the center of the room. Like a brilliant display of fireworks, the lamp exploded, raining flaming oil down unto The Minotaur's inventory. Flames erupted on everything. The Minotaur didn't care, his rage had reached epic proportions. Tromping up to a table with a full china set blazing on it, he flipped it up, his fists catching fire. As it arced through the air, the image of his friend and his wife appeared on the table. Furious, The Minotaur reared back and gored the table with his massive horns.
It was here when the Security Hoplites arrived. They rushed inside to a scene of utter carnage. Like a true vision of Hades, the entire shop had been consumed with flames. In the center of the inferno, there hulked The Minotaur. His was head thrown back, his horns blazing like a beacon of fiery doom, his fists flaring as he whipped them around, like a demonic dancer, orchestrating his ballet of death. The Centurion ordered them to notch arrows and to bring the Beast down. The first volley struck The Minotaur. He turned to face them.
The Greek Chorus outside raised their pitch and tempo. The crowd began to notice the smoke from inside the shop.
Lunging toward the Hoplites, The Minotaur raised his fiery fists in unison above his head and brought them crashing down on a display table, disintegrating it into millions of splinters. Arrows pierced into his hide, sending him flinching back in pain. He could no longer move, his mind was a muddle of hate, rage and tears. Images of his once happy life flowed like the River Styx past his eyes. The first time they met, their first date, their first virgin sacrifice together, the wedding. Arrows continued to fly into his skin. He was feeling ready to collapse. With his last ounce of strength, he breathed in heavily, raised his hoof and brought it crashing down.
Outside the shop, the section in front had been cordoned off. The media had arrived in full force. The crowd had grown to an enormous size. Mrs. Minotaur and The Hippogryph looked over at the scene. Mrs. Minotaur suddenly realized where she was.
"Oh for fuck's sake."
At that very instant, a tremor shot out from the shop, shaking the earth. The shock wave sent flaming embers and smoke hurtling out of the windows of the shop. Screaming erupted as the crowd dropped to it's knees. For a moment, the sun was blocked out of the Forum. Mrs. Minotaur, who had ducked behind a table, peeked out and groaned at the sight that greeted her. Her husband's flaming form emerged from the burning ruins of the china shop. Bellowing into the air, he began to charge through the crowd towards her. She cringed back on her hands as her husband grabbed the table raised it into the air and brought it down on her head
Mrs Minotaur awoke with a jump. She whipped her head around and realized she was at home in bed safe. She glanced down at her husband. He was sound asleep, rasping as he slept. Breathing a sigh of relief, she lay back down and closed her eyes.
"Fuck that," she thought to herself, "I'll end it tomorrow."