Carol

Conten note: physical fighting

Some days were cursed, Carol was quite sure of this. Today was one of those days.

She had been yelled at by her boss, her family was driving her to distraction with last-minute tasks that should have been done yesterday, someone had stolen her lunch out of the office kitchen, again, and now that she had finally made it to the grocery store, someone had snatched her parking spot, smiling smugly at her as he got out of his car. And, as usual, Carol counted to five, took a deep breath and tried to accept the situation and make the most of it. In this case that meant circling until she was certain that there were no other parking spots available and navigating to park down the road at City Hall.

The store was packed when she arrived. She grabbed as much from her list as she could carry to where she had parked, already hearing the complaints of her family. She lugged the bags back down to City Hall, swearing as one handle broke. As she unlocked her car, she noticed quite a commotion at the entry of the hall, as journalists and officials erupted from the tall double doors.

Curious, she leaned on her car, watching.

The governor came out, sweating and pale, and among the people gathered around the edges of the square rose something that could best be described as a subdued din. It sounded like everybody wanted to yell while trying not to be heard. She could make out things like “He is coming!” or “This cannot be happening!”

Carol took out her phone, to see if she could find out on social media what all the buzz was about. Sure, she could check the news, but they were often slower to report breaking news. Something to do with verifying sources, checking facts, and punctuation, probably. Carol looked up from the screen as the earth shook.

The shadows cast from every person, every tree and every streetlamp seemed to weave and move, somehow flowing into the center of the square. All the dirt, the dry leaves, the discarded cigarette butts and candy wrappers rose and whirled about, moving to join the shadows. There was a sensation as if a giant block of something was being sucked out of the air, and then the dirt settled again, the shadows back where they belonged. And in the center of the square now stood – a thing. Carol wished she had paid more attention to mythology, as then she would know what to call it. She typed “humanoid bulls head axe” into the search bar, while still cradling the broken bag. “Minotaur,” said the internet.

“That does not sound good,” thought Carol, as the Minotaur started swinging his axe. As the axe started to hum, he brought the blade to the ground.  The earth split in a long crack that ran towards the governor and swallowed him. “Although…” She grinned. Maybe the governor had not deserved that, but he had certainly deserved something.

“Your city is mine now. Bow to my will and you will live.” The Minotaur’s voice was gravelly, rumbling. And apparently convincing, as the remaining people bent their heads and knees. Or maybe it was the hum still emanating from the axe. It was hard to tell.

Carol typed “how to kill a minotaur”. The results included related questions like “What level should I be to defeat the Minotaur?” and “Are Minotaurs evil?” Carol did not care, but tapped on “What is the Minotaur’s weakness?” –  Hungry, angry, slow. Well, he did not look slow, but he certainly looked angry. But that was hardly helpful.

As if he knew what Carol was doing, his head snapped around and he fixed his gaze on her.

“What do you hope to accomplish, mortal? The one chosen to defeat me has just been born and will have to wait until his twelfth birthday before he can best me. By then I will be long gone, filled with the riches of this world, ready to enslave the next.”

Carol snorted. She had a twelve-year-old boy at home, and all he defeated was sense and logic. If the fate of this world was in the hands of his like, they were doomed.

“Do you find your fate amusing, mortal?” the Minotaur asked, sounding even angrier than before. People began to mutter. “Don’t upset him, ma’am”, she heard, and “it is only twelve years” and a half-humorous “can’t be worse than the last guy, right?”

A last glance at the screen revealed a message from her husband, asking her to also bring beer and could she please hurry up a bit? Something snapped. Carol had had it with counting and breathing. She had had it with smiling and nodding. She had had it with being yelled at, taken advantage of, being stolen from, being shushed and pushed. She carefully slid her phone back into her pocket and slowly walked up to the Minotaur, putting on her best mom face. She might be wearing a swimsuit under her clothes because nobody had done the laundry, but she was not going to wait for some kid to hit puberty. Not when she could hit something else right now.

She grabbed the first thing that came to hand from the bag and threw an apple at the Minotaur. And missed. The next apple hit his chest. The Minotaur lifted the axe and started towards her. A bag of popsicle sticks hit one of his horns. Those were for her youngest’s crafting homework. The fact that it was due tomorrow added extra force to the throw. A can of peas struck his knees and then he was too close for her to throw things.

Carol blindly rummaged through the bag, not taking her eyes off the beast. She smiled when her hand closed around the one thing she had bought for herself. She had thought it too expensive, almost frivolous, but had wanted to treat herself just this once. She chuckled as she realized that cleaning equipment counted as a treat these days, as she dropped the bag and shook out the telescoping pole for her window cleaner like a carbon-fiber lightsaber.

Remembering her course in self-defense, Carol did not need more than the one second that the Minotaur hesitated, surprised. She swung. Hard. First at the hand holding the axe. The weapon dropped from his numbed fingers. Then at the back of one knee, making it buckle. Not knowing whether the bull’s head gave better protection than a human skull, she then swung the pole upwards, hitting the very human groin.

The Minotaur stared at her in pain and bewilderment.

“But you are not the chosen one! You cannot hurt me!” he said. Carol laughed. “You do not get to tell me who I am and what I can and cannot do.” She made ready for another swing when first stones, then potatoes and other assorted items hit the Minotaur’s back. All around, people started to join in – from a safe distance.

“This used to work better,” he muttered even as he vanished, deciding to seek easier prey.

“Going back for beer, home soon,” Carol texted. She would also need more apples.