I wrote this piece for a creative writing class in college in fall of 2013.
“I would rather die,” the man replied, still holding the rose in his hand. The beast roared in his face, baring his huge, fang-like teeth. His breath was hot and smelled of decay as it rushed past the man’s face, but he did not flinch. Instead, he twirled the rose in his hand. “I will not give any of my children to you.”
“But you could save yourself,” snarled the beast, “Perhaps even save your business.”
“That would make me a poor father. I will gladly die to save any of my children from that fate.” The man met the wild, yellow eyes of the beast, “Kill me.”
“Do you not wish to return home?” Asked the beast in his low, gravelly voice.
“To what end?” asked the man. He brought the rose up to their eye level and twirled it again, “To tell my children that this is why I must return and die? To tell them that one could save me if they agreed to go in my stead? Either my children would try to kill you, and I believe they would fail, or they would feel guilty for the rest of their lives. No, I think wondering is better.”
“What if I spared your life and guaranteed your business would return to its former glory? You would be rich again, have esteem in the community, have all of your old possessions back.”
“And have one child less?”
“You have six!” growled the beast, “How could one make a difference?”
“No,” replied the man, twirling the rose once more.
The beast huffed more of his hot, foul breath onto the man’s face. “What if I didn’t kill the child, but the child simply lived with me, for their entire life.”
“And how would you expect me to trust that you wouldn’t harm my child?” asked the man, “You are going to kill me for picking a single rose.” The man twirled the rose for emphasis.
“Do you think me so cruel?” the beast asked in a low voice.
“Am I wrong?” the man asked, twirling the rose again. “Is this flower not going to cost me my life?”
“It could cost you only your child’s freedom.”
“Only? I would rather die.”
The beast considered the man in front of him. He stood almost as tall as the beast and his handsome face radiated only calm, betraying no fear. His azure eyes were firm, resolute, his thin lips formed a straight line and didn’t quiver. The beast wondered if his children were like him, if their eyes were the same color, if they could look at him without fear or repulsion. He wished that there was something he could offer this man for one of them.
“Is there anything that would make you change your mind?” asked the beast, hoping for a new answer.
“No. My children aren’t up for sale or barter.”
“Do you not even wish to know what I want one of them for?”
“It wouldn’t change my mind. I can’t see any reason that would justify sacrificing one of my children.” The man hoped that there was a good reason for the beast’s request. He hoped that the beast was cursed, that his request was beyond his control, perhaps even that the beast’s failure to understand had been twisted. But, in the end it did not matter.
The beast blinked, raised his giant paw, and tore out the man’s throat. The beast thought he’d feel some sort of satisfaction, maybe some sort of relief, but he felt nothing other than the man’s blood oozing over his paw.
The beast looked down at the man, and watched as the man’s blood spread across the ground and towards the now-dropped, plucked rose. The beast carefully picked it up before more than one petal touched the blood and twirled it in his paw.
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