The Mystical Maiden - a micro story, fantasy

Tweet

The beast galloped with pride following the scent of maiden. Its single horn glowed with its joy. He was laughed at, teased, humiliated but never once would he let his blessing mates change his mind: a maiden is not a long-lost mystical creature only to be found in fairytales. His belief is now rewarded where instinct told him that the scent he follows is no imaginary girl. History classes have taught that once the unicorn and fair maidens lived together in symbiotic harmony where the unicorn provided protection and the maiden provided the source of life: love. But as less and less unicorns believed the scarcer and scarcer maidens were until one day they were relegated to myth. The unicorn slides to halt as he enters the glade at the site of a small hut; a small stream of smoke floats away above the chimney. Above the smell of smoke the unicorn is overwhelmed by the scent lost to time, maiden. A scent so pure of one so pure. He uses his hoof to scrape at the doorway hoping the maiden feels as much love for him as he feels for her already. Slowly the door creaks open a mere thread length of light sneaks out. He hears the maiden’s unsure movements behind the door but stays still, patient for his maiden. A piercing whistle screeches from beyond the threshold and many men converge upon the beast, nets out, tangling to the unicorn so his legs fail him and he drops to the dirt. From this unnatural angle he sees the rough clothes of men and hear their clatter. “Well I’ll be, they do exist;” one exclaims. Another pushes a bottle into the first’s hands. “Stop admirin and start respraying around the house; this synthetic maiden sweat evaporates fast.” A third out of the unicorn’s site calls out; “who gots my knife we need to get this horn off?” With this last the beast passes out realizing there is no maiden. by John Woolard c 2019