Monster’s Lullaby
By Elka Scott
The first time someone called you a monster
you swallowed your own teeth
without chewing
like so many unanswered prayers.
It did not make you more human
but it made silence easier,
made you more acceptable.
You walked into the world without bite
and consumed yourself from the inside out.
The next times this word was uttered
you buried it within yourself
and shed your skin.
If the forest wanted you back you did not show it,
that dark place you came from
impenetrable but by fire.
When their pitchforks pierced your side
you stood still as the moon,
quiet,
waning.
They did not acknowledge your light
but you did,
you had to.
You do not consider it oppression
because it did not hurt enough.
Your scaled and scored skin
had learned to endure by then.
You stuffed your monster deep enough inside
that nothing could beat it out of you
The forest was still dark
but even their fire could not touch it.
It needed a soft touch
like ash over snow
like moonlight on a river
You hid your claws inside your pockets
as you grew, they went with you
longer, sharper, harder.
They became the layers of your soul
telling you that you survived climbing back up the cliffs and the windmills.
You survived
everything that you thought would kill you.
The fire inside you
raged despite the water you shed like leaves
When the forest called your name
you howled back with spit in your teeth
your blood surged but did not boil
When they finally came for you directly
you bared what was left of your teeth against the storm
and stood steady.
You took their blows and did not waver
though it hurt,
it hurt.
You still did not understand why they could not love you
but you did not hate them for it
anymore.
The only fire you wanted was your own,
the slow burn of bitterness had no place under your tongue.
When they finally came for you
you accepted that they may win
but that you,
you were always the one guaranteed sequels,
the one branded invincible by popular vote.
You rose to face each hero
with the knowledge
that your fire
could not be put out.
Your teeth,
swallowed,
never lost their sharp.
Elka Scott writes short, novel-length fiction, and poetry. They watch horror movies with the lights on and obsessively read weird comics. They studied creative writing and psychology in university and are currently working to become a creative writing therapist. Elka lives in Saskatchewan and recently received a grant from the Saskatchewan Arts Board to write their first graphic novel. They are previously published in The Voices Project. Follow Elka on Twitter @elka_scott, Instagram @inkstainedelka, and on Tumblr.
Image from The Public Domain Review.