They call me bull-headed, and it it true that I was born of dalliance between my mother, queen of all things good, and a common cow, cattle to be slaughtered. And it is true that when I was born my mother screamed, for I was not a human, neither was I an animal, but a monster between castes.

They call me bull-headed, the Minotaur, half-breed, a monster, but when my mother came to, when she decided to spare me, she saw fit to impart onto me her humanity. And so, she looked to the stars, and gave me a name, a mark of personhood: Asterion.

They call me bull-headed, and it is true that as a child I had the temperament of a tempest, the temper of the Cretan Bull passed down. It is true that I bellowed and snorted as a child, thrashing my limbs wildly, my rage demanding guttural screams without the voice to do so.

They call me bull-headed, and so my mother calmed me with her loud, sonorous voice, silencing my anger. And through her shoutings and scoldings, she imbibed me with her humanity.

    They call me bull-headed, and it is true that as a child, no other children dared approach me, for I scared the meek, disgusted the queasy, and disturbed the comfortable. And it is true that when I approached them, they would cry out, and scream, and flee in swathes, and I would be left alone once again.

They call me bull-headed, and my mother did so too, when I asked her why I was so alien. And she taught me that no one would love me but her, for I was born wrong, and that to seek love elsewhere was a futile endeavour. And from her words of kindness I learnt yet more of humanity.

They call me bull-headed, and it is true that when I began my education, I struggled to understand what was being taught, that my tutors spoke in riddles I could not understand. And it is true that this struggle brought me great frustration, that I could not control my fits of anger and rage.

They call me bull-headed, and my mother did so too, when she saw that I had not learnt as expected. She taught me that I was born with the brain of a bull too, and that I would never be as able as the other pupils. And with her wisdom, I was granted more of her boundless humanity.

They call me bull-headed, and it is true. But as I look into the mirror, and back towards my mother, I ask myself a traitorous question: Which one of us is the monster?

They call me bull-headed, and it is true that I approached my mother with a simmering fury, as the question bubbled out of my throat: Why do you deserve your humanity? And it is true that when my mother did not turn her head, acted as if she had never heard me, my temper boiled over.

They call me bull-headed, and it is with my head that I charged, bull-rushing away, away, away. Through the twists and turns of my labyrinthian home, through the endless hallways, the sound of feet against ground thumping in rhythm with my heart. Eyes aimed straight ahead, as my mother called from further and further away: Come back, come back, my child.

They call me bull-headed. But I would rather live as a monster.