It's said one shouldn't engage
with the beast. Don't listen,
don't empathize, don't ask for
his side of the story.
Because the moment you
understand him, you are already
trapped. You'll excuse him.
Rationalize him. Fall prey to his tactics.
That's the statutory warning.
But tell me what if the beast
is told the same thing?
Never trust beauty.
Never be moved by innocence.
Do not listen. Do not soften.
Do not hesitate and never
entertain a victim's justification.
What if both sides are raised
behind opposite walls of suspicion?
What if the beast learned
monstrosity the same way
the prey learned fear?
And what if beneath the claws
and the growling, there is merely
a wound that never found
the courage to call itself one?
People speak of evil as though
it arrives fully formed.
As though betrayal doesn't leave
fingerprints.
As though cruelty isn't sometimes
grief left unattended for too long.
I am not asking for acquittal.
I am not asking that teeth be
mistaken for kindness.
My concern around this is only
a considerate possibility-
Like, what if the beast has spent
so long being warned against
tenderness, that he flinches
when it finally appears?
What if every outstretched hand
looks like another trap?
What if the betrayals have
poisoned his well so thoroughly
that love itself tastes suspicious?
So he starves for trust.
For touch. For the simple luxury
of believing someone means well.
The tragedy, perhaps, is not that
the beast remains a beast.
The tragedy is that some wounds
become identities.
And after a while, he no longer
remembers whether he is guarding
the injury or imprisoned by it.
Mistaking every chance at
healing as another attack,
He dies hungry surrounded
by things he was taught to fear.