The maiden waits for the unicorn on a mossy stump.
She’s naked – that part was important, they said, but she thinks it was probably just important to them. She refuses to cover her small breasts, because she thinks it would give the hunters some pleasure to see her try to protect her modesty.
She’s freshly eighteen, with hair so blonde it’s almost silver. It falls to her hips in loose, shiny spirals. Her eyes are deeply inset, serious, and deerlike, and the thickness of her eyebrows is only hidden by their paleness.
She pretends she’s too innocent to conceive the thoughts they might be having about her. As if a farmer’s daughter knows nothing about insemination.
They’re hiding amidst the brush, unseen even to her, but she knows they’re watching. She pictures their dark eyes peering from the shadows of the foliage, hungry.
The mossy bark is sticky against the back of her thighs. She knows what she’s supposed to do – when the unicorn emerges, she’s supposed to stroke it until it rests its head in her lap and goes to sleep. Then, they’ll kill it.
She doesn’t know what happened to the last maiden who was coerced to help. They say she was sent to a nunnery.
She wishes she were bait for a dragon instead – no one seems to understand that maidens and dragons are friends, too. If she were given to a dragon, then she could watch these men burn.
She pictures the warm, silver blood of the unicorn splattering her naked skin, the metallic scent of it.
As she imagines this, the creature emerges from the green-flanked foliage, seafoam without a sea, a flash of white snow ever unmelting.
Her breath halts in her throat. It’s more beautiful than she could have possibly imagined. It cannot be equated to a horse, a deer, or a goat – she’s a farmer’s daughter, she’s them all. The unicorn is everything that is most beautiful about all of them, and more.
It approaches without a sound, its cloven hooves falling silently on the moss-carpeted earth. Its eyes are butterfly pea blue, its lashes as long as her little finger. Its ivory horn is the length of her arm, and sharp at the tip – it’s dangerous. That’s why they need her.
Cowards.
The unicorn approaches her, its whiskery muzzle close enough to touch. She places her hand on it, velvety soft as a pussywillow bud. It breathes, softly and silently, warm against her hand. Its eyes flutter, as if with relief.
She puts her other hand on its silken mane, wrapping it around her fingers.
She’s mounted horses before, but never as fast as this, and never did she think she’d mount a unicorn.
What’s amazing – well, much about this is amazing – but most amazing is the fact that the unicorn works with her, leaning forward as she flings her bare leg over its shining white back. Its tail is leonine, and whips across the ground as it springs, now with her straddling it and her hands looped in its mane.
An indescribable feeling fills her. Just touching the unicorn, immortality tingles through her veins in tiny, tickling lightning bolts. Her body is covered in a soft, pale peach fuzz, and it stands on end with the power of the creature beneath her.
The men emerge from their hiding spots, shouting like dogs. But the maiden finds she trusts the unicorn implicitly. It will keep her safe.
The first arrow flies. The unicorn springs.
It dodges the onslaught effortlessly, dancing over and between them, and flees back towards the woods, back towards the realm from which it came.
The maiden tilts her head towards the sky.
Arrows whistle around her, uncaring if they hit the farmer’s daughter they paid a gold coin to use, or the beast they’re so desperate to butcher and consume.
They won’t hit either.
The unicorn breathes in. The maiden breathes out. And she knows it loves her. It loves her despite the fact that she’s not really a virgin. It loves her despite what her father took from her. It loves her despite her impure thoughts, despite her anger and vanity and lust. It loves her despite her complicity in its betrayal. This pure being loves her.
There’s a parting in the trees overhead.
She closes her eyes, and feels the sunlight.
Image by Petra from Pixabay – forest with a mossy fallen tree and a bright light in the branches.
literally stories 
Brooksie, this is a brief but magnificent story. Your ethereal, lyrical narrative reads like a beautiful poem; it’s poignant, expressive and richly rewarding. This is one of the finest stories I’ve read in this journal. Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you so much! This absolutely means the world to hear. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
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Hi again, Brooksie. I can’t get your unicorn tale out of my mind, it is so good. I’ve shared it with everyone I know, writers and readers alike. Reading it makes me want to be a better writer, be more circumspect and careful about how I craft my fiction. (I promise I won’t bug you again).
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Can’t tell you how much this means to me! You’ve absolutely made my day.
(Brooksie here, forgot to specify that.)
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Brooksie
It is amazing what can be told in a well crafted story. The escape is brilliant. And her disdain for the hunters is equally well presented. Beautifully done.
Leila
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Thank you so much!
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A rich slice of fantasy to start the week and which like the unicorn, takes off in a different direction at the end!
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The style and pace of this is perfect. It is not a fariy tale even though it is rooted there. The descriptions are beautiful and the escape and the final reveal are expertly placed. It is a short but wonderful piece of writing I think. – Thank you for this – Diane
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Thank you very, very much!
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This is beautiful, and astonishingly moving for such a short piece.
(Should “she’s them all” be “she’s seen them all”?)
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Love it! It’s a fairytale blended with the grimness of reality and injustice that still rings true today. It left such a deep impression despite it being a short piece.
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Thank you so much, I appreciate that immensely.
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so lovely!! What a wonderful tale. The escape was so joyous, I will be happy each time I consider it, which will be often. Thank you!
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Loved this.
Great details and imagery, and fabulous twist on an old story.
Well done,
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Probably off topic – I read that the idea of unicorns came from artists picturing ancient bulls (I forget the name of the species/breed) in profile so the two horns lined up and appeared as one. Does that ruin unicorns?
Should we believe the non-maiden had forced sex with her father? For what is her lust?
Brooksie, this could easily be expanded to the further adventures.
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Thank you for the comment!
Doesn’t ruin unicorns at all for me, since to me that’s just another form of inspiration! All fantasy creatures originated somewhere in reality, I think it’s great that we can see something and imagine it as something else.
I left it purposefully ambiguous, and I don’t like to elaborate too much, as it might spoil reader interpretation. But in my mind, this is a story about an abuse survivor reclaiming herself and finding joy. I’ll leave it at that.
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A fairytale with a streak of Grimm darkness. The twist at the end is unexpected and woven into the story seamlessly. Nicely done.
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This means a lot!
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I suspect that the spam filter may be zapping out some of my comments, so I just want to say how much I appreciate all the lovely comments on this piece! They make me so happy, and I’m grateful to every one of you.
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This is beautiful, mysterious, esoteric, metaphorical, and told with such precision of style and with such adept economy of style. The use of short paragraphs and sentences, being told all in the present tense, give this a sharp, yet dreamy quality that, as we learn at the end, belies something much more sinister. It somewhat brought to mind the film Pan’s Labyrinth where a mystical world is a facade for something even more sinister. In short, absolutely superb.
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Thank you, this means a great deal! Pan’s Labyrinth is a film I greatly admire, so this is especially high praise.
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Hi Brooksie,
Mr Henson has given you the best compliment ever when he mentioned Grimms!
He was right.
I loved that you took something that is considered cuddly and went darker with it.
The amazing hints and tangents of this story tantalise.
HAH! I am a Scottish Person and can’t believe that our national animal is a Unicorn…I can only think that whoever came up with that was pished, tripped up over a salmon, bumped into a deer and thought he saw a Haggis before thinking…
…Unicorn!!!
This was really good. You have taken something well known and made it yours!!!
Hugh
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Thank you, Hugh! I agree, being compared to Grimms is wonderfully high praise.
Your remarks about whoever chose Scotland’s national animal made me laugh.
Americans nearly wound up with the turkey as our national bird – at least, that was Ben Franklin’s suggestion. As much as I admire Ben, he may have been a bit pished himself when he suggested that! A unicorn, at least, is more magical and elegant than a turkey, though probably less delicious.
Brooksie
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I have so enjoyed reading Literally Stories over the past several months, both for the always excellent fiction and for the sincere, thoughtful and well considered comments which are so generously offered by appreciate readers, many of whom are themselves writers. I have been on the hunt for additional free online magazines which I can peruse with equal pleasure. Others I have found include Freedom Fiction Journal; Fiction on the Web Short Stories; and Synchronized Chaos Magazine, the latter of which offers copious selections from Asia and Europe. Some of SC’s writers and poets include persons who use English as a second or even third language. which serves to make them additionally poignant. While some comments appear in these other mags, the written responses pale next to LS. So, I would like to urge those who, like myself, are eager for additional fiction, to check out these other sites and submit, read and comment. I hope this is not an inappropriate forum for making this suggestion. But getting back to Brooksie, your story stands out as the best flash fiction I’ve read to date. Thanks again, and thanks for tolerating the PSA.
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