The Cornfield
He went into the cornfield to keep others safe from the person he could become. The community wouldn’t leave him there.
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He was usually his kind and pleasant self.
On occasion, he was less than. He was triggered. Upset.
Consumed by something he couldn’t explain.
He learned long ago that when he was miserable, he shouldn’t make others just as miserable. It wasn’t even putting on a fake smile. It was keeping it all pleasant enough.
His peers taught him what happened when he trusted and confided in them while he felt that way. He was labeled. Talked down to. Whispered about. No dates. Always alone.
When he felt like he might be this way, he went into the backyard. He lived on a farm, and the backyard housed a cornfield. Depending on the time of year, there was a maze in the cornfield. Lanterns hung among the corn to light the paths at night.
He would wait in the cornfield until he felt like himself again.
At times, he was in the cornfield overnight. Maybe longer.
He knew the person he could become, and that person wasn’t always kind. He wanted to be kind.
Sometimes, his enemies would sneak into the cornfield too. Kick him while he was down. They quickly regretted it.
He felt sorrow when his friends came into the cornfield. He knew when he wasn’t well. He made a point to keep away from the people he liked. He didn’t want to hurt them. He also wanted them to keep being friends, but he knew he was unlovable in this state.
As he got older, he realized the cornfield was more for others than for him. He knew what he was capable of.
He needed to protect others.
He needed the cornfield.
So did everyone else.
One time, he was in the cornfield, and the community came in.
He stayed in the field, and they saw the other side of him. Some were frightened, while others didn’t register it.
Those who were frightened knocked down the lanterns hanging among the corn. The flames spread. In the panic, more lanterns fell. A few grabbed lighters and deliberately set fire to the corn.
He half-expected it, and he was ready. He went to the center of the maze, and he watched it burn down.
He was fine with it.
He didn’t get out unscathed. He was burnt out.
He returned to his home and unplugged. He didn’t go out. He didn’t go in.
Nobody knew where he was. Some thought he died.
He liked it that way. He didn’t have to wonder who burnt down the cornfield.
As time went on, he felt more like himself, and he rejoined the community; however, his trust was broken. He didn’t believe or trust anyone who came into the field that day. Over time, individuals spoke to him one on one. Some apologized for burning down the cornfield. Some owned their parts. Others were upset they were associated with those who burnt it down.
Nobody asked how he made it out of a fire without a scratch.
He learned more and more. Some people had planned to harm him and some of his friends. They sought to cause pain.
Others were astounded, but he wasn’t shocked.
It added up.
As he tried to rejoin the community, some people continued to come to what was left of his field. More set it on fire. Some disguised themselves as others and burned it more.
He watched. He knew. He waited.
One night, the community came to his door to threaten to burn down his home.
After he closed the door, he knew it was time.
He made it known that he would go into the largest cornfield in town.
The next day, he went into the cornfield, and he waited.
It didn’t take long. The community circled him, threatening, menacing. They thought they had him pinned in.
The man smirked. “Should I begin?” he asked. He pulled out a bottle, lit the end, and threw it right at one person’s face.
CRASH! POOOOF!
The community member screamed, fell, and never got up.
“You’ll get us all!” one cried.
“But I’m your friend,” another objected.
He laughed. “What’s a friend doing here right now?” There was no response. “Exactly.”
“But you’ll die too!”
Someone in the community laughed. “Is this your Carrie moment?”
The man spit. “I see no pig’s blood!” He let out a shout. He opened his hand, and the fire came to his fist. He threw fireballs at another community member.
“You’re —”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied with a laugh. The fire spread more, he threw more fireballs by hand, and every piece of corn burnt down. Everyone in the community burned to death. He walked out without a mark.
He walked into town. He’d tried to be nice. He’d stuck to himself, but the community wouldn’t leave him alone.
This wasn't revenge or justice.
The man was the villain.
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This piece is a response to the prompt by Labyrinthia Mythweaver:
