From Grendel's PoV. (Beowulf)

Taylor Rinella



GRENDEL



SMACK!

The hand of my mother ran across my face quickly, sending me flying against a nearby wall. Her rage was somewhat awakened by my returning of late, back to the place that we have known to call home. It scares me too much to fight back when the scorn of my mother is awakened. Even with all my strength, I am nothing to her in comparison.
Surprisingly enough I can feel some blood trickling down the side of my face, from where she had hit me, along with the throbbing of my shoulder which had come to majorly impact the wall more than the rest of me. I didn’t kill enough. I only killed one, wandering in the woods, and it obviously wasn’t enough…



I know Mother loves me. I know she wants only for the best of me. But I also know her rage and regret for my being. That such a child, with lack of a father, had come from two so seemingly beautiful, in an image so repulsive. She hates him, though, not me. I am merely the tool used by her for his suffering. The loss of his people is what she thinks is most devastating. But in my mind, why would I not be instructed to attack him, himself? Why is it that he can not be touched, or approached?  Mother says he is protected by the hand of God himself.  I do not entirely believe it, but I must do as Mother says… “Han kom inte med oss. För detta måste han betala. Om vi inte kan döda honom, då måste vi döda alla han känner.”  . ((He did not come with us. And for this he must pay. If we can not kill him, then we must kill everyone he knows.)) She always says…  And I do as I am told. I still do not know why she would not do this terrible task herself, instead of sending me for this sinful deed; but deep inside, it satisfies me. It’s almost as if feeding a craving that has never been experience, or fully realized. I find enjoyment from seeing my artwork, and my severed creations. Being able to taste the food for which I worked to earn… It simply satisfies, in some way.



I manage to stand back up, slowly, recovering from the hit that my Mother had laid on me. The bleeding had stopped and dried on my skin, adding more of a complexion to my existing complication of appearance. Mother approached me slowly, and I trembled before her. Instead of hitting me again, she hugged me. She does this too often… Her mood and temper changes in the easiest of triggers, whether they are unintentional or not. But, she is my Mother.

…


--The next day—



Well, today has come, and Mother expects me to do more. I don’t want her to hit me again, and so I must impress her. I think I shall visit Herot itself, this night. I have heard their merry cheer each night, and I know I can not join them. Mother tells me so. She says that they would only attack me, and that angers me. Why will they not accept me, like they do the one of theirs that is larger than all others? The one who is shorter, and wider, than myself, with hanging slabs of skin and a bulging jaw, is more acceptable. But, I have not seen this one in a long time. There was one with one arm, only, that was also taken in… I have not seen him in a time, either… Perhaps they died. 

--Night--



Herot is bigger than I had thought. It is made of wood, and stone, with large doors. From the tree-line of the forest, I sat and watched all the people of the area gather in this single building. Warriors and women alike, gathering to start their repetitive celebration for some unknown reason. I must remember Mother’s words. I must be angry-looking.

Finally, they shut the doors. And now I must move. The lights are on, but the sounds have stopped.

---- 12 years later----

I have returned to Herot. And I feel good about this.  Something feels different about tonight.  I smell something new in the distance. Haha. Mother should be pleased if I tell her I killed something, or someone, new!
The lights have dimmed, finally, and the noise has quieted inside the hall. The doors are shut, but they’re easy to rip open. I find it funny, anymore, how they try to lock me out… Such a waste of time. Regardless… It’s been twelve years, and Dad’s “suffering” will continue until Mother says otherwise. Tonight will be no different than all the others that I’ve come to visit. 

The sky seems pretty calm tonight. No clouds at all, and not an animal in sight. I don’t know why, but something doesn’t feel right…

I entered the mead hall, called Herot, after having ripped the doors off their hinges, and all were asleep, same as always; all of them, drunk and unconscious as ever.  That scent was here, and it smelled great. Come to surprise that I saw a group of men dressed not in the regular clothing of Dad’s soldiers. This was interesting. Did they think that these new men would be any different? All that would happen, is for them to be killed and eaten the same as all the ones before. Their weapons never had any effect, and they’re always too drunk to try and fight otherwise.  I go after the first man I see, one with an odd complexion and neat facial hair.

This one is much different. He has grabbed back at me with my own strength! I don’t like where this is going, already… He has managed to push me away, already. I’m getting scared. Who is this man? Why did Mother not tell me that this kind of man existed? The other men, not dressed like Dad’s, have woken up as well, and joined the fight. But their weapons are useless, thankfully.  I’ve already managed to kill two of the new men before the same one who pushed me away had wrestled me back down. This man scares me so. The others have backed away, from what I can tell. Where is Mother?... Has she forgotten me?

The man has yanked at my arm, and it hurts! I can only do but to lunge him off of me, into the wall and across a table bench, before he shakes it off and jumps back on me, wringing at my arm over and over.  It hurts, and I’m getting scared. This man is tugging harder at my arm, no matter how much I flail and try to throw him off. I just want to leave, now. Mother has not come to my rescue, when she said she would if something like this were to happen…  This man is strong. He yells with the ferocity of a wild beast, and has the strength equal to my own, if not more.

I’ve tried to tug, throw, fling, and flail, with no success. And on my last attempt, I heard something tear. A snapping and popping of some sort as this man tugged at my arm…  He has ripped is straight off of my body!!!! It doesn’t even hurt, really… Not at the moment. I can see the river of blood pouring onto the floor, though.  And then, the pain …  The instantaneous pain, delayed by shock.  It hurts so much!! There’s no word for it! This man has taken my entire arm!!!  I MUST return to Mother!

…

It’s been about five minutes since I’ve ran away from Herot. That man holds my arm as some damnably honorable trophy! I must return to Mother. I fear, though, that I cannot make it. I am becoming weaker by the second, and dizzier with each step. The blood trail is recognizable, by far. There’s no mistake by any of nature’s noses that my blood seeps with regret, hatred, and weakness.  And now, finally, at  the lake, I stand limp.  Mother is so close, now… So close, but so far away from me.

With my last, dying, breath I speak her name to where no other can hear me, and plummet down into the icy water where she will hopefully find me.