Beowulf:The truth about the hero

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Please give feedback and comment, vote and like. I really, really want to be a famous writer, like since I was eight. Thanks!!!!

P.S. Sorry if there are spelling mistakes.


"Do you surrender?" I held the sword above the man's chest, a wild grin on my face.

"Very good, Beowulf." He said, and I stepped back, letting him stand up. "Your sword fighting skills have gotten better."

"Really?" I asked eagerly. Sword fighting is my life and I'm always trying to improve, every opportunity I get.

"Really." My tutor (or the man I had just knocked down) said. "Keep it up."

"Thanks, sir." He nodded and walked away. I swung my sword around, practicing. It was a silver blade, with a hilt made of bronze. I had won it off the prince of Denmark (I still have to find a way to repay that). Yes, I'm only thirteen and I have already won thousands of battles, against people my age and people much older than I am. Don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty good.

Suddenly, I heard giggling. I sighed. "Girls, please come out of the bushes."                

Four or five girls, ages ranging between ten and fourteen stepped out from behind some bushes, next to where I was standing. Their cheeks were very red.

"Come on, don't you see I need to practice my sword fighting."

"We can help you if you want." The oldest one said.

"Alone!" I added sternly.

They turned around, with sad expressions on their faces, then I heard one say: "He's so cute." Why does every girl in Denmark have to follow me around, not leaving me alone? I want to have peace and quiet to practice my fighting, not thousands of admirers.

Well, anyway, the mead hall bell interrupted my thoughts. It was already late, and all of us, fighters had to go to the hall to have our annual party and sleep.

After I had dinner, I went to bed and had a nightmare. About my mother and father. Okay, I don't really like to talk about this, but I'm an orphan. My mother and father died when I was five years old, someone murdered them. I had gone to my grandmother's house and when I arrived home all I had seen was blood on the floor. Since then, I've been brought up by my tutor, not telling anyone about my greatest fear.

Sometimes I have this strange nightmare about them. And it's always the same one. It seems so real. Mom's telling me I can save everyone, and Dad's saying the same word over and over "Justice... Justice...Justice..."

I woke up, the next day with everyone screaming around me. I jumped up, grabbing my sword, and I got into fighting position (something my tutor had taught me to do).

Apparently, no one was using swords, so I put mine down.

"What happened?" I asked the person closest to me.

"Looks like some people are missing, but I can't really understand it properly. We're too far away." He was a red-haired, freckled man.

"I'll go and look." I said dodging swords, shields and people.

Finally, I got to the center of the commotion. Then I saw it. Blood. Pools of it. I sank down to my knees, my head spinning.

"Don't faint." I told myself. "Please, please, please don't faint." But I did. The last thing I felt was the nauseating smell of blood enter my nostrils.

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