Grendel's Point of View

Grendel's P.O.V.

Grendel's Point of View

My name is Grendel. I am a miserable, lonely creature. My mother and I live in a cave deep below the surface of a lake. My home is usually very tranquil, very serene. When King Hrothgar and his hellish Danes gather at the Herot Hall to drink and laugh, and dance, Mother and I can't even hear ourselves think. They yell, shout, jump, and stomp around like mad-men. It sounds like a herd of 100 elephants tearing down the mead-hall and building it back up again.

My life was marvelous before the humans settled here over 500 years ago. My mother was happy, as was I. Our cave was quiet, untouched by man. I have never seen such a horrifyingly loud and rude creature in my life.

I once tried asking the King's Danes to be a little more calm and quiet. They looked at me at first in terror, and then in amusement and burst out a very loud, spontaneous fit of laughter. They made crude comments about my hairy body. One of them even had the audacity to spit at me, so I lashed out and killed three of them. They chased me out of the mead-hall and back into the fiery inferno that is the lake which covers my home. I hid in there for days, Mother's warm love and comfort enveloping me, calming me, lulling me to sleep.

About four days later while on the prowl for Mother's dinner, I caught wind of a "Great War Hero." I didn't think anything of it until I heard loud noises that evening. It was again, the cheering of those dastardly Danes, which is nothing unusual, only something wasn't right. I heard a distinct voice, a very deep voice. Mother was frightened when she heard it and asked me to go and find out what was making that noise. Or who. I crept along side of the building with the least windows and poked my head up from behind a bush. What I saw inside that mead-hall was far beyond what I expected to find. It looked as though its anatomy was that of a human, but other characteristics suggested otherwise. I soon acquired all of the information about the creature that I needed.

I returned to the cave and found my mother lying on the floor, curled up in the fetal position. Mother lifted her head, "So, what is it that's making all that noise?" she asked, her skeleton still shaking in her skin. "From what I heard, the creature's name is Beowulf, quite an odd name if you ask me. It is a humanoid with supernatural powers. Its strength is mighty, its voice un-humanly deep and menacing." I said, describing that awful thing that I had just seen.

Two days after discovering that horrid humanoid, I heard another set of loud noises. I went back up to dry land to scout out what was making that noise and was rudely awakened by a punch in the face. It was Beowulf. He and his army of thirty men attacked me all at once, it was thirty-one against one. They beat me mercilessly, hacking at me with a sword in one hand, a shield in the other. I didn't go down without a fight, frantically throwing punch after punch, kick after kick. I managed to pick off a few of Beowulf's men but before I knew it I was overpowered by them. Tugging on my arm like it was a climbing rope, he ripped it clean off of my body. I screamed in pain and agony as the limb was torn from my body. I made a run for it back to the cave, but Beowulf out-ran me and again slashed at me with his sword. This time it wasn't my limbs that he was aiming for, it was my head. One last swing of that mighty sword and my head was sliced off of my shoulders, landing about a yard from where I was standing. My blood though, was like acid on his sword and after he was through with me, he had nothing left but the hilt. He went back to Herot Hall feeling proud, confident, victorious. He had no clue of my mother's wrath, soon to come his way.

My mother was very angry that Beowulf killed her only son, her only child. She made a promise to me to get revenge. She planned to hunt him down and kill him, but the fight found her. Mother was still grieving my death, still cradling my lifeless corpse in her arms. She heard a splash, then rattling metal, it was Beowulf. He was wearing a chainmail helmet and chainmail shirt. Mother thought, "This should be easy." but it wasn't. The supernatural being put up quite the fight. Mother's anger was no match for Beowulf's strength. He decapitated her in the same way he had ripped off my arm. Beowulf now had a much smaller army though, because my Mother had obliterated a little less than half of the men. That was the end of our miserable lives and quite frankly, I'm a little bit happier lying in the cave  dead. I don't know if my Mother feels the same but I know that she is in a good place because she was a good woman and a good Mother.

That concludes my life's story and my point of view on the entire story of Beowulf, the "Great War Hero." I hope you enjoyed learning about my side of the story.

THE END