Beowulf – From Grendel’s Perspective
Oh how that music burned him! That music full of gaiety and laughter. What right do these … MEN … have to come to his land and sing the songs and tales that so grate against his very soul! Grendel grew enraged at the audacity of these beings. They were so inferior to him that he would rather suffer the infernal fires of the deepest Hell than deal with that filth. It was bad enough the men had marred his land with one of their structures, but now they had the audacity to affront him with the name of the Creator! Grendel lasted but only a fortnight or so before his mind clouded over and he emerged from his moors to reap his vengeance on those churls that infested is land.
The hall was of typical man fashion, weak and full of grandiosity that no self-respecting creature would surround himself with. Grendel easily took thirty of their warriors, if they could even be called warriors! He dragged their broken bodies back to the moors and drank the blood from their veins. Oh how he relished that taste! The next night he went back again. Even if the men had stopped their rejoicing, they had introduced him to the taste of their blood; nothing would stop him now. The songs of laughter had turned to mournful laments and Grendel relished the new sound. He would make it continue as long as he possibly could.
For twelve years, he continued his rampage of death and destruction, yet in all this time he was never able to touch the accursed leader of these men. That God that men so worshipped and adored kept Grendel from even coming near the throne, and it made him loathe the men more than ever. He would not stop till he had tasted the blood of all the inhabitants of that hall.
It was close on the 12th anniversary of that fateful evening that Grendel’s terrible campaign had commenced. The demon was entering the hall, as was now more habit then anything else. Yet his hunger had not satiated in the time that had passed. If anything, his hunger had grown with his contempt. He grabbed the first warrior he found lying around and ate him quickly. There were many men here tonight; he would have to feast quickly if he was to have them all before first light. The great monster reached quickly for the second man, but was caught off guard as the warrior grabbed his claw and twisted his entire arm behind his back. Nothing Grendel did shook the man; he was too strong!
Wishing nothing more than to flee back to his lair, Grendel kept his struggle up. A few of the men that Grendel had not dispatched arose and tried in vain to stab and slash at his hide, foolish men. The battle had reached it’s peak, neither Grendel nor this man tiring or giving way. It was then that Grendel felt a great wrench in his very soul, as if a hole had been punctured in his side with a spear. Though it wasn’t his blood spilling out, but that very substance which sustained him! Grendel felt his arms grow weak and his knees buckle under the great weight of the man. With a mighty heave, the man pulled upward and tore the arm from Grendel’s very shoulder.
Grendel screamed in immortal agony as his limb was torn from him. His mind fogged over with red mist and he ran without thinking into the night, back to his lair. He lay there, alone and in such pain as no man can ever realize. For the creature Grendel was to be forever alone. He was to die alone and spend eternity alone in torment in the deepest hell for the crimes he had committed. As the water of the swamp became murky with his blood, one last thought formed on the lips of the demon Grendel, “Mother…”
By Aaron Petlikau