A Barely Legible Scrap of Writing Found by Beowulf
This is just a writing assignment I had to do for my College English class. I figured I'd upload it on here. :P
It seems as if everything I worked for is coming apart. I've done my best to adjust to this life that I, and my child, are forced to live. In these conditions I am forced to live in, my life is utterly guttural. I'm not what is considered a normal human being, but instead a hideous, hate filled, monster. If God is supposed to be forgiving why has he forsaken so many for the choices of one man? I was content with my style of living because I had no choice but to be. However, my son became overzealous with his seemingly insatiable appetite. He started with only two murders, taking the corpses to the inner-forest before consuming the lifeless bodies. However, with his latest escapade he killed too many and now Hrothgar is looking for a champion of sorts. I fear for my son's life, but I have no control over him. He will do as he wishes, and if things go wrong I will be left alone to avenge him.
No words will ever describe the sorrow and hatred that is coursing through my very soul right now. For the first time in a long time I feel something other than hate. As a mother, I will never accept the fate these horrible people have beset upon Grendel. It pains me that the last word to escape my son's mouth was the name "Beowulf". My son and I never murdered just for the "fun" of it. It was not our choice to live off of human flesh. I will find this Beowulf and rip the flesh from his still-alive body as he screams in agony. He will know the pain that he has caused me, and he will die the fake wannabe hero that he truly is. This will be one of the few murders that I commit that isn't somebody nobody will miss. Many will tremble in fear as I feast on the flesh of their fallen loved ones.
I allowed my mind to run wild as I silently stalked through the night to Herot. My visage only showing an expression that represents my now stone-cold heart. I've come to accept that I am what I am, a monster. My acceptance of myself only bolstered me to a higher zenith in my life. Fueling the hate-filled fire that is my desire for revenge. I stormed into Herot, making sure to surprise the wretched humans that inhabit it as I coldly murdered a handful of men and women. I didn't have the slightest bit of remorse left inside of my soul once I reached Hrothgar's hall. Grendel's arm was hanging from the rafters to the ceilings as if it were some kind of trophy for a courageous and heroic act. Beowulf will pay dearly for this act of debauchery. If these are God's people than I am glad he has forsaken me, for they are now my biggest enemy. I made sure to kill another handful of men as I left Herot, striking fear into the hearts of these peoples' ugly little children.
I laid my poor, poor baby's arm next to his lifeless corpse once I returned to my abode. My anger is still coursing through my veins as I realized that I wasn't able to find Beowulf in Herot. However, now is not the time for such thoughts as I hear the other monsters that call this lake home. They sound as if they are in a skirmish, and we rarely fight between each other. Perhaps someone is coming to correct me for what they consider to be an evil act. I can't help but to look at the ancient sword that rests on the wall and wonder if I'll have a chance to use it on this day. My only want is for Beowulf to dare enter my home so I can cut him down like the worthless mutt that he is.