Beowulf Creative Essay

When I sent my son out into Herot, the meadhall of Hrothgar, I knew he would shower a reign of terror upon all the land, and that is exactly what he did. Grendel terrorized Herot, just as I had so many years before. I was so proud of my son, and of myself that I could finally sit back and pass the torch to the next dominant sea monster. However, Grendel's end came before his time, and even before mine. To my shock and disbelief, someone had overcome my son. That someone went by the name of Beowulf. My Grendel, my own blood, was dead at the hands of that feeder-of-ravens.

This man, this barbarian, had taken away the only thing that was important in this world to me. He took from me my first born son. He took the beast that I molded and crafted into one of the fiercest sea monsters ever to be known on this rock-of-the-universe. I taught Grendel everything that I knew. I knew what I had to do. I had to get revenge. Enraged as I was, I had to do something so horrible and something so unbelievable, that Beowulf will regret ever thinking the name of Grendel. If I was going to have to suffer so were they. They were going to feel my pain. Hrothgar was the one that allowed Beowulf to grow the ego that he had. Beowulf was nothing but a man, blindly following that breaker-of-rings, Hrothgar.

After Beowulf ripped my Grendel's arm from his body and left his raven's-harvest on the barren floor, Hrothgar and his comitatus were celebrating their conquering of my son. Such foolish men they were, jovial at the thought of sleep-of-the-sword. So I wanted to give them something to be excited about. That night, I took Hrothgar's closest friend Eschere, and with my raging, wretched wrath, removed his head from his body. I wanted Beowulf and his followers to know of what I had done, so I left the body, and took Eschere's head outside the cave for them all to see. I found that fair enough. When I had finished this duty-of-death, there was one more thing that I had to do for myself and for my son. On the ground they had left Grendel's body, becoming a billowing batch of rotting flesh, with the arm Beowulf so viciously took being made to look like some sort of trophy. A great monster and warrior of my son's caliber did not deserve to be treated this way after his