Grendel
...
The night was thick and heavy, and the air that hissed into my lungs was dank. From the top of that high knoll, I could hear the distant, heavy throbbing of the surf, merciless against the cliff, bent on wearing the harsh rock face into nothing but unexceptional pebbles and sand.
Below me, the joyful shouts and laughter of men echoed into the air, sounding hollow against the surrounding hills. It was these men my tongue and throat craved, and it was these flesh-and-blood morsels who spent their lives bent on making my life a living hell.
Anger coursed through my veins, making my ears ring and the night glow with a bloody halo, but I was willing to wait a while longer. Time was of no consequence to me; rage grew only more potent with patience, and my anger was my strongest weapon.
In the past years, I had heard complaints among the humans of lack of fairness in my game. I wasn’t playing fair. I, the great Grendel, the being whose knotted muscle and glistening claw held more hypnotic power than any mere mortal, wasn’t playing fair against those jigsaw humans whose pieces tore apart more easily than a forbidden apple from its tree. They were lambs to my wolf’s tooth, merely a piece of a greater chain. It was their part to play in the great scheme of all things. The weak was preyed upon, and all the weak could do was pray.
(I hadn’t always been the wolf. In the beginning, when my world was still dark, I had no teeth to wield in my own defense.)
As the moon immersed itself fully in its heavenly pool, the firelights below weakened and faded, and the noises were diluted by darkness. My stomach rumbled. It was time. Quickly, I fell to all fours like an animal, and the ground gave way easily beneath my hands and feet.
Muscle, joint, bone, and sinew brought me closer and closer to supper. I ducked past dark dwellings and slipped into the mead house. There, I stood straight and tall and laughed aloud in something resembling humor. It was all too easy, almost unsatisfactory, for there, laying at my feet like a trussed-up sacrifice, was my first course. His spurting heat soothed my icy hands and surged into my begging belly, taking away the edge of my thirst. Sweet relief. I needed more.
I reached for my second, digging my claws into warm flesh…only to have bony fingers dig into the flesh of my own hand. I cried out more in surprise than pain; he was rank with the stench of human, so not only was I faintly amused at his futile attempt, but I believed that he could do me no harm. But then, the man squeezed harder and merciless pain shot up my arm. Again I cried out, struggling against the man’s strong will, trying to work my way free.
I recalled my home, my dark caverns, where I could pretend the world made sense. I wished I was there once more, but my moment of fantasy was destroyed by a cracking sound splitting the air, followed by unimaginable pain. My hand. My beautiful hand sat limp in the human’s fist. The man grinned an evil grin, a demon’s sneer. He thirsted for my life.
(I thought my punishment had been thorough, but my personal Wolf must not have finished playing with me, yet. I begged to be eaten, to have the torture finished.)
I fought the best I could, tossing the man over the rough, wooden tables and chairs, but his strength still often overpowered my own. My blood, cold without anger to warm it, pulsed with fear. My voice, echoing against the close walls of the mead hall, cracked with disbelief. I wanted this nightmare, this darkness, to end, but the shadows weren’t yet finished with me.
Our battle had awoken the other men, and they sprang to their feet, their death-wands waving, trembling with anticipation, glinting with an icy fire. The swords’ edges glanced from my body, but more damage than the weapons could ever do was caused by the cheering the men gave for my death. They were foul beasts.
(A true spitting image. Had they no mercy, either? When does revenge tire?)
And then the monster of a man clutched my hand once more. Terrified, I jerked away. Hell burned suddenly in my shoulder as bone abandoned bone. With an awful tearing sound, the demon-human’s face steamed with my blood, and I knew that my time on Earth was spent.
As my blood surged from my severed arm, I ran from the building, thinking of my home, my refuge, my sweet sanctuary, which sat only just under the cool waters. I loped on three limbs, stumbling and crying, howling my wordless question to the star-drenched heavens. What release waited for me? Silent, simple death would be a blessing, but I knew that someone thought I did not deserve such a gift. I only deserved the fire pits that sat scorching and ravenous for the tissue of creatures wronged. What great sin had I committed to deserve this destiny?
(As lamb bows before wolf, so I bowed before my own tormenter. Perhaps in giving in to hopelessness, pain can no longer bite with a serrated tooth.)
Below me, the joyful shouts and laughter of men echoed into the air, sounding hollow against the surrounding hills. It was these men my tongue and throat craved, and it was these flesh-and-blood morsels who spent their lives bent on making my life a living hell.
Anger coursed through my veins, making my ears ring and the night glow with a bloody halo, but I was willing to wait a while longer. Time was of no consequence to me; rage grew only more potent with patience, and my anger was my strongest weapon.
In the past years, I had heard complaints among the humans of lack of fairness in my game. I wasn’t playing fair. I, the great Grendel, the being whose knotted muscle and glistening claw held more hypnotic power than any mere mortal, wasn’t playing fair against those jigsaw humans whose pieces tore apart more easily than a forbidden apple from its tree. They were lambs to my wolf’s tooth, merely a piece of a greater chain. It was their part to play in the great scheme of all things. The weak was preyed upon, and all the weak could do was pray.
(I hadn’t always been the wolf. In the beginning, when my world was still dark, I had no teeth to wield in my own defense.)
As the moon immersed itself fully in its heavenly pool, the firelights below weakened and faded, and the noises were diluted by darkness. My stomach rumbled. It was time. Quickly, I fell to all fours like an animal, and the ground gave way easily beneath my hands and feet.
Muscle, joint, bone, and sinew brought me closer and closer to supper. I ducked past dark dwellings and slipped into the mead house. There, I stood straight and tall and laughed aloud in something resembling humor. It was all too easy, almost unsatisfactory, for there, laying at my feet like a trussed-up sacrifice, was my first course. His spurting heat soothed my icy hands and surged into my begging belly, taking away the edge of my thirst. Sweet relief. I needed more.
I reached for my second, digging my claws into warm flesh…only to have bony fingers dig into the flesh of my own hand. I cried out more in surprise than pain; he was rank with the stench of human, so not only was I faintly amused at his futile attempt, but I believed that he could do me no harm. But then, the man squeezed harder and merciless pain shot up my arm. Again I cried out, struggling against the man’s strong will, trying to work my way free.
I recalled my home, my dark caverns, where I could pretend the world made sense. I wished I was there once more, but my moment of fantasy was destroyed by a cracking sound splitting the air, followed by unimaginable pain. My hand. My beautiful hand sat limp in the human’s fist. The man grinned an evil grin, a demon’s sneer. He thirsted for my life.
(I thought my punishment had been thorough, but my personal Wolf must not have finished playing with me, yet. I begged to be eaten, to have the torture finished.)
I fought the best I could, tossing the man over the rough, wooden tables and chairs, but his strength still often overpowered my own. My blood, cold without anger to warm it, pulsed with fear. My voice, echoing against the close walls of the mead hall, cracked with disbelief. I wanted this nightmare, this darkness, to end, but the shadows weren’t yet finished with me.
Our battle had awoken the other men, and they sprang to their feet, their death-wands waving, trembling with anticipation, glinting with an icy fire. The swords’ edges glanced from my body, but more damage than the weapons could ever do was caused by the cheering the men gave for my death. They were foul beasts.
(A true spitting image. Had they no mercy, either? When does revenge tire?)
And then the monster of a man clutched my hand once more. Terrified, I jerked away. Hell burned suddenly in my shoulder as bone abandoned bone. With an awful tearing sound, the demon-human’s face steamed with my blood, and I knew that my time on Earth was spent.
As my blood surged from my severed arm, I ran from the building, thinking of my home, my refuge, my sweet sanctuary, which sat only just under the cool waters. I loped on three limbs, stumbling and crying, howling my wordless question to the star-drenched heavens. What release waited for me? Silent, simple death would be a blessing, but I knew that someone thought I did not deserve such a gift. I only deserved the fire pits that sat scorching and ravenous for the tissue of creatures wronged. What great sin had I committed to deserve this destiny?
(As lamb bows before wolf, so I bowed before my own tormenter. Perhaps in giving in to hopelessness, pain can no longer bite with a serrated tooth.)