Alyssa Zheng, Period 2, 3/22/2023

Creativity and Fiction

“Mama? I’m home!” My dear child walks into the deafening silence of our dreadful cave, perhaps anticipating a response from his one and only family member. Despite having awaited his return all day, I can not give him what he wants. I greet my dear Grendel with insanity instead.

“Mama? Where are you?” I crawl on my hands and knees to where two feet are planted firmly on the ground, and look up at my child’s face. I desperately grab at his ankles with my claws, but he easily slips out of my grasp. It upsets me, but I cannot tell him that.

As Grendel makes his way to sit himself on a rock, I follow behind on all fours, letting out occasional moans and groans while he talks to noone in particular, because he knows that I cannot respond. My son tells me of his day; how he watched a goat walk itself to death despite his continuous objections. He’s frustrated, and I want to tell him that I have been feeling the same way. Instead, I can only whimper and grab at him, hoping that he can sense my fear and just stay in the safety of my arms. He tells me of the Shaper’s death, and how he wants to attend the funeral. I want to tell him not to go, but all I can do is hug him tightly in our sleep, bury him in my body as if he was still a newborn child in need of his mother’s care. I can tell he doesn’t get my message, or even if he did, he doesn't care. His mind lies elsewhere, and yet all I can think about is him. I don’t know how or why, but I can feel that I’d be sending my one and only family member to doom if I let him step even an inch out the door.

As he makes his way to the Shaper’s funeral, I attempt to stop him. I cry and groan and tear at my own body, showing him the fur that’s getting caught in my sharp claws asI reach for him softly. He picks me up easily, just as I had been able to pick him up in my arms years ago. Setting me aside, he ignores all that comes out of my mouth. I can’t decide if it’s because he doesn’t understand me, or if it's because he is choosing not to listen to my warnings. “"Warovvish," I whimper once more. He closes the door on me, and I tremble with fear, fear that that will be the very last time I see my child.

I reminisce of our times together to avoid thinking about what was happening outside of the cave. I think of time before Grendel had learned to speak, before he had started watching those humans, and before he had met the Dragon. I think of when I was the only other living existence he knew, and when I was all he could rely on. I remember when I saved him from a band of those wretched humans, just before he started to observe those very beings and their silly little stories.

Then I remember back even further. I think back to before Grendel was even born, and when I was just me, not a mother. I think I knew the human language back then, just as my dear son did now. I cannot remember why or how I abandoned it, but it must have been for good reason. It must have been the same reason I fear letting Grendel attend the Shaper’s funeral and leaving my company for the human world. I cannot pinpoint it, my thoughts are spiraling out of control, and it makes my head hurt. I consider going out to look for Grendel, but I stay, trembling and whimpering like a child without its mother.

I claw at my head, patches of fur falling out and clinging to the nails on my hands with each pull. I stare at them, wondering how I ever held my own child so gently with such sharp claws. Now that Grendel was gone, I was slowly losing consciousness of myself. Grendel. Grendel. Grendel. My son is all that remains in my thoughts. Grendel. Grendel. Grendel. What good is a mother without its child? If I cannot stop his death, I might as well avenge it. Grendel. Grendel. Grendel. Mama will come for you, my dear.