Eric Chen, Period 6, 3/31/23

 Eric Chen, Pd6, 3/31/23

Modern Mythology 2023

• Creativity & Fiction

• Craft a piece of FAN fiction related to any of the reading we’ve done in class that addresses one or more of the following: 

• Literary elements (i.e. structure, tone, diction, mood, irony, and figurative language) to craft a narrative.

• Structural features of drama (stage directions, character attributions/tags, dialogue, monologues, and/or soliloquies) to craft a script.

• Multidimensional characters to develop themes and create socio-political metaphors.

“Grendel’s Mother”

Three days. It has been three days since she last saw her son, three days since she last saw him leave their quaint little home in the swamp. She had tried to prevent him from leaving, but her child had only scorned her, pushing her away in order to observe the humans he seemed to be so enamored with. Now, only his lifeless body remained. She had found his corpse after searching the swamp, the only family she ever knew, dead on the ground, being ravaged by animals. She had violently thrown off the animals scavenging on what little flesh remained on her child’s body and began carrying him back to her cave.

Perhaps she should’ve tried harder, she thought. She should’ve prevented her child from leaving that day, even if it meant cutting off his legs. She shook her head. She had known that his fate was inevitable, sealed from the day he met a human for the first time. Grendel had always been fated to die by the hands of a human. She reasoned with herself, told herself that this was always going to happen, that if it hadn’t happened three days ago, it would’ve happened a century from now, a decade from now, maybe even a year from now. Yet, she found herself overcome with grief and rage, anguished over her child’s death along with anger directed at the humans for killing him. 

She wanted revenge. She needed to do something, anything, to appease her rage. And so she went, in the dark of night, to the meadhall, as her son had done three days prior. The first thing she noticed when she entered the meadhall was the smell of alcohol. There were men lying on the floor, cups still in hand as if they had all passed out drinking. The king laid on his throne asleep. She ignored him. Hrothgar would get his turn. She looked around, searching for her son’s murderer. He was the only one she wanted, the only one she needed to vent her rage. And yet, among the piles of bodies, the countless drunken men laying in the hall, he was the only one not there. Had he gone home? No, his ship was still here, and so were his men. She searched again, to no avail. Beowulf was not in the meadhall. She felt her rage building. She walked up to the throne and looked at Hrothgar. This was the old fool who incited the incident. If she couldn’t have Beowulf, she would take him as a consultation gift. She wrapped her hand around Hrothgar’s neck, claws merely inches away from piercing Hrothgar’s throat and– no. This won’t do. She had come here for the fish, not for this sorry excuse of a king. If Beowulf didn’t want to show, she would just have to force his hand. She picked up the man lying closest to the throne. This man will do, she thought. She jabbed her claws into his chest, deep enough to draw blood but not kill. She left the meadhall in this fashion, the man still impaled by her claws, leaving nothing but a trail of blood.

Trodding back to her cave, she wondered when the last time she had lost herself in a fit of rage. It must’ve been a few centuries ago, she thought, when she found her child tied to a tree, being attacked by a group of humans. Her rage had fully subsided at this point, replaced by a feeling of emptiness. It all felt pointless. Revenge was pointless. It wouldn’t bring back her child or fill the empty void she felt. Still, it was too late to turn back now. The man she had caught was still on her claws, and the trail she left would guide Beowulf to her home. She would have to finish what she started. She dove into the waters and swam back to her cave. All there was left to do was to prepare to fight .