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The Grey Havens - 04/03/2004

Long Time Gone - 22/02/2004

Only for Now - 04/02/2004

The Neverland - 19/01/2004

There's no times at all, just the New York Times - 15/01/2004

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13/12/2001 - 10:25 p.m.

Grendel, Chapter 13

As promised, Chapter 13 of Grendel. For those of you who have read it, I hope you don't find it too out of whack (style is so difficult to copy when you want the author dead). For those of you who haven't, if you like this, I suggest you not read Grendel, read things I write instead. Pay close attention to punctuation, it's a little bit difficult with some of the ways things are on here. Trust me, it works on my Word Processing program much better.

The earth trembles as a hole fills with once displaced darkness. Space closing the gap and Time forgetting it was there; forever the method. Senseless patterns that mean everything and nothing.

Sudden crashing waves of terror: gone! The nothing has changed to everything in a fit of realization. Hurt? Lost? Disappeared? Farther removed. Vanquished! Terror washing around and over, drowning, floundering. Once, the lost hole was something. Important something. What?

Nostrils search the remnant of a scent lingering in the air, recognizable. The loss. The answer is the scent. Love. Connection! Vanquished? Vengeance!

Anger sparks, rising and licking tongues of red pain. Driving, forcing thoughts long abandoned. Death wells up, unquenchable desire. The answer is the scent. Follow.

Out and away, following. Footsteps similar to former, but older, sadder, driven by... now by something. Beasts scatter, they have seen something. Or perhaps, only now they have. Yet, the anger is not at them. Certainly it is for the others. They have not the same fear as the beasts: beasts do not seek vengeance. How close the others are! How good to have something to cast fear and vengeance upon. It shall be returned upon them.

Approach with caution. Darkness holds little shelter when the others control flame. Approach the dwellings, a rush of scent: nauseating. Men. Standing close about the door unaware, men do not sense. Yet, the idle words they let fall prove enlightening.

Safe outside their limited range, listening to the fat one in the doorway.

"I've seen hundreds of deadly winters.

I am the oak tree to your splinters,

And I am certain you will find

This beast was not last of its kind."

Spouting careless words in the name of experience, as though authority bestowed: by some false god perhaps. No words spoken against- only vacant nods and smiles. Without argument, easily taken in, knowing no better than to simply agree. Blind intuition.

"But isn't it great old Grendel's dead?

I hear that Beowulf's got his head

Upon a door. He's a very merry Swede.

What do you say we go for mead?"

Grendel! Something rendered to nothing by careless meandering. Blind rage rises, forced back by desire to listen. Grendel!? Proud with the role of arrogant intellectual, words laced with poison truth still flow.

"Of course the next one will be twice as strong,

Big as a lake, a league or more long.

More horrible creature we'll never see

Than old Grendel's mum may prove to be."

For once, he speaks real truth.

"But I assure you, Beowulf's primed,

And daybreak will find the Mother limed,

For it is his plan to find the lair,

And slaughter all discovered there."

Fear is forgotten, replaced by sorrow. Almost a pity to kill poor dumb creatures. But, battle requested is battle received, and Grendel's death must be avenged. He continues- it is wind creating such great girth.

"The foul carcass deposited in the pit,

(And may her darling give a shit),

There'll be much rejoicing in this land.

Now let's depart, come, take my hand."

A moment later would have found them victims of wrath. He closes the door behind them, and a familiar odor, mixed with death, is revealed under the stench of man. Follow to a deep pit, the one he spoke of.

Dismembered, mangled body. Grendel! Jump to the bottom. Screams echo. Love. Vengeance! Infinite sadness. Grendel returns to earth, becomes trees, watered by rains, destroyed by fires. It is better. Better than life in shadow of crimes of creatures: created only from and for them.

Sun rises, climb from the pit. Still vengeance. Return to dwellings. Gathered around footprints from night before. He stands with others, one huge man- mysterious. Humorous proceedings?

"Why, good Beowulf, you can't believe

I stood here unaware all yestereve

Of such a creature close at hand.

I am intelligent, you understand."

"Intelligent or no the marks are clear,

Portentous evil in Grendel's image stood here."

"O dear Beowulf, what will you do?

Is this like the other beast you slew?

Are we poor people safe in our beds,

Or does this monster want our heads?"

"I do not know but just one thing,

I will have to kill this... thing."

Oh dear.

"Beowulf strong and Beowulf good,

Take from me this advice you should.

This monster is evil, this monster is mad,

Don't let her kill you, that would be bad."

"I think she's mad cause I killed her son.

I will follow your advice, intelligent one."

It is easy to see what Grendel had against them. He never understood what fools they were- only saw what little of himself remained in them, and could not forget it. I see now, and readily admit, I have not forgotten all. It returns after a time. Creep away before I am spotted.

There is much to consider, the current state of affairs must not continue. (How their influence is detestable!) Fear is unnecessary. They are afraid of me. Action is the answer. How different the answer was yesterday. I wish I could escape to yesterday. Confront! No need, he is coming.

"Reveal yourself to me horrible villain,

Beowulf wants to make a killin'."

He gets worse and worse, doesn't he? (Though, so do I.) Step from the trees, and make no effect. Empty, stupid, staring eyes.

"Now I will kill you as I did your son.

You skulking creatures must be undone."

"Why?" An encapsulating question, though hardly the one I had intended to ask.

"The triumph of good over evil.

I send your soul back to the devil."

"I see. And what makes you so certain of your skills?" Insulting him can hardly be cruel, at least he has a chance to go.

"Come closer and you shall see,

I have a sharp blade to use on thee."

"You're rather short on rhymes, aren't you?" The old ways have come back, I am practically human. Like my son, I see the stupidities of these men, and have become a part of it. In an instant, I realize by ancient intuition that I will die- but die for Grendel, for which there is some sort of justification fighting in my brain. Love. Vengeance.

He has moved closer, eyes still empty. Sword drawn, he knows I am not as strong as my son. Fear. Firm on the ground, I watch him come, primal screams the origin of which he does not understand. Terror. Flee. Fight! Vengeance! Ashamed, turn and return to home, death is certain, why fight so soon?

"And Beowulf killed the mother too,

It was a most noble thing to do.

Wonderful man in word and deed.

I know, so question more you have no need."

�From the Shire, down the Anduin, to Mordor

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