For many years now I have stalked the Heorot, waiting for one to come and challenge me. Every night all cower in fear and flee to anywhere else at my approach. Oh how it bores me so! Is there no one left in all of the earth who does not fear me? Is there any person who dares to come into my presence and not bow before me? I am beginning to think not.
Perhaps tonight I will sneak into one of the villages and swipe myself a snack. Maybe a challenge will begin to work its way out of the woodwork.
-Grendel

I have heard rumors that a great warrior is coming from a distant place. There are stories of his great strength floating among the townsfolk, and some claim that his strength is superior to mine—as if! Let him come and test his metal. I doubt that he will last even one night. I will take pleasure in his agony, as I tear his limbs from their sockets one by one. It just may be the challenge that I have been looking for. Then again, it may not be. Perhaps it will be over too quickly. I shall have to wait and see.
-Grendel


Argh! The warrior has not yet arrived. What could be taking such a long time? Every night I plague the great mead hall, and every night it remains the same. Its tessellated floors, rich with splendor of timber and ornamented gold sicken me. They speak of only of men’s arrogance. They spend all of their fortunes on a single structure, only to be driven out by the first terror that comes upon it. Weak, useless, silly men bent on amassing a fortune superior to all the others, only to hoard it away from the world or to pour it wastefully on tasteless buildings such as Heorot.

The warrior will arrive soon or I will go and find him myself.

-Grendel


I found out what this great warrior is called. Beowulf, the Geat. He does not sound as fierce now that he has a name. I know of his boasts; pompous lies all of them. He interests me little now. The townspeople had spoken of a great hero, of one that could save them. I know now that no man can stand before me without fear and trembling. Let him come! Soon he will see that he is no match for me, and the world will know who is truly superior.

-Grendel


What has happened? How can this be? This Beowulf is no ordinary human. How dare he defile my mead hall with his human customs, drinking and laughing and boasting? The Heorot belongs to me and only to me while the moon lights the sky! I strode into my palace, ready for my challenge. But lo, there he lay, asleep! I ate one of his men just to spite him. I crept along silently until I came upon the man himself. I stretched out my claw, relishing the moment, ready to tear him limb from limb.

Suddenly, he was awake. He had my hand inside of his. Oh, the stories are true! He does posses the strength of ten men in a single arm. It popped and twisted and I writhed in pain! A terrible high-pitched sound reached my ears, along with a ripping sound that shook me to my core. I soon realized that all of these sounds were coming from me. The tearing noise was soon finished, and a searing pain shot through the entirety of my being. I looked down; I was free from his grasp, but at the price of my arm.

I ran through the double-doors flung wide open and just barely escaped him. I did not stop running until I reached my home here in the mire. However, I fear it is too late. My strength is fading; I will not last the night. I have come home to die. This is the last anyone will here of me.

-Grendel