Epic Of Beowulf-Personal Narrative Essay

Oh the agony of laying day after day staring at the body of my poor lifeless son. He was murdered in cold blood by those pale, lanky humans that want only to be raved as heroes. What hero would kill my son labeling him the monster. My lair, my den used to be a place of joy. A place my son Grendel and I would feast and tell tales of our many adventures. Our adventures, once approached together, then more for the enjoyment of Grendel as I aged, were the reason that life was abundant and pleasurable. Our home is not grand. We have acquired many treasured of great beauty through our adventures and travels. We keep these jewels as a blissful home decor that sparkles like my Grendel’s eyes sparkled as he was a young lad. We began collecting these treasures and jewels when he was so young. He would be …show more content…
Do these mothers hang their heads in shame at their horrific actions. Or do their mothers see pride in these acts that these boys deem as heroic. Are these mothers shedding tears, as I do. I tell you, if I could, I would see to it that Beowulf’s mother shed tears of sorrow as I do. My lair, it still sparkles as the sun with its jewels. But it is dead and dark with despair. I am too weak to move the empty souless body of my son, laying there with his arm detached. I summoned only enough energy to retrieve his arm from the monsters that attacked him. The attack was small, and meaningless, but left those mortal humans shaking in their thin pale skin just the same. Now, I have only anger and sorrow, but no energy to move. Only to morn and wish that I could avenge my son, my only son, my lifeless babe. Laying here, it is as if I can hear the bellowing of Beowulf’s war cries. He would never make it through the dark waters alive, down to my den, may lair. He is not so stupid as to cross a mourning mother so full of grief. He must know that would be the end of him. Yet, I can hear the shreekings of a small and mortal