Langelotti, Stefansic 1

Ila Langelotti, Alison Stefansic

4th period, British Lit

Dr. McCarter

January 28, 2021

Grendel’s Death-toll of Jealousy

Sulking with hatred, I ache for flesh. Empowered by the distaste of God, I quickly forge

out of the depth, my claws sinking in the immeasurable marsh-land (imagery-sight). The barren

swamp becomes dry land. Closer, I scurry. Closer, I hear. Closer, I see the golden halls(imagery-

sight) of Hrothgar’s home(alliteration-h). My stomach churns (imagery-touch) at the thought of

the Geat’s feast. Picking up the speed, I feel my mind’s behavior spiral out of control. Anger fills

me as I remember my life as an outcast. Forever in the shadows of the people is where I have

lived. But for no longer shall I suffer. Tonight, is the commencement of my revenge. Reeking of

retaliation(alliteration-r), I break out into a sprint. My claws drag against the stone(imagery-

touch/sound) as the night’s crisp odor(imagery-smell) fuels my delight. Seeping out of the

hidden fog, I reach for the door. Momentarily, I stop. Taken aback by the stench of the fresh

flesh(imagery-smell), my mind loses its grip as all sleeping eyes lay in front of me. I rip the door

open as my vengeance begins.

Decorated with darkness(imagery-sight, alliteration), the room impairs my vision from

the lack of moonlight in the hall. I slithered through, leaving a stench of rotten corpses, death’s

odor(imagery-smell, kenning) behind. The floor creaks(imagery-sound) with each dragged step.

A swift turning of my grotesque head(imagery-sight), eyed me in the direction of sleeping

soldiers(alliteration-s). Packed in tight together, my mouth foams(imagery-sight) at the sight of

fresh food(alliteration-s), laying on a platter in front of me. My stomach begs for my jaws to sink
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into the savory taste(imagery-taste) of honorable men, god’s warriors, angels of war (kenning). If

only their savior was here for them, but here I lie. My single, murderous, blood crusted

claw(imagery-sight) extends out, gripping one of the Geats with a strong hold. I shred his flesh

with my blood-stained teeth(imagery-sight). Ripping his tissues apart piece by piece, my jaws

left with a grin. Nothing but the sweet scent of death(imagery-smell) in the surrounding air. My

piercing eyes shift over(imagery-sight), glaring into the soul of my next unconscious victim.

With one quick movement, I clutch their limbs, my claws anchored. But this soldier is like no

other. The soldier grabs me back, bending my arms in the opposite direction. Fear engorges my

rage. The memories of my home life flood my mind.

My mother, spawn of satan (kenning), is the only thing that has ever struck fear in my

ferocious(alliteration-f) eyes before. Her glare was enough to put a man in Satan's death grip.

Her snarls leave the ears of the men who hear it bleeding(imagery-sound). Ever since childhood,

my mother clawed at my skin(imagery-touch) and forced me to eat those unlucky enough to

make an appearance in her peripheral. She insisted I stay in the wet marsh-lands, only leaving to

feast on the flesh(alliteration-f) of the unfortunate. I never ate one's muscles and tissues, only

small rodents that would scurry by in the tall grass. For I only admired the people. I remember

going out past the edge of the marsh-land, to watch the Dane’s children, frolic in the meadows.

They would play out late in the evening with dolls and field games. When the sun disappeared in

the West, the children would too, leaving their creations behind them for the next day. They

would rest until the sun reappeared from its depths in the Earth, then repeat until the days got too

cold for their small nibble fingers and toes(imagery-sight). I envied their freedom, the

companionship they had. When one would fall and scrape their knee on the earth's unforgiving

soil, another would ease their pain with a tender touch (alliteration-t). After the night grew
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cold(imagery-touch) and the sun hid from the world, I would scurry back to the miserable hole in

the bottom of the marsh in which I reside. Loathing the wretched life, I live.

One nightfall was like no other. I was determined to be like the children, innocent and

full of life. When they went inside, I inched closer to the fields that they called home. My limbs

were weak with exhaustion and excitement(alliteration-e). Finally, I too could be a part of the

life I yearned for so badly. I reached for a doll, made of straw and soft fabric(imagery-touch). I

rolled it in my hand, soothing my sores from the harsh ground(imagery-sight/touch) I laid on it

for so long. A warm feeling filled my chest(imagery-touch) like no other. An unfamiliar smile

formed on my face as my eyes stayed fixed on the battered doll in front of me(imagery-sight).

Moments of stillness passed, only the wind whistled(imagery-sound). Then a rush of reality sent

chills through my spine(imagery-touch) when I heard feet sprinting through the brush of the

marsh lands. Before my head could turn to meet the eyes of the impending creature, my body

began to drag out from under me. Serrated claws gripped tight(imagery-touch) into my ragged

skin(imagery-sight), lugging my body against the dirt. My eyes shifted to the hideous creature

yanking my body through the mud, my mother. Trees moved from my mother’s eager path to

return me back to the hell-hole we called home(alliteration-h). Finally, the dragging stopped, my

back shredded from the terrain. Her snarls turned into gut-wrenching cracks into my

bone(imagery-sound/touch) for my misbehavior. Each crunch deemed less forgiving than the

last. Her jaws eased and the lesson was taught without words. She scurried back to her corner of

the den, leaving me open wounded for the night creatures to see. As I lay there, my terror and

shock began to form an incurable rage. Jealousy. If I could not experience the life of the Danes,

they cannot either. My envy is hatred. My admiration is wrath. The reminder of my hatred brings

me back to reality.
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I no longer am living in my distant memories. I am in Herot’s hall, facing a fearless

soldier with no weapons other than his bare hand (imagery-sight). Armed with his honesty and

nobility, he causes me to grow worrisome. His grip on my arm stuns my thoughts. How can a

commoner have such strength to feel as if he can control me? Who even is this strange warrior?

Taken aback by his power, I struggle to be released from his tight grip.

Worry overcomes my body as I begin to regret my vengeance. However, if I escape from

the powerful grip of the fearless soldier (kenning) and flee to my marsh, safety will be restored.

But no longer shall I sulk in the shadows (alliteration). My time in the light is now, and I shall

reign. I dig my claws into the cold, hard floors as I am gripped by the neck (imagery-touch).

Fighting for my freedom (alliteration), I suddenly lose my interest in flesh and seek the shadows.

Air quickly escapes my lungs as panic fuels my veins (imagery-feel). Engaged in my survival, I

am reminded of the anger I hold. Writhing in pain, I battle with the town’s savior(kenning) to

seek asylum.

The King’s home(kenning) trembles as benches break, walls shatter, and terror triumphs

(imagery-sound). Delighted with the destroyal (alliteration-d), I continue my battle against the

Savior of the Danes (kenning). Splendor rings my ears(imagery-sound) as I soak up the screams

and fighting words of the opponents. Shrieks of fear freshen the room(imagery-sound) and

welcome my presence. As my amusement peaks, the air grows hot as hell. A chill runs down my

spine(imagery-touch) as I see him reach for me. My screams engulf the hall as the city’s savior

grabs me by the arm and rips it from my body.

The once sleeping bodies surround me. The calm atmosphere of my prior arrival has

escaped the atmosphere and has quickly been replaced with the abhorrence of war. Taking in a
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deep breath, I recognize the differences of power in this soldier. My ultimate challenger,

protector of the lands, people’s treasure(kenning), has overtaken me.

The voices started off faintly. The ringing of Hell’s Angels call at my ear (imagery-

sound). Desiring my atrocious soul to return home, they urge me to persist. My helpless body lay

limp on the grounds with anger still pulsing through my veins(imagery-touch). Hatred has

always fueled me, but my power is gone. For I fear the end but I twist, crack, and scrape my

bones(imagery-feel) together to return to my lair. Scurrying without the splendor I once held, I

return to sulk in the shadows (alliteration-s). Forever to remember my fallen fortune(alliteration-

f) of this solemn night.

I push my aching body through the mud, my arm leaving a trail of blood behind. My

depressive journey reminds me of my past as I reminisce at the oddity of my mother’s teachings.

Her punishments fired my actions. The cruelty she instilled in me has shaped who I am today. I

urged for normalcy but was struck with denial. The only thing my mouth will mutter is groans of

pain and defeat (imagery-sound). I mope back to the home I had since called mine. The smell of

disappointment in my mother’s breath waded through the brush and vegetation (imagery-smell).

She snickers at me as I curl into a helpless weakling, gasping in each breath I take. Blood pools

my soon place of final resting.

Key:

Imagery = Imagery

Kennings = Kennings

Alliteration = Alliteration

Works Cited
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Raffel, Burton, translator. Beowulf, Baltimore Polytechnic Institute,

www.bpi.edu/ourpages/auto/2017/9/13/4276466/beowulf__raffel_translation_/.pdf.

Accessed 8 Jan. 2021.