Grendel

I was not always like this. When I was young, I knew my mother had some
anger issues, as well as a few odd habits. As all children, however, I vowed never
to be like her. I had not yet left my home; I had not yet encountered the gaudy
stupidity of mankind.
What a ridiculous breed man is! When my mother sent me off, out of our home,
I unknowingly entered a world of egotistical men, each puffing out their chest at
the others, gluttons of praise and recognition. What kind of creature, I thought,
could ever live, abiding so strictly to their own dreamed-up laws and traditions?
Nobility and honor would be merely words without men such as these, so in love
with their own voices, to define them.
When I came across Herot for the first time, I heard a great clamor inside
the hall. Peering in, I saw thousands of men, all singing loudly and causing a
great disturbance, I was sure, to anyone else outside. They were recalling their
own tales of God, and those favored by Him; of course, the men in the tales had
features similar to their own, and personalities similar to their own. All things
familiar were praised: the sun, the moon, the grass, God, and themselves.
According to these obnoxious men, those creatures of the night, who lack their
make-believe morals – creatures such as myself – were condemned by God, were the
spawn of Hell itself.
Honestly, I did not think it was up to these drunken men and their tales to
decide who or what was condemned by God Himself. I act purely upon instinct;
wolves (and men, for that matter) are not condemned for eating the lambs, I'm
sure. Men are not so great that they are exempt from the status of the lamb, in
some situation or another.
Naturally, when I heard the songs and praises from these self-important men,
supposedly the best of all the men in Denmark, I was not pleased. Who were they to
call me devil-spawn? I did not mean to attack any of the men, originally; in fact,
I am not naturally a flesh-mauler, as the men called me. Nature has made my race
to be scavengers. But these men...these cocky little men...they made me snap. That
night, I attacked several of them. I went back, night after night, filled with
rage at the idiocy of man. If I was truly heaven's bane, as they told each other,
I was going to get the most out of it. And it was then that I realized: I was
becoming my mother.
One night, I came upon Herot, once again filled with rage and loathing for
mankind, and found a great many men sleeping inside. Most men had stopped coming,
out of their fear of me (I was, admittedly, a bit proud of this), so I was rather
surprised when I saw the hall littered with living humans. I was nearly mad with
hatred, and immediately went for the first one I saw.
Somehow, he was able to grab hold of me and render me immobile. I was filled
with shock, and, again, anger. This man must have gotten more praise than the
rest, if he was truly as strong as he appeared. Thus, he must be the most wrapped
up in himself, the most sure of his own greatness, the most disgusting human of
them all. I spat and hissed and struggled in his hands, but he did not move. I
looked into his eyes and saw the superficial arrogance of an entire race of men,
the hatred of humankind towards all of us who are different.
I struggled for a while longer, hearing the shouts of disgust and anger of
the men in the hall. There was a sharp pain in my arm, and I somehow broke free of
the man who embodied all that I hated. Through bleary eyes I saw my own arm in
the hands of Heaven's beloved. I followed my instinct and bolted out of the hall
and attempted to stagger back to my home. I was dying, I knew, and I wanted to see
my mother one last time. I wanted to tell her that she was right to keep me from
going into the outside world for so long. I had seen nothing wrong with me until
these men condemned me as a murderer, a heartless, joyless being of the darkness.
Humankind brought creatures like us to them through their own intolerance. If I
was a monster to them, no matter what, I had might as well act like one.
As I struggled to find my way home, I felt my rage drain from me. My mother
would be sad to see me die, I knew, and her sadness would fuel her temper. Mankind
would experience the consequences of their stupidity, with or without creatures
like me. The humans had no idea what they had begun.