Post by Alex Winchester on Oct 21, 2013 22:26:54 GMT -5
Because I thought I'd put this here
I’ll start with this, unless you know your Old English poetry, you may not understand this story. My name is Becka Havens, I’m 13, and the direct descendent of the Danish hero Beowulf. Yes, the Beowulf.
All this starts about three weeks ago, around my birthday. You see, there was a prophecy that no one but the oracle knew of. It went something like this:
Hero’s blood shall come to age,
To kill the beast in faulty cage.
Fate of fates that none shall know,
Please our God, show the show.
Creepy, right? Well it was true because, though he was killed, the monster known as the Grendel was not alone in his life. He too had a family, his mother, his mate and a small child. His bloodline lives on just as Beowulf’s does. Generations of monsters that grew to hate my family with a passion. They followed us when we moved to the US. I was two at the time. I grew up with no knowledge of my family’s history until my thirteenth birthday, the day my parents died. So let’s start there…
"Can I go to the mall to meet Fawn and the gang?" I asked, standing at the door.
“Becka, it’s your thirteenth birthday and you’re going to spend it with us” my father said.
“But dad, why? You tell me every year that I can spend my birthday with my friends. Why is it that I have to spend this birthday with you?” I asked, placing my bag back on the peg beside the door.
“Thirteen is a powerful age for children like you dear” my mother said.
“A powerful age? What does that even mean?!” I shouted, dashing up the stairs to my bedroom.
It stood directly over the kitchen, so I could still listen to my parents talking.
“Should we give it to her?”
“Sarah, it’s still too dangerous. She can’t even wield it yet”
“But she’s thirteen. It will come after her today for sure. Just as it came for you when we were children. Please, talk to her. Tell her the truth”
“I’ll talk to her, but she isn’t to get the blade until she is truly ready”
I heard the chair my father had been sitting in scrape across the floor and immediately sat on my bed, making myself look disheartened.
“Becka? Can I come in?” he asked from the other side of the door.
“Whatever” I muttered, burying my head in a pillow.
“Becka, I need to talk to you” he said, sitting in the chair beside my bed, “There’s a very good reason you can’t go out today. Do you know the story of Beowulf and the Grendel?”
“Of course. You and mom read it to me every night before bed. I was lucky that I never got nightmares” I said, sitting up and looking at him.
“Well, it was a true story. And you are his direct descendent”
“That’s your reason? I’m related to Beowulf?” I asked, clearly not amused.
“In a way, yes” and he began to tell me the tale of Grendel’s family, just as I related it to you. It had grown dark out by the time he finished.
“So on the night of my thirteenth birthday the monster will come for me?” I asked, “Dad, that’s a horrible excu-“
A loud crash and pounding cut me off. My mother screamed.
“Becka, stay here. If I stop making any noise, or there are footsteps in the hallway, there’s a present for you in your closet” my father said before leaving the room and locking the door.
I scrambled over to my closet, tripping over various piles of clothes on the floor, and began digging through the junk in search of whatever this present was. My father screamed my name, and I knew something was wrong. But I kept digging. Then, at the bottom of the junk heap, I found a tarnished leather strap. Attached to the strap was a large blade. Runes were scrawled across the length of the scabbard, and, surprisingly, I was able to read them.
“The blade of Beowulf” I read.
I cautiously unsheathed the sword. It glinted a golden color in the florescent lighting of my bedroom; the hilt was wrapped in leather and ended with a single blue sapphire.
Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. The lights went out. I wanted to scream, but instead I got into a fighting stance. I didn’t know how, but my memory flooded with those of sword fighting lessons I had never taken, training I was never given. Ancient runes appeared on the steel, glowing and pulsing with power.
“Come out little girl!” a deep voice called from the hallway.
My door was torn from its hinges. A figure stood there, easily eight feet tall, and definitely not human.
“There you are” it said, taking a step into my room.
I had sheathed the blade and hidden it under my blanket when I first heard the voice.
“You didn’t think we’d forgotten, now did you? You have his blood in your veins. The blood of a murderer” the thing was getting closer.
“Leave this place. Leave while I allow it” I said rather boldly, preparing to draw my weapon.
“But why would I do that?”
I racked my brain for ways to get rid of this thing. Surely I wouldn’t be able to kill it. At least, not yet anyway. And then it came to me.
“I can summon the light of the rising sun, your one weakness” I lied.
“Can you now? Well I wish to see this” It stopped walking.
“I don’t yet have the energy” I said, unsheathing the blade only halfway.
“Well that’s too bad in deed. I had hoped I could see your magic before I had to kill you. Life has always been such a disappointment though”
It reached a hand out to grab me, but the instincts kicked in again and I jumped up and over him, blade in hand, scabbard strapped to my waist. I did a tuck and roll into the doorway, standing to face the beast.
“It is, isn’t it?” and with that, I absconded.
“Why you little!!!” it bellowed, turning around to go after me.
Rather than go all the way down to the front door, I ran to my mom and dad’s bedroom. I grabbed the copy of Beowulf they had always kept on their dresser and a family portrait and stuffed them into the old rucksack my dad kept beside his desk. I had a feeling I would need them.
The thing, I suppose I should be calling it the Grendel, tromped after me.
“I will catch you child!” he screamed, finally coming to the door of the small room.
“Maybe someday,” I said, “but not today”
And with that, I jumped out the window, onto the roof of my mom’s minivan, and down to the ground. My feet hit the ground running, and they didn’t stop until the sun rose above me.
From that day to this, I’ve fought with the Grendel. It finds me each night, no matter how far ahead of it I’ve gotten, and we battle. Near the last moments of night, I run. He doesn’t follow. I’ve become a creature of the night, sleeping most of the day, only waking to eat or battle.
If you can help me, please do. I need it.
Thoughts?
I’ll start with this, unless you know your Old English poetry, you may not understand this story. My name is Becka Havens, I’m 13, and the direct descendent of the Danish hero Beowulf. Yes, the Beowulf.
All this starts about three weeks ago, around my birthday. You see, there was a prophecy that no one but the oracle knew of. It went something like this:
Hero’s blood shall come to age,
To kill the beast in faulty cage.
Fate of fates that none shall know,
Please our God, show the show.
Creepy, right? Well it was true because, though he was killed, the monster known as the Grendel was not alone in his life. He too had a family, his mother, his mate and a small child. His bloodline lives on just as Beowulf’s does. Generations of monsters that grew to hate my family with a passion. They followed us when we moved to the US. I was two at the time. I grew up with no knowledge of my family’s history until my thirteenth birthday, the day my parents died. So let’s start there…
"Can I go to the mall to meet Fawn and the gang?" I asked, standing at the door.
“Becka, it’s your thirteenth birthday and you’re going to spend it with us” my father said.
“But dad, why? You tell me every year that I can spend my birthday with my friends. Why is it that I have to spend this birthday with you?” I asked, placing my bag back on the peg beside the door.
“Thirteen is a powerful age for children like you dear” my mother said.
“A powerful age? What does that even mean?!” I shouted, dashing up the stairs to my bedroom.
It stood directly over the kitchen, so I could still listen to my parents talking.
“Should we give it to her?”
“Sarah, it’s still too dangerous. She can’t even wield it yet”
“But she’s thirteen. It will come after her today for sure. Just as it came for you when we were children. Please, talk to her. Tell her the truth”
“I’ll talk to her, but she isn’t to get the blade until she is truly ready”
I heard the chair my father had been sitting in scrape across the floor and immediately sat on my bed, making myself look disheartened.
“Becka? Can I come in?” he asked from the other side of the door.
“Whatever” I muttered, burying my head in a pillow.
“Becka, I need to talk to you” he said, sitting in the chair beside my bed, “There’s a very good reason you can’t go out today. Do you know the story of Beowulf and the Grendel?”
“Of course. You and mom read it to me every night before bed. I was lucky that I never got nightmares” I said, sitting up and looking at him.
“Well, it was a true story. And you are his direct descendent”
“That’s your reason? I’m related to Beowulf?” I asked, clearly not amused.
“In a way, yes” and he began to tell me the tale of Grendel’s family, just as I related it to you. It had grown dark out by the time he finished.
“So on the night of my thirteenth birthday the monster will come for me?” I asked, “Dad, that’s a horrible excu-“
A loud crash and pounding cut me off. My mother screamed.
“Becka, stay here. If I stop making any noise, or there are footsteps in the hallway, there’s a present for you in your closet” my father said before leaving the room and locking the door.
I scrambled over to my closet, tripping over various piles of clothes on the floor, and began digging through the junk in search of whatever this present was. My father screamed my name, and I knew something was wrong. But I kept digging. Then, at the bottom of the junk heap, I found a tarnished leather strap. Attached to the strap was a large blade. Runes were scrawled across the length of the scabbard, and, surprisingly, I was able to read them.
“The blade of Beowulf” I read.
I cautiously unsheathed the sword. It glinted a golden color in the florescent lighting of my bedroom; the hilt was wrapped in leather and ended with a single blue sapphire.
Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. The lights went out. I wanted to scream, but instead I got into a fighting stance. I didn’t know how, but my memory flooded with those of sword fighting lessons I had never taken, training I was never given. Ancient runes appeared on the steel, glowing and pulsing with power.
“Come out little girl!” a deep voice called from the hallway.
My door was torn from its hinges. A figure stood there, easily eight feet tall, and definitely not human.
“There you are” it said, taking a step into my room.
I had sheathed the blade and hidden it under my blanket when I first heard the voice.
“You didn’t think we’d forgotten, now did you? You have his blood in your veins. The blood of a murderer” the thing was getting closer.
“Leave this place. Leave while I allow it” I said rather boldly, preparing to draw my weapon.
“But why would I do that?”
I racked my brain for ways to get rid of this thing. Surely I wouldn’t be able to kill it. At least, not yet anyway. And then it came to me.
“I can summon the light of the rising sun, your one weakness” I lied.
“Can you now? Well I wish to see this” It stopped walking.
“I don’t yet have the energy” I said, unsheathing the blade only halfway.
“Well that’s too bad in deed. I had hoped I could see your magic before I had to kill you. Life has always been such a disappointment though”
It reached a hand out to grab me, but the instincts kicked in again and I jumped up and over him, blade in hand, scabbard strapped to my waist. I did a tuck and roll into the doorway, standing to face the beast.
“It is, isn’t it?” and with that, I absconded.
“Why you little!!!” it bellowed, turning around to go after me.
Rather than go all the way down to the front door, I ran to my mom and dad’s bedroom. I grabbed the copy of Beowulf they had always kept on their dresser and a family portrait and stuffed them into the old rucksack my dad kept beside his desk. I had a feeling I would need them.
The thing, I suppose I should be calling it the Grendel, tromped after me.
“I will catch you child!” he screamed, finally coming to the door of the small room.
“Maybe someday,” I said, “but not today”
And with that, I jumped out the window, onto the roof of my mom’s minivan, and down to the ground. My feet hit the ground running, and they didn’t stop until the sun rose above me.
From that day to this, I’ve fought with the Grendel. It finds me each night, no matter how far ahead of it I’ve gotten, and we battle. Near the last moments of night, I run. He doesn’t follow. I’ve become a creature of the night, sleeping most of the day, only waking to eat or battle.
If you can help me, please do. I need it.
Thoughts?