Ian Gibson
Mod 4a
10/17/2006
BEOWULF INTERIOR MONLOGUE
      “My hands alone shall fight for me, struggle for life against the monster.” With 
Beowulf’s bold declaration began a heroic tale of monstrous proportions, full of fear and 
bravery. I was one of the few who were fortunate enough to witness Beowulf’s fight with 
Grendel and survive to tell the tale.
	I was just a young man of barely 16 then, an apprentice of Beowulf. My weak 
frame was a sore source of many jokes and taunts aimed my way – even my parents 
joined in on the laughter, naming me Wynaelf – “feeble elf”. Only Beowulf supported me 
and my quest for greatness. 
	“Wynaelf, come join us!” my master beckoned. He was seated near the great 
Hrothgar at the head of the tables, surrounded my many large, fearless warriors. I hurried 
to Beowulf’s side, bowing my head in his presence.
	“Look up, my son!” he bellowed. “Why the sorrow and sadness in your eyes?” 
	I raised my eyes to his and muttered, “My lord, I fear for your safety – Grendel is 
a great monster with many dead men in his past.” Beowulf studied my face for a second 
and then let loose a hearty laugh.
	“Do not worry – tonight I shall defeat this disgrace of God and restore honor to 
Herot, Hrothgar, and Denmark!” he declared, his men quickly launching into a furious 
battle-cry. I could not help but to join them, the mood so merry and joyous. We all drank 
furiously that night, knowing that a clash of men would come soon enough. It was late in 
the night by the time everyone had settled into deep sleep except for myself and Beowulf 
– fear and nerves kept us awake.
	Near the dead of the darkness came upon us a sound of deep breathing, barely 
audible above the snores and grunts of deep dreaming. Suddenly the door was flung open 
with a great banging and a menacing giant of figure loomed in the moonlight. I jumped at 
the sight and sound of the monster known only as Grendel – Beowulf remained still as 
can be, determined to pretend as if he was sleeping. A retched howl tore through the hall 
shaking the plates, cups, tables, swords, and stones scattered about Herot. Grendel began 
to quickly snatch up the men and break their souls. I huddled to myself, fearing death or 
worse. 
	The third man Grendel attempted to snatch was our battle-decorated hero. 
Beowulf leaped up and grasped the giant with his bare hands, attempting to wrestle 
Grendel to the ground. Clasped in each others arms, the hero and villain seemed to meld 
into a colossal figure tearing about Herot. A tremendous crack was heard after a few 
moments and Beowulf stepped into the light – I could clearly see the arm of the monster 
in his hands.
	Grendel, blood-covered, stumbled backwards through the doorway. He quickly 
shuffled off into the darkness, moaning and groaning along the way. 
	I rushed to Beowulf’s side. “My lord, you have defeated the beast!” His gaze 
followed the creature as it disappeared, his jaw clenched and face ablaze with tenacity.
	“To Hrothgar, to Herot!” he screamed as he thrust the bloody, mangled arm into 
the air. The men of the hall cheered for our hero, our great warrior, our savior – our 
Beowulf.