A Feeling of Madness

A Feeling of Madness

         Grendel, that’s the name they gave me. I have long since forgotten my real name. I hate those Danes with my entire existence. They look at me and only see a monster, and it’s probably true. I can’t tell anymore.
         I lay here now, dieing with a life full of regrets. My greatest regret is that no one will ever know my side of the story. If you are here reading this, I can at least  rest a little easier in my grave. Even a monster deserves one last request. Please hear me out.
         My life started off as any other child’s. I ran around; I played with others. I even dreamed of being a great thane like my father who was killed in a war. As I grew older, my friends began noticing things about me. Whenever I got hurt, I would not give any sign that I even felt it. My mother believed it to be a sign that I was destined to be the greatest thane ever.
         My condition grew as I did. Where I once could only ignore common cuts and scrapes, I could then ignore scar-forming injuries. My mother became ever prouder of me. “Oh, you’ll never lose to any other thane,” she would often tell me. I would soon find out that my uniqueness was no blessing.
         One day a wandering physician came to our village. I was fourteen at the time. The physician watched me duel from a distance. Per tradition, we were equipped with only a wooden sword and shield. At one point during the match, I broke my opponents weapon, and a large splinter flew into my upper left arm. I didn’t even realize until the physician pointed it out after the match.
         He asked if he could examine me. He said he would do it for free, so I agreed. During the exam, he asked me strange questions like if I itched a lot. The strangest part was that my answers were mostly yes.
         It didn’t take too long ,and afterwards, he had me sit down. “I have some very bad news for you. Upon reviewing your symptoms, My only conclusion is that you have an advanced case of leprosy,” he explained. “Your condition will continue to grow worse, and eventually, you won’t be able to feel anything,” he continued.
         “No, that can’t be right,” I told him.
         “Fine, don’t believe me. What do I know; I’m just a doctor,” he spat and then got up and stormed off toward the next town.
         His words continued to haunt me throughout the day. I walked into my lakeside house and told my mother of my strange encounter. “That is complete nonsense. You just have a unique ability. That’s all,” my mother insisted.
         A few years went by. I grew as adolescent boys are expected to. My condition grew worse as well. I had to start checking myself for cuts to prevent infections. Despite this, my skill in battle earned me the attention of many women. It was not long before I chose one. I can still remember the exact moment when my true downfall towards now began.
         It was our first kiss that started it all. I remember leaning towards her and pressing our lips, but I could not feel it. I held for a while, but I could not truly connect. This lack of connection filled me with great anger. I tried to not let it get to me, but although we tried to get closer, I only got farther away.
         My anger grew from within its hiding place. I feared I would die from all the anger raging through my veins. It was only a matter of time before my anger would no longer be able to hide.
         I was sitting in the empty mead hall. She walked up to me. I saw her put her hand on mine, but there  was nothing else. I looked up at her standing there. She raised her hand and rubbed my cheek. There was only emptiness until the anger exploded forth.
         I cannot remember all the details of what happened next, but I do remember standing over her dead body with the images of the murder filling my head. For the first time in many years, there was no emptiness. During the kill, I could actually feel something, and I wanted to feel more.
         I continued to kill more trying to keep it a secret, but eventually, I was discovered. I was brought forth to Hrothgar for my trial. My sentence was exile. I was never to return to the land of the Danes, but I eventually would with rage they had never known before.
         In exile, I stayed with my mother at our lakeside house. I stopped checking myself for injuries. My skin grew discolored and horrid. My hair grew raggedy, and my nails grew long and sharp. The exile only deepened my madness. I would have eventually killed myself had I not returned to the land of the Danes.
         By then, I was unrecognizable by anyone who had known, but I still came at night to not be seen. When I arrived, I saw Hrothgar had built a great mead hall. I knew it would be filled with many thanes. It was a perfect opportunity. I felt much that night. I would feel again for the next several years. I even had the pleasure of occasionally killing a few outsiders, but that was before he arrived.
         I entered the mead hall to see more thanes than there had been in many years. They were all asleep with drunkenness. I killed the closest one an outsider I did not recognize. I was about to move onto the next one, but someone grabbed me from behind. I turned to see his fist smash into his face. My head flew back, and I instantly knew that this was a man that was worth fighting even if I lost.
         I was about to start fighting back when I saw his blows crushing into my body. I wanted to scream out. How could it be? I finally found a worthy death, but I could not experience it. I couldn’t face anyone like that. I had to get out of there. I struggle to get free as he continued to pummel me.
         I eventually broke free, but it cost me my arm. I ran away stumbling. I could here the Danes cheering his name. “Beowulf, Beowulf, Beowulf,” they chanted.
         Now I lay here bleeding to death. If you are still reading this, I ask you one last favor. Find that great warrior Beowulf and tell him that we will have our true battle in the next life. Tell him that it is not from the monster Grendel but from the great young thane who lost his way because he could not feel his way through the dark.