English 12 A Portfolio
By truby, Updated
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As night descends and blackness engulfs the land casting the castle into shadows Grendel becomes curious about the warriors and he creeps stealthily into the castle hall after dark.
The tired men sprawled carelessly about the halls, strewn sleeping comfortably, snoring loudly, dreaming, peacefully unaware to the deathly dangers looming before their sleeping frames waiting to pounce.
Grendel quietly yet quickly rips through 30 of the resting warriors not stopping to saver any pleasure from the blood gushing from their veins splashing to the floor, slashing and smashing them from their beds before dragging them off to his layer leaving only a trial of dripped blood.
Grendel trudged excitedly back with the weight of 30 slaughtered men pressing on his shoulders, laughing at what he had just accomplished as the sticky, shiny, wet blood of his victims slithered slowly down his back painting it a happy blood red.
As dawn breaks and the dull sunbeams shine bright through the beautiful glass window panes illuminating the castle hall Herot wakes to spy Grendel's terrifying work of blood and pain strewn about carelessly sticking out, contrasting with the everyday beauty of the old brick castle. With moods to match the gray and hollow dawn Herot and his men wept for their lost loves and companions.
The King and his surviving warriors sat crying and mourning their losses in fear, fear of the monstrous blood spilling demon demon that slipped into their safe haven undetected and brutally attacked and slaughtered so many men who were just like them without making a single sound loud enough to wake those surrounding the fallen, fearing it may come again.
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