Beowulf and Fenrir
I am Beowulf. Son of Beowulf. Father of Beowulf. I will defeat this monster that they call Fenrir with just my bare hands. As I am walking toward the cave, I see the underworld through the crevice in the earth. The first thing I see are two black eyes staring right at me. I am not scared. I am Beowulf. It’s head is the size of a 10 story apartment building. I am not scared. I am Beowulf. Its claws are the size of a flagpole. Its teeth are each the size of a mailbox. The fur is the blackest black I have seen in my life. I call out to the monster, “I am Beowulf, son of Beowulf, father of Beowulf, and you shall die today!” He roars with intense anger as his eyes turn a fiery red. I jump as high as I can, and land right on his eye. It’s the size of a wrecking ball. I place my hands on the gooey, sticky eyeball and at that exact moment, the monster screamed a terrible, horrible scream. The monster shriveled up and started convulsing. Over, over and over again. As I stood back, the crevice to the underworld opened up. The monster fell, and fell, and fell. It is finished, my job is finally done. I start to hear another faint noise. A much deeper growling. A figure ten times the size of Fenrir rises out of the Underworld with a hungry, starved look on its face.