Wake up, Dear

Short Story

Wake up, Deary

The rushing wind blows through my hair as my jaded eyes open slowly. My hands brush through the thick grass under them. Not a single sound heard as the smell of nature warms my body. A man next to me suddenly jumps in surprise. He perks up and bellows out, “Jolly oh! You are awake, finally. No time to sit and dilly dally. We need to run into town before she leaves without us, again.” He pulls at my arm as his face flashes in my mind. I mumble to myself, “Doctor, where are we?” The man, named The Doctor, hoists me up onto my own feet. He replies to my question, “Why, we are walking on the grass of the early Middle Ages. The year is 450 A.D., in the Danish island of Zealand, to correct myself.” The Doctor pulls at my arm beginning to walk towards a decent sized town a mile away from us. With my mind still slightly in shock I continue to walk with him. I apparently misplaced my shoes as my feet cut through the harsh dirt and soft grass fields. As the town grows closer and closer, the aroma of bread swarms my taste buds. With my mind determined to feast on bread, I run past my companion and head to one of the olden stalls filled with bread. The Doctor and I enjoy our time in the village until it grows dark. Standing in front of a beautiful architectural building, most probable a mead-hall, I grow tired. The soft and quiet breeze flows through my bare ankles and dirt covered feet. The smell of beer and sound of drunken men withered. “Doctor, this does not feel right. This land, growing quieter and quieter, scares me.” He begins to sniff the air furiously. The man searches around the whole building listening in. Without warning he pushes through the wooden, and full of splinters, doors.  “The Doctor is here to save you,” he roars with an over abundant amount of courage. With dismay and shock in my voice I yell out to him, “Oi! Doctor, what…” I, I believe not my own eyes. Instead of the strong smell of liquor and the sight of jolly men bustling around tables, I saw them all cowering. With blood on the ground, a man with no armour on, battles a wild demon beast. I know this story. I whisper in dismay, “Grendel...” The Doctor began to turn around and run before I realized what we created. The mammoth of a creature, instead of fighting Beowulf, turns to my shocked eyes. He heard my whispering voice. No one expected a lady to walk into this. With a stir in pace, Grendel broke free of Beowulf before he ripped his arm off. Our eyes meet with each heartbeat. I stand in fright at his high stature and warm breath close to my own. My lips repeat in astonishment, “Grendel...” I stand in shock. Amazement swept over my eyes as I caught an earth-shattering moment, yet wrecked history forever. I hear his rapid breathing ringing through my ears like church bells. The smell of blood and sweat drip down onto the floor from his face. I taste my own fear, dry on lips. I reach out to touch his pale and bloodied skin. My arm reaches out to touch his face. My fingers draw nearer, I almost jerk back, as his hand grasps my own. I scream in panic as I fight his grasp, “Grendel!” I look into his eyes as his mouth opens to speak. He mutters, “Wake up, deary.” Everything turns dark and cold. Everything turns comfy and like a bed. I gasp and jolt up to open my eyes to my own room. Blue fuzzy covers run through my shaking fingers as the smell of waffles downstairs swell my taste buds. I examine my room and to my amazement see my school book Beowulf lying next to me. Suddenly, the images of last night, of me falling asleep reading procrastinated homework, made everything make sense. I whisper, “Grendel…” The cold wind, coming from the fan, rush through my hair as my jaded eyes ponder for only a moment.