When I first saw the goat boy I was scared. In an orphanage like that you always had to be wary. He grabbed my arm and pulled me away from my lonely spot on the port racks. Telling me it was important. I looked into his eyes. He was telling the truth.
He took me to the old playground, where no one went anymore and told me that I was special, the daughter of a Greek god or goddess. I laughed at him, I told him not to be crazy. If there was any gods they would have to be pretty fucked up to let the world come to the state it was in now. Pretty fucked up to let my father beat me so many times my face had been turned into a horrendous mask of ugliness.
I walked away and left him standing there with a worn out look on his face, like he had done this a million times and was just tired. I thought of walking back. I had a bad feeling about him though, so I walked away. I didn't look back.
. . . .
She looks up with eyes full of so much sadness for a girl as young as her, her golden blond hair matted with blood as red as her father's fist as it punches her already wounded side. Again and again and again, to her it seems like a cycle that will never end.
. . . .
The goat boy would always come up to me at lunch, dinner and every time I was within a kilometres radius of him. Always with the same words, you're special, important and the one that worried me the most, you're the daughter of a Greek god, I can help you. The thing that worried me was that whenever I looked into those chocolate eyes I saw only the truth.
One day he took me away from class and told me we had to leave, now. I didn't question it, the girls had been looking at me even stranger than normal and had seemed to take on an almost unnatural paleness. He dragged me away from the cruel orphanage that had been my home since I was seven years old. I was happy to see that fucked up place behind me.
. . . .
Her screams echo through the house as pain runs through her body. She wishes someone could save her like in the pretty fairytales she used to read, but she has realised that fairytales don't come true.
. . . .
He pulled me along at an almost unhuman like speed. All the while talking while he went. I could barely understand anything he was saying except for enchiladas and coffee. He kept looking behind him as if there was something following us. Soon it seemed that we had reached our destination as he stopped and told me to get behind the sign that said in large dignified letters "Camp Half-Blood." I looked at him with confusion and he told me,
"Don't worry everything will be okay from now on."
That was his first lie.
. . . .
Whenever someone lied she could see it. It deprived her of innocence and let her see the true nature of the world. Something no one should have to see.
. . . .
The next few months were a kind of torture to me. Everywhere I went it seemed people weren't looking at me; they were looking just above my head, waiting for a sign that didn't come.
Some people would start conversations with me. I guess they were trying to be nice, but I knew what people were capable and only provided them with one word answers and after a while they just stopped bothering with me.
Then one day after so long of hoping, I was claimed, and it did nothing to help. People had been thinking that maybe I was special, the daughter of a big god and not just a minor one. But instead of the applause everyone else got when they were claimed all I got was a slight sighing like this whole thing was getting boring. It filled me with such resentment that I knew they would have to pay.
. . . .
To her pain was a necessary part of life. After enduring through so much her only sanctuary was the gentle voice that soothed her in her dreams,
"In this world, my daughter, the only thing that matters is the truth."
And the girl believed it, so young and naive.
. . . .
I walked into the kitchen with as much enthusiasm of a person sent off to the guillotine. I had been sent to the kitchens to do clean up after calling that stupid Percy Jackson kid a fuck head. Everyone thought he was perfect but I noticed all the snide comments he gave me. But even though I probably would have done it even if I didn't want to be sent here I did it on purpose so I could work in the kitchens, to require some... implements. I saw what I wanted and quickly grabbed it and made a run for it.
. . . .
Her tears fall softly onto the floor; she notes that they are like little puddles into her soul.
. . . .
I sat down on my bed in the Hermes cabin knowing that this is the only thing that I could do. But I still regretted they would never know why I did it so I quickly grabbed a piece of paper and put my thoughts down.
Dear whoever the hell is reading this
Well I guess this is it. Maybe if you had accepted me for who I was instead of who my mother was we wouldn't be in this situation, but you did so we are. I know I'll go to the fields of punishment for this, but I seriously don't care anymore. Goodbye
From the lowly daughter of Alathea
I look at the knife, glinting maliciously in my hand. I wonder if this is the right thing to do, but I don't give my mind a chance to question itself. I plunge the knife into my side and in a way, it takes the pain of my life away.
. . . .
Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
A/N: Where did this come from? Seriously I have no idea, I was feeling angsty and this was born. Tell me if it's bad, or good. Thanks for reading :)