This is a drabble; I own nothing.
Percy does not bear the Curse of Achilles in this fictional "story."
PERCY IS OUT OF CHARACTER.
There was no one to come barreling through the door to rescue you. You should have been worried—even frightened that you were alone in your time of need—but you found it ironic. How would anyone know that you need rescuing from yourself? You never went around sulking, looking ragged and tired. You played your part, and damn it, you played it well. You presented yourself with such vitality that nobody could question you. You were that kid—along with about a hundred others—who had attention deficit hyperactive disorder.
You never sat still. You simply couldn't.
No one—not even your supposed omniscient father—could have fathomed that you'd need protecting from yourself. We're our own worst enemies. You never thought that you would be yours. You imagined Kronos and Luke—Hades!— even Gabe Ugliano, to be your worst enemy. Not you.
You thought that you could make yourself numb. Numb from life. Numb from your seemingly bipolar girlfriend. Numb from the prospect of dying. You told everyone—even your girlfriend—that you would die for them without hesitation.
You lied. The supposed hero of Olympus is actually terrified of dying.
The scars heavily lace your arms. Staring down at the ragged rubicund lines, you laugh sardonically at yourself, thinking of the predicament you've put yourself into. You're a teenager attempting to deal with problems by making lacerations on your arms. Your forearms of all places.
It's so cliché you could kill yourself.
I'm terribly sorry for it being so short. I couldn't imagine it going on anymore.
I'm not sure if I'll add more to this or not.
ALSO, to those who are reading my story, Revival of the Soul, I am working on the next chapter. I'm still trying to figure out what direction I'd like to take Percy's emotions.
Thank you for reading this! I'd appreciate it if you would review saying if you'd like this to be turned into an actual story. :)
- Jia Marie