I don't own nothing to do with this. (Percy J. that is.)
Just a little something that came to me in class. Kinda weird, but it's the first thing I've managed to write in days. :P
Long after Percy, Annabeth, and their friends have died...
There's a knife lying on the table in the Athena weapon shed, celestial bronze with a worn sheath and a handle polished from many uses, it lies there, gathering dust. Many new half-bloods have entered the shed since it was placed there, young demi-gods with no knowledge of the recent history of their kind. They have picked up the knife and held it, blowing off the dust and turning it over in their palms, and they have asked its name and heard its tale. They listen in silence, and their eyes grow wide, and when the story is done they place the weapon back in its place on the table and move on. They choose another weapon, a weapon whose history is quieter, and they leave the shed, knowing that the knife has no name but the Cursed Blade.
Hundreds of young half-bloods have entered and left the shed, each one drawn first to the dusty shape of that same knife, as though called to hear its tale. But each one leaves the knife behind, knowing that it is not meant for their hands. And so the Cursed Blade remains in the old shed, awaiting the day when a demi-god will arrive who will lift it from its place and listen to the story, and who will not replace it upon the table but instead usheath it and gaze upon the blade that reaped the soul of a hero, a half-blood who will accept its history and its prophecy-given name, and who will put it once more to the purpose for which it was meant.
So, whatcha think?... No flames, thanks, though what there is to flame here I don't know... just don't do it anyway. Thanx! ~Seeker