I was never supposed to exist.

Well, as cliché and anticlimactic as it sounds, that's just it—I was never intended to live. I'm sure a good majority of people on this Earth would be more than happy to see me wiped off the face of the universe. A good number have actively tried to do so.

But, a tribute to my stubborn nature, I persisted on existing anyway.

No one deserves to die.

That sounds quite hypocritical, coming from me.

I've made a lot of mistakes in my life. My biggest one was being born.

My father never ceases to tell me. Don't get me wrong—my father is not mean or abusive. In fact, he loves me very much. But he'll often clench his fists in his hair and tell me that I've probably caused more trouble than I know. He'll describe, in no blunt terms, what horrible medical conditions I was born with. And how I survived them all, in a quiet, gradual way that's classic to me.

Then he'll hug me, say he's glad I lived, and ask me what we'd do today. We'd forget about the whole thing.

Or, in theory, we were supposed to forget.

The people of Buddhist religion believe that the balance of good and bad leads to what you will be in your next life, your reincarnation, your rebirth. Humans were of the highest order, while plants and pests were the lowest of the low. Eventually, you reach the peaceful state of a heaven-like dream, dubbed Nirvana.

I'm not a Buddhist, of course—it's impossible to be (or at least became impossible at twelve years of age), but if I was seen through a Buddhist's eyes, they might assume that I'd done reasonably well in my past life. After all, I'm a human being without any visible diseases or blemishes. Around other people in the regular school surrounding, they'll see I have a reasonably sizeable circle of friends that exchange nonsense freely and go off on random tangents like nobody's business.

Obviously, these people don't know the first thing about me.

At first glance, being a human might show a good tally from my past life.

Let's just say I'd rather be the plant.

I hate cows.

Yes, I know, weird statement. But I do hate them, and there's no turning back.

There's this girl that loves cows with every fiber of her being. She's in my class.

She's an obvious idiot.

If I told the world in general that cows haunt me every second of the day and happen to be my worst fear, the world would laugh in my sorry face.

Hahahahaha. You just wait, world.

I hate cows.

But I'm about to hate the world, too.

This is told in the view of four different demigods.

This is a prologue, but I won't start this multi-chap until I finish the last chapter of "A Chatroom Fit for the Gods." It's almost done, but knowing my procrastinating nature…

At any rate, if this hooks you, put it on your Story Alert.

This story is dedicated to my friend, Brittany, who (hopefully) won't find this before her birthday. She specifically told me that for her birthday, she wanted a "PJO story without using any of Riordan's characters." Happy Birthday, Brittzles! (No, I won't stop calling you that.)

Reviews are always very welcome. Even flames.