I don't own the Percy Jackson series or To Beat the devil. The series belongs to Rick Riodan and the song to Kris Kristofferson.

My name is Will Campbell, son of Apollo, a demigod and country singer. Being the son of Apollo has it's benefits in the music career, what with Dad being the god of music. It has definitely helped my career, but I remember a time I wasn't so lucky. Listen, and I will tell you the story.

It was winter time in Nashville, and I was looking for a place to eat, drink, or make a little bit of money. To warm the frozen feeling of depression that was eating at me, and to get the biting wind off my guitar, it could freeze and break. I had no way to buy another guitar either. I was hungry, I wanted beans, but I was thirsty too, and for that I wanted whiskey. You know, something good to wash away your troubles, make your forget about today, and not care about tomorrow. Unfortunately It had been a month since I last got paid, and I was down to my last 50 dollars.

So with an empty stomach and a pocket full of nothing but hope, I let go of what little pride I still had and stepped inside a bar. Actually, I guess you'd call it a tavern; cigarette smoke hung in the air, and there were piles of sawdust on the floor. At the bar there was just an old man, wrinkly and white haired, but in the mirror I could see him looking at me and my guitar. Then he turned, and I thought that he was going to tell me to get out and go. Instead he said, "Come up here boy, let's see how you are."

I coughed, "My throat's a little dry, I can't sing like this." He chuckled and bought me a beer. He nodded at my guitar and said," That's must be a tough life." I just looked at him. "You haven't made any money have you?"

I was surprised, how did this old man know I hadn't any money? "You've been reading my mail," I accused, for it was true, I was in bills up to my ears.

He just smiled and said, "Can I see that guitar? I've got something you need to hear." I nodded reluctantly and handed the guitar over. Then the old man began to sing:

If you waste your time a-talkin' to the people who don't listen, To the things that you are sayin', who do you think's gonna hear. And if you should die explainin' how the things that they complain about, Are things they could be changin', who do you think's gonna care?"
There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind, Who were crucified for what they tried to show. And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time. 'Cos the truth remains that no-one wants to know.

The old man was a stranger, but I'd heard that song before. Back when I was just starting singing as a career, when no-one believed I could do it, and loneliness was a constant companion, for my siblings and I never asked for help with our careers.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice the old man leaving. Now that I look back on it however, I realize that he just disappeared, literally. They say the devil haunts a hungry man, and I know this to be true, for I've met him. But If you don't want to join him, you've got to beat him. I refused to give in to the devil, but I aint saying I've beat him. I did drink his beer for nothing though. Then I borrowed his song with out asking:

And you still can hear me singin' to the people who don't listen, To the things that I am sayin', prayin' someone's gonna hear. And I guess I'll die explaining how the things that they complain about, Are things they could be changin', hopin' someone's gonna care.
I was born a lonely singer, and I'm bound to die the same, But I've got to feed the hunger in my soul. And if I never have a nickel, I won't ever die ashamed. 'Cos I don't believe that no-one wants to know.

So that's the story, and I still don't believe that no one wants to know what they're missing.

What did you guys think?