He sat up with a jolt, not remembering anything he had been dreaming.
He knew it was something important, but as soon as he came close, the memory slipped away like slime. He soon realized he was forgetting something else as well, something far more important.
Where am I? Wait, scratch that. Who am I?
He didn't know, and that scared him.
Hoping that it would give him some clue, he surveyed his surroundings, waiting for anything that would give him an idea. He was on an old, rickety bench (Quite an uncomfortable one, considering his very sore back), overlooking a familiar looking pier.
Alright, he thought, Maybe I'm some homeless kid.
That seemed pretty likely. Looking down at his clothes, he was wearing a pair of very battered looking pajamas. The pants, he realized with a blush, were dark blue and covered with…yellow rubber duckies. He mentally face palmed himself.
Really? Ducks?
He was in the process of wondering what 16 year-old (At least…assumed he was that old) in his right mind would wear duck pajamas in public, when a gruff voice shouted, "Oi! You! Duck Boy!"
'Duck Boy' snapped to attention, a bit embarrassed to be addressed that way. A scruffy man was limping towards him, sporting a crooked yellow smile and a rag-tag collection of cloth. He seemed more amused than angry, to 'Duck Boy's' obvious relief.
"I don't think I've ever seen you around before. You new?" The man asked. His breath was particularly unpleasant.
"I, uh, don't know. I just woke up here," he replied truthfully. The man nodded understandingly.
"Ah, I see," He looked Duck Boy up and down. "You seem a bit young to be getting into that…"
"What are you….oh," Duck Boy winced. "Uh, I don't think…."
"No, it's alright. No need to explain yourself to an old hobo like me. I've had my share," He laughed, like ah, memories! "So, unless you want to be forever referred to as Duck Boy, could you be so kind as to tell me your name?"
"Uh…" he searched his brain feverishly, but came up with nothing. So he made something up. "Peter…Johnson."
For some reason, that name rang a bell. He knew it wasn't his actual name, no, that much he was sure of. The pain in his head intensified.
The man looked thoughtful. "Peter Johnson, eh? Cool name," He looked as if he didn't quite believe that.
"Well, If you ever need anything, my name is Gordo," He winked, before limping away.
Well, that was strange, he thought, getting up and walking the opposite way, towards the street.
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Okay, Peter decided as he walked though the city, I seriously need some new clothes.
All the while, people were staring and laughing at him, and it was getting pretty annoying. He had already gathered that he was in San Francisco, which came with a strange sense of foreboding that he didn't understand. Every molecule of his body him that he wasn't supposed to be here, but he trudged along anyway.
After a while, he came across a thrift store that, like everything here, seemed to be very familiar. Hoping to god he had some money, he shoved his hands in his pockets. His right hand pulled out a bunch of useless things. A battered ballpoint pen, a couple of large gold coins (he was sure those wouldn't fit in any of the vending machines. Shame.), a crumpled piece of paper, and some fuzz. He shoved it all back in his pocket.
His left pocket had been more promising. There was a wallet! A wallet! He didn't know why he would go to bed with his wallet in his pocket, but he didn't question it.* He opened it greedily, only finding about 15 dollars a couple pennies. That was it. No drivers license, no credit cards, not even an old receipt. What he did find, was a picture. He slipped it out of his wallet, staring at it. It was a picture of what he assumed to be himself, and some girl. The girl was pretty, with curly blonde hair and gray eyes, but she looked bettered and bruised. Nonetheless, the pair was smiling goofily at the camera, as if they had just won the lottery. He had his arm around the girl, he realized with a jolt.
His headache returned again, and he had to look away. He knew that girl, and this place was somehow tied to her.
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He was glad to be out of his pajamas. Now he was wearing plain old jeans, and a green t-shirt. Granted, they were a bit battered, but he chose to ignore that. He now felt less like a dork. He still had a good amount of money left, so he stopped inside a convenient store and bought a cheap backpack and some snacks. He had no idea where he was going, but he thought it best to be prepared. He found a park bench near the store, and sat down next to a sharp looking girl. She had straight, shoulder-length auburn hair, and stormy grey eyes that reminded him a lot of the girl from the picture. As he took out the picture, he realized that the girl next to him looked a lot like the girl from the photo. He decided to say hello.
"Hey," he said, feeling stupid.
She looked up from her…cell phone? It didn't exactly look like one.
"Hi," she said curtly, before looking returning to her cell phone.
Okay, he thought, rude.
He returned to staring at the picture in his hand. Squinting, he realized that he and girl both sported identical streaks of gray hair. He blinked. How could that be? Tentatively, he reached up into his hair. His fingers closed around an odd feeling strand, and he pulled it in front of his eyes.
Sure enough, it was gray. He wondered why he would've dyed his hair gray, and why the girl would've too.
Suddenly, the girl beside him stiffened.
On impulse, Peter did as well.
The girl slipped her cell phone out of her pocket, and held it out in front of her. Peter's hand flew to his pocket as well, but he didn't know why.
Suddenly, there was a sharp growl, a something with glowing red eyes burst out of the trees.
Okay, First in my major, extreme, total rewrite of this story (the real reason I haven't updated).
I apologize for the shortness, but I felt the need to end it there. The next rewrites willl be better.
Yes, I did write out Jay and Delaine. They were to flat.
Virtual cookie to whoever can guess who and what the girl is, as well as what Gordo is.
*Can you guess why Percy would go to sleep with his wallet in his pocket?