The trapdoor creaks open. Instantly, a reptilian scent hangs in the air. The Oracle sits peacefully somewhere in here, out of sight for now. Surrounding the girl are hero trophies, claws, fuzzy dice, and swords. If only she were here to place something like that into the attic, something that deserved its place in the attic. That would have been nice. But she isn't. She's here for something else. She doesn't like it, but it belongs here. It's still a haunting artifact. Like the fuzzy dice, there's a story to go with it, a puzzle piece of another demigod's quest.
Hot pink and silky, it looks out of place in the dark and dreary environment. A faint pink glow surrounds it, in contrast to the dust clinging to the other objects. It holds just as many memories. Just as much importance is contained in it. Maybe more. It certainly holds an interesting story, complete with the usual fast-food restaurant visit paid for by the god of war, and the arrow-shooting cupids. The memory makes her smile for a short minute at the way she thinks of it. The cheery expression quickly fades to its previous expression of seriousness. Keep focused.
It's best to get it over with. Why prolong the pain? The reason she's here is to withdraw the memory from her brain. It's the very last thing she needs on her mind. This is just holding it out. It's best just to let go. It's over, and far from the present. The stupid piece of fabric means nothing at the moment, so why hold onto it? It belongs here, with all of the other memories no one wants. It's up here, to collect dust, to shrink away to the back of the shelf, to the back of her mind.
Something keeps her hand glued to the silk. Is because it the very reason she came here is too awful to follow through on? She doesn't want to be one of the half-bloods that never could become anything because their emotions hold them back. Maybe, if she were a true hero, she could live with the memories. She could live with what happened this summer. It would be in the past, and she could go on to become something great—an architect perhaps. And she could just leave the scarf in her cabin, and be perfectly okay with the past.
The memories cling tightly to the back of her mind, singing of the horrors she has seen. They stick to her thoughts. Every last moment of the summer is being relived, and there is no escape. Finally, her grip loosens on the silk piece of fabric she's been gripping so tightly. It slips through her hands, and lands gracefully on the floor, on top of a tooth brought to camp by James Keller in 1959. She kneels down and places a white note-card on it. And all that's left of the summer now is her camp T-shirt and her recollections.
So, it's over. Her only reminder now is the orange T-shirt (which seems a shade more blinding) and her own reminiscences, neither of which she plans holding tight to. The attic seems too far away to be thought about. No one will be reminded of it again. The slip of paper will remain forever unread. It will be out of everyone's thoughts, and the summer will be as far from their thoughts as Miami from camp. That will be it. Not one of the quest members will see the scarf again. It will never cause any more pain. It's over.
Scarf of the Goddess Aphrodite
Recovered at Waterland, Denver, Co.
By Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson
The handwritten words on the note-card look just as they had when she left it there, aside from some fading. They seem a thousand times more piercing, however. She thought that would be the last time she ever saw them. She always thought the note-card and scarf would be forever out of sight and out of mind. She should be been at peace with it by now. She isn't. But, the scarf is in the past, and, while the words may sting, it's over.
AN: This must be an over-done thing. I mean, who hasn't been in a slight romance mood every now and then. This is the result. Obviously, romance (however minor) is not my strong point. But, hey, that's the mood I'm in right now, so I figure it's better to let it out and be productive than to try and write something else and write either nothing or a lot of junk. This falls under the first category, but it's also pretty lame. I know. I figured it was worth a shot. i don't know how this idea came to my mind, but I wanted to do something with 100 words, but I thought that this whole story would be shorter than the average chapter (even if it were a short chapter), but longer than 100 words. So, this came to mind with an awful slogan, which I'm too ashamed of to share with you, and I challenged myself to do that. Anyway, the repeptition of "it's over" is purposeful, so if you thought they were just there because I had nothing else to say, they aren't. i don't lke its extension to nother part, though. I might fix that later. I'm not sure how IC it is, so if that's a problem, please tell me if it is and how to fix it, so it no longer is. Well, another story, another awkward author's note's end.
-Lexi
PS: The part in bold from the note-card is from the third book, and therefore is property of Rick Riordan, not me, as do many other things in this story. Consider that my pathetic disclaimer for this story.