Heya! I'm Luna and i love the percy jackson series! I am starting to write this fan fiction and was wondering if you guys could read and tell me whether it was good, and if i should continue! Thanks! It's about a demigod getting to camp half blood, and meeting percy at the end of the book. It's a prequel to the percy jackson series. Enjoy!
Chapter I
My mother is the one who gave me this diary. I don't really like the ruby red leather cover, but the elaborate flowery golden pattern is quite beautiful. That is the reason I finally decided to write my story, once I'd gotten the courage to. Yet, I don't know where to start. To let you know, I'm sitting alone in the mess hall at camp; with the pen Annabeth gave me in my hand, and a look of worry on my face. Writing isn't really my thing; Annabeth's cabin would be fit to do these things, but I'm giving it a try. I promised to my mother I would. So here we go.
Wait! One last thing, I wasn't expecting any of this to happen – I'd rather pretend this is a fictional story. It'd make it easier for both you and I.
Imagine row-to-row houses, wall-to-wall carpeting and a young girl who has nothing else to do on her weekends. Now, imagine a horrible life, no friends, no mom at home and a dad who's working 24/7. Well, he didn't exactly work all the time…but it seemed that way anyway. I had thought I was living quite a miserable life at the time, but sometimes I wish I could trade that life for the life-risking one I have now. But that's the old me. No longer do I want to deliberately end my days. No longer do I think that way.
My father wasn't home until a few hours. I decided that was enough time to make an account on this social network so I could talk to my only friend. If you count Amy Watterson as a friend. As soon as I joined, I was trying to decipher some words on my computer screen, but my dyslexia didn't help. After a few minutes I was searching people up. I posted several comments, and things along those lines when I received my first notification. Sadly, it came from the school bully – Liv Smith. The sound of her name disgusts me. She replied to my comment saying, "Nobody likes you Rosa. You should delete your account; no one would ever follow you anyway. I mean, look at you! You're pathetic." My cheeks turned scarlet, but no worries, I wasn't blushing, I was angry. I posted another comment in reply to hers. "Ha. Well you don't have any real friends anyway." I was proud with my comeback. But soon I wasn't so much. "Rosa, nor do you." Her comment got 15 likes almost immediately. I got up too fast and broke the chair I was sitting on. That chair had been through a lot, so it was already slightly falling apart.
Then the bad plan came to mind. The bad plan is the nickname I give to the idea I got a random day when I was 9. It consists of 3 steps: get a kitchen knife, slit your wrists and wait to bleed yourself to death. Yeah, what a bad plan, I think. But I felt so angry after what Liv said, and how she was right: I had no friends. Truth hurts. Though I couldn't stop my legs, walking down the stairs to the kitchen. I couldn't stop myself from looking in the drawer and taking the biggest and pointiest knife I could take. It was like my mind and muscles wanted different things. My mind was saying that this was ridiculous, that I would never get the guts to actually cut myself. Nevertheless, my hands gripped the handle of the knife, my fingers fumbling to find a better position, before wielding it over my wrists. Then I stood in this awkward position, waiting for my hand to make the move, understanding the consequences of my act. I decided to make a list of who really cared about me in this world. Not the silly fake friends who would shed fake tears at my funeral, if they even went. My dad…somewhat cared. He loved my mother so much. Yet she disappeared a few days after my birth. Something about not being able to live life in this form. I never understood how it is imaginable to abandon your baby with the father, empty handed. Dad told me she was his world, and when she left, everything fell apart. I feel like I shouldn't deserve to live, I'm just a pain in the neck, as my dad would say. With all these thoughts in mind, I forget I'm trying to kill myself! I fail at following three simple steps. Only step one completed in the end of the day. Somehow I put in mind the thought of putting down the knife back in it's place, going upstairs and trying to fix the chair and delete my account on this social network. I was pretty sure I'd done it, very sure. Until I suddenly drop the knife over my wrist, and it cuts me without me meaning to. I forgot to mention I was terrified of blood. I begin to panic.
I watch the blood spilling out of my wrist, gashing from the open wound. The thing is, I end up cutting myself when I don't want to. It's almost ironic, and I open my mouth to laugh, but instead a groan escapes me. The pain is inevitable. My eyes get all watery and the tears spill out my eyes and down my cheeks. Stop being a little girl, I tell myself. First of all, I've done step two. And I can't clear up all this mess and pretend nothing happened. This time I will persist. I pick up the knife my right hand, un-sure how to slit my right wrist. I move my left hand, and pain causes me to cry out in the empty house. I wield the knife in my left hand, and drop it on my right wrist, causing it to violently cut. Then the blood starts to spill out, and I look at both my wrists, and the blood littering the kitchen floor, and I start to laugh.
I don't know how long I'm laughing until I realize it's not funny at all. My legs are lead and I crash onto the ground with my knees. It hurts but I barely feel it. I draw designs with my finger in the pool of blood now surrounding me. All of a sudden, my head throbs. Aches. I feel terribly light-headed. "Uh. Goodbye." Are my last words before passing out. My last memory of that day is my clothes soaking wet in my own pool of blood.
Hi! Please write a review below, I will be posting second chapter in a few days, cuz I need to write!