Disclaimer: I don't own PJO. I, however, do own this weird storyline.
It was too white. Too clean. In every direction he turned to, he was faced with a blank wall. No colours, nothing. Just white. The strong smell of sterilizer was strong enough to make him gag. Nurses in white uniforms bustled about with various strange medicines in their hands. Visitors were holding white flowers as they walked about in confusion, trying to find their way around this maze. Even the soldiers or prisoners of this place were clad in white as they moved down the corridors in wheelchairs and other contraptions. It made him want to find a bucket to throw up in. The change in scenery was nauseating. That, and the realization of what just happened. He wasn't crying, surprisingly. Why did he, when the sky was already doing so for him, letting its tears run down the clear, clean glass windows? Mourning was not the useless and meaningless tears. It was about remembering the pain. And the hole of absence that left a dull ache in his chest was already more than he could bear.
"Would you like to say goodbye? She can still hear, you know," a nurse smiled. Her entire face was coated with so much make-up, he was pretty sure her plastic smile was permanently stuck in that position. Of course she can, he thought bitterly. Mom will hear everything no matter what. Nodding wordlessly, he reached out and let his small, slender hand rest on her large, calloused one. "Mom," he whispered. The heart monitors beeped once, and stopped. It was almost as though she had been waiting for him to say that one more time before she left.
The room was silent, but the whispers in his head rose to a roar. It was all his fault. All of it. Maybe it was better if he said nothing. He was a curse, after all. He ought to remain silent.
The small, smooth stone fell into the water with a small splash. The pale green leaves rustled along with what little wind there was. Every tiny sound was amplified and pounded in his head. He remembered how they would sit by the very same pond and have a mini competition on who could hear the most sounds. He would always win. The ironic thing about this was that the deaf was the one who heard more.
His small, delicate fingers reached behind his ears and adjusted the knob in his hearing aids. Soft footfalls could be heard, gradually growing louder. He spun around and their eyes met. "Hey Tyson." His voice was soft and gentle. As it always was when talking to him. "You found your way."
The boy, now dubbed as Tyson, nodded enthusiastically. "Found my way," he echoed. He paused for a moment and added, "Percy. Brother." A proud smile worked its way up the older boy's face.
"That's right." Percy's arm was now wrapped around the shoulders of his younger brother. "You remembered."
He fingered with his hearing aids. And then there was silence.
It was clean and orderly. The plants on the balcony were neatly pruned. The cream coloured walls showed no mark. On the outside, it was perfect. On the inside, not so much.
"Stand up straight!" she barked. The girl jumped up and stood up tall, feet aligned, back straightened. She was the epitome of perfect. Dark hair was braided neatly and fell just at the centre of her back, not a strand out of place. Her dress covered her knees and her shoes were shining, gleaming. But her eyes were different. Broken, empty, hollow, angry, fearful. It told of so much pain and despair she could hardly take it anymore. She felt like her house—neat on the outside, hopeless and messed up on the inside. The girl was grateful that her was not in such a bad mood today. She was usually worse. Maybe because she didn't drink too heavily the previous night.
"I see you're still a slob," the woman sniffed. "Tidy up the mess! Now!" she gestured to the spotless room wildly. I take that back, the girl thought. She is definitely drunk. "I'll be back before midnight! And I don't want to see this mess." The front door slammed and she slid to the ground helplessly. A tiny photograph slid out of her pocket. She glanced around anxiously, bright blue eyes inspecting every corner of the room as though there might be hidden cameras hidden around. The picture was placed back into her pocket again.
Sighing, she opened the window and crawled out, her feet hanging off the ledge she was sitting on. No, she did not want this anymore. She could not take this anymore. Maybe she could pack her bags and leave now, finding a job, sleeping in a shelter, bunking with all the other homeless guys on the street.
It sounded a whole lot better than what she was going through now. Anything would.
Making up her mind, she leaned back as far as she could, grab whatever clothes and money she could reach. Then taking a deep breath, she jumped. Right into the fog.
The house was silent once more.
I'm a horrible person and I just have to procrastinate. I WILL finish my other stories but I just had to do this. Sorry.
please review!
-tomatohunter