Rachel's dreams had never been normal. Every since she was an infant, terrible images flashed before her eyes very time she closed them. Usually she could forget about them by blaring music from her iPod. She could make them disappear when they were on canvas.

But, now Rachel couldn't let go of her dreams. No matter how many pictures she painted, no matter how loud she played her crazy music, she couldn't rid herself of the terrifying visions. They were even more vivid now, too. It was all because of that weird boy she met at Hoover Dam. The one who had swung a sword at her had caused this. "Percy Gotta-go." It was entirely his fault. Well, maybe not entirely his fault, Rachel decided. But it definitely had something to do with that kid. There was no denying that much. It was obvious there was a strong relation between the horrible pictures in her head and the sword-swinging lunatic.

He was even part of them sometimes. And that scared her more than it should have. It wasn't like she knew him. Rachel had a good reason to hate him, but she saw terrible things concerning him. There was really no way to block those from her head. Too many of her paintings had a messy-haired boy with green eyes in them facing horrible characters that frightened Rachel immensely. Worse, she knew he would meet them.

Every time she got even a glimpse of anything abnormal, Rachel would turn her iPod up to its maximum volume and paint; in that same failed attempt to chase away the startling ideas. Why were they haunting her?

Rachel wasn't crazy. She didn't think so, anyway. She wouldn't put it past her, though. Seeing beasts, wars, and teenagers with swords wasn't what most thirteen-year-old heiresses dreamed about. And they never thought they would be real. Rachel did, though. She was so sure of these thoughts being realities, they consumed her. The only thing Rachel had on her mind was the last thing she wanted on it: her dreams.

Now the paintings weren't to escape, but to become closer to that world. Rachel was too curious. She wouldn't stop investigating this. Music still blared from her speakers too loudly for her parents' tastes, and it kept her on track. Every once in a while she'd grab a Fiber One bar or something, unwrap it, throw its wrapper o the floor and eat while painting. Her large bedroom was covered with paintings of these mysterious ideas. They were disturbing, yet comfortably familiar.

Soon, she had painted almost every dream, vision, or flash of an image that she saw. There were some she left out, though, they weren't right to paint. Like the others, they were unpleasant and horrifying, but these were worse. Dead bodies strewn across the ground. That was what she saw. All of them were teenagers, about her age, or a little older. Every single body on the ground appeared to have died in battle. All of the bodies were bloody, scarred, and bruised. None of the bodies were recognizable, but it made Rachel confused and upset just to think about this.

She also got glimpses of words. Those were nearly as bad as the images. All of them were written in Ancient Greek, but she somehow managed to decipher them. Worse than death, that was one of the phrases. It was pinned on her wall, but ever single time she looked at the paper, it made her sick. Perish by a parent's hand was another of the most disturbing. She had met that horrible dream only hours after meeting the boy. The sentence that followed it was just as chilling: Zoë will be the one to fulfill this line. Despite the fact Rachel had no idea who Zoë was; it made her shiver just thinking about the name. Words kept coming up, and Rachel kept getting more frustrated and nervous about them.

She could never get the idea that they were real out of her head. It was the creepiest part about this. Kids were dying gruesome deaths somewhere. Maybe not yet, she realized, but soon, and there was nothing she could do. Someone would be suffering greatly, and she wouldn't be able to do a thing. She hated the feeling.

Rachel swore that if she ever met this boy again—which she doubted, but hoped for anyway—she would ask him every single question that had been on her mind since she first met him.

AN: Thank you for all of the support. I have now changed parish to perish (hooray!), so I no longer have to worry about that issue. I can't even remember when I wrote this... That's sad. All I know is that it was on one of my extreme writing days, kind of like today, but slightly more extreme.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this.
Here is my pathetic self-advertisement. If you did enjoy this, I recommend you check out my other stories.
Thanks for reading.
-Lexi