Forgotten
small drabble
I stand alone, in night's cold eves, staring at the sky. I could be a demigod, I think to myself, traveling across the world on dangerous quests. A revered child of Apollo, at a camp where I am special and needed. A dog's low bark echoes from the houses nearby. My vision sharpens. I wouldn't even be seeing this dog. No, I would be asleep in a cabin where my half-siblings are. Why have they been claimed, and not I? I do not know why. Maybe I am even more rare, a sun-jewel sparkling too faintly for the monsters to see. Or maybe I am guarded, secretly, by a faithful satyr. Crickets are chirping soundly from all around me, and I smile. I would never miss this life, only the friends which I have made. I am unfocused usually, talkative. I write and sing, and I love art, though archery is my competitive sport. All this before I had even read the books which so inspire me now. So why, I ask you, Apollo? Why have you not yet claimed your lost teenager, alone and apart in this mortal trifle? I love you already, Camp Half-Blood. And, as I am sure of my safety, I will live in this mortal world. I will become famous, and one day, maybe, you'll look down from the shimmering temples of Olympus, smile, and say to your less-talented son or daughter,
"That one is mine."
