Hai. This is a one-shot written for the Veritas Monthly Prompt Challenge. This month the theme is fingerprints- something that is unique to a character in PJO.

I hope you enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: PJO=not mine...

Percy opened the door a crack and peeked his head out, again. Still no one.

Good, he thought.

He slowly closed the door behind him, locking it as he gazed upon the growing collection of canvas nearly overflowing inside the small room. He shook his head.

How did this even happen? Percy wondered. He thought of this question a lot, and thought of the answer even more.

It was that very first night at camp, and Percy was consumed with the grief of just losing his mother. He was thrown into a world of mythology, a world he was sure he didn't belong in.

Percy couldn't sleep, and it wasn't because of the countless, snoring Hermes kids. He had a lot on his mind, especially for a boy of a mere twelve years old.

Percy left the terribly overcrowded cabin for some clean, fresh air. It was then that he stumbled upon the small building. It was the place he felt most at home, even more than in water.

He opened the rickety old door to discover a small, nearly bare room with nothing more than a worn easel; a fresh piece of canvas sitting on top.

Percy had an overwhelming urge to erase the blank canvas, to create a new world, a world he could control, for he was the creator.

As he stepped up to the canvas, a paintbrush, fresh and crisp, appeared in his hand. It felt so right, so true, in his hand. Like it was the one thing in this world he was meant to do.

As the paintbrush made it's first contact with the canvas, a brilliant shade of blue shown boldly across the page. Blue like the sea, and the lines slowly came out of the paintbrush, Percy guiding it surly, his brow set.

All through the night, the paintbrush danced across the canvas, creating swirling lines that seemed to fly off the page.

Finally, at dawn's early light, Percy had finished the painting. He stepped back to admire his work. It was a simple scene, just the ocean, the deep blue ocean, in the dead of night.

For some reason, Percy knew that this painting was the key to discovering himself. Even back then, he knew he was a child of the sea. And deep down, he knew that everything would be alright, as long as he could paint, he would be fine.

Percy smiled as he looked at his first painting. Even though he had gotten so much better, this was still his favorite. He looked at it when his world was about to come crashing down, because it made him whole. And then he would paint a new picture, a new world, a world he would control, just like that fateful night all those many years ago.

In a way, painting is the reason Percy lives. It's his true passion, it's why he breathes. It's what makes him unique. Almost like a fingerprint…

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Thanks.