I've been thinking of this for a while now, and I'll say it now: I'm going to need a little help with it. I need you people who find themselves liking this story to pester me, poke me, beat me with a stick if you have to. I've left behind a lot of stories in the past, and I want to break that habit with this story, and my Breaking The Oath story.
I need more than this put on an alert list or a favorites. I need you people to review, message, find me on other websites and make me update this story.
This is a historical fiction, so I'll be combining two of my favorite things: writing and history. This is will hopefully keep me writing this.
My name is Peter van Pels. Some of you may know me by the name Peter van Daan, from Anne Frank's diary. I thought after the first holocaust, after suffering and dying, that I would finally get to rest in peace. And I did, for a few years. But now, it's time for history to repeat itself.
Nico's POV
I was in Colorado, outside a small high school where a satyr swears there is a demigod who's important for what's happening. I was sent to see what exactly is so great out this demigod. According the satyr, he doesn't have a strong smell, and he's clearly not a child of the big three, and probably a child of a minor god. Apparently, most people thought the kid was a freak, because of his random outbursts and his strange behavior.
According to Bo –that's the satyr's name-, this kid has strange habits. For one, he seems to guard his food when he eats. He also tends to mutter under his breath to himself, and when he gets scared, annoyed, or angry, he gets either a German or a Dutch accent, mainly German though. I guess it depends. He also claims that he remembers what WW2 was like for Jews, and that he was there for everything. He's had breakdowns in class apparently when the teacher starts to explain how the Diary of Anne Frank was a huge help in learning what it was like for Jews in hiding, and every calls him crazy for believing and putting 'we', 'I', 'us', and other words like that in essays for WW2 while talking about Anne Frank.
So, the kid is a total freak who probably needs some mental help. Father knows where the Jews killed in WW2 are, and he keeps them in a relaxing, calm part of the Underworld. It's really nice there, too. I've been there a few times to see if I can find any family, because apparently (I use that word a lot…) some people on my mom's side were Jewish. It's so calm and quiet and peaceful there, that it almost makes me want to lay down on the grass and take a nap.
Anyway, I waited for Bo to get to me before I walked into the school. I was coming as a "foreign exchange student" from Italy, which was kinda amusing. I don't think many people here know much Italian, and there are some words that they don't teach you in school….que the evil smirk.
So I followed Bo to his locker, which was right next to Sr. Freak. The kid who was supposed to be the demigod I was stalk- I mean watching, had his locker right next to Bo's, so I got a good look at him. He had short, neat brown hair and hazel looking eyes ((I cannot find any documents on what Peter van Pels eyes look like, or what hair color he had. So I'm describing him how I picture him.)) He was tall and lanky, and gave off that 'awkward-teenage-boy' aura. He had strange things on the inside of his locker. One was a very old picture of a girl with short, almost curly looking hair and some strange writing underneath. He had a picture of a boy and two adults –probably parents. Both pictures were black and white, but the one with the boy and parents was strange. The boy almost looked like the teenager who's locker it was hanging in.
He also had one of the stars that was put on Jews' jackets taped up inside his locker. I found that an odd thing to see in a locker. The kid was muttering, and it took me a while to realize why I couldn't understand what he was saying: He was speaking German. Perfect, fluent German, not a single mistake that I heard. Of course, I'm no expert in speaking German, but I've been to Germany enough times to know what it should sound like.
He shoved his books into a backpack and then left. He had a strange walk, almost like his feet were blistered on the bottoms, and he had no choice but to walk on them.
"His name is Peter." Bo said, stand and closing his locker. "His last name is Van Pels, but with a lower case 'v'. He yells at the teacher when it's wrong. He also keeps a sweat band on his right wrist all the time. Not sure why. He refuses to take it off for anyone, and won't tell anyone why he wears it. He's strange."
"He had that star in his locker…" Ah, who am I kidding. I'm terrible at history, religions, and anything to do with living people.
"The Star Of David." Bo said. "The strangest thing about that though, is he says he isn't Jewish. He doesn't believe in any religion."
"Weird." I said. He nodded, and we walked to his homeroom, which was also with Peter. Peter sat away from the others, ignoring the paper throw at his head, ignoring the sneers and the jokes. He was numb to it all. And when the bell rang for first period to begin, I saw just how numb to the world he really is. The school bullies are easy to point out. Just how the look, and you know.
Well, those school bullies walked over to Peter and shoved him against a locker. I saw Peter wince and grunt a little, but he didn't do anything. The bullies kicked him. He only flinched a little. They started to hit and punch him and kick him harder and harder, until they got him on his knees. But the most he did was push himself closer to the lockers until a teacher came and pulled the other boys away from him.
Peter stood up, bruises covering his left side and a black eye forming along with a little blood on his face, and he stood there, perfectly still, eyes down. It was like he was waiting to get beat up again. And he just simply didn't care. I could tell he was in pain though. I could see it on his face that he was in agony, but he did his best to hide it. The teacher didn't do anything about Peter. He just pulled the bullies down to the principal's office.
And that's not where it ended. Peter showed himself to be emotionless almost all day. In social studies though, he showed a little aggression, correcting the teacher and protesting against what was said. But that was it. Then he was back to quiet, numb, careless Peter.
It wasn't until after school that I got to really talk to him.
"Peter!" Bo called. Peter stopped, and waited, but didn't look up. "We don't talk much, but want to go have some pizza?"
"Not really." Peter said.
"C'mon, it'll be fun. I know this really good place, free from stress, and great prices." Bo insisted. Peter started walking again.
"I'm not in the mood for pizza." He said.
"What about fast food then? Chinese? Japanese? Salads? Sandwiches!" Bo asked. Anything to get the kid to come.
"I'm fine." Peter said.
"Please come with us. I have someone here who believes what you say in history." Bo said. That made Peter stop and turn around. He looked me over, as if deciding if I was worthy of his attention. He made a sighing sound.
"Fine." He said. He didn't sound happy about it, but then again, he hasn't sounded very happy about anything. Or even emotional a little, other than in history. I think I'm going to get along with this kid, once the crazy is knocked outta him.
He followed me and Bo to the nearest Pizza place, all the while staring at the ground and not making any eye contact. He was still walking strange.
"Why are you walking like that?" I finally asked.
"Aren't you supposed to be from Italy and not speak any English?" He replied, all without looking.
"That was just a cover-up for something that will explained later." I said. "Answer my question."
I saw him wince when I said that. It was like 'answer my question' hadn't been said, but had been branded into his side like he was cow.
"Blisters." Peter said. "They haven't fully gone away yet."
"Blisters from what?" Bo asked. Lucky him…he never got blisters on his feet, because of his hooves.
"The shoes the Nazis would give us. Walking in them all day and most of the night and early in the morning in every possible weather and whatever conditions were thrown at us caused many blisters and feet problems." Peter said. By far the most I've heard him say all day.
"That war ended in 1945." I said. I had only recently learned that… "If you were alive back then, you would be a lot older….Like 70 years old or something."
"I would be about 86 years old." Peter said. "But I was there. I remember dying, and I remember waking up somewhere in this country two years ago."
"How would you be 86?" Math was never something I was good at.
"I was eighteen when I died." Peter said.
"Um…okay then." I was a little freaked out. I knew he had died, because I could tell. I'm the son of Hades. But at the same time, he didn't have the same aura that a re-born person would have. It was strange.
We went and got some pizza, all the while talking quietly about random stuff. I didn't bring up the demigod part yet. I just wanted to get Peter to trust me a little more. He ignored all questions about the sweat band on his wrist, ignored all questions about him speaking German and Dutch, ignored us when we asked what his favorite country was, and looked at me like I had twenty heads when I asked if had ever gone to a summer camp.
"The only times I was in a camp, was in 1945, sometime in the summer." Peter said. "So if a death camp counts as a summer camp, then yes, I have been to about four of them."
I tried not to snap at him and say that he didn't die in a camp, and that there's no way he was alive then unless he was locked in the Lotus casino and had his memories altered or something.
"Have you ever heard of the Lotus Casino?" I asked.
"No." He shook his head.
"Are you going to finish that crust?" Bo asked, reaching for the pizza crust. Peter smacked his hand hard enough to make it hit the table and cause Bo to yelp. Peter glared at the satyr and scooted away from him, keeping his food as far away as he could.
"Yes, I'm finishing the crust." He growled. I swear, he looked like a rabid animal. I've never seen someone so protective over their food before. Or maybe I have, but never paid any notice to it. Well, now that I think about it, Travis is very protective of his cake –no matter what flavor- and Percy doesn't let anyone but Annabeth steal his cookies.
About an hour later, we were walking outside again. That pizza didn't seem to be agreeing with Peter much though, judging from how his stomach would growl and he would occasionally let out a small groan. We kept our pace rather slow, so he would be able to keep up.
"Peter, do you know any Greek Mythology?" I asked.
"A little. I learned it once, but don't remember most of it." He said.
"Do you know what a demigod is?"
"The child of a god and mortal, right?"
"Yes." I nodded.
"Why do you suddenly bring up mythology?" he asked.
"Well….." And so the whole 'you're a demigod' speech began….
Wow, this is a lot longer than I thought it would be. I'm going to try to update this again soon, but please review!