A/N: This was written at 5 in the morning. I woke up, got out of bed, and had to type this. Just a heads-up for the mistakes I've probably made.
This could be about any half-blood after the war. I tried to show that the demigods could not have emerged from war completely unschathed. Adults can't do that. Neither can teenegers, half god or not. Please review and let me know how it is.
You want to run, to hide, but you can't escape the memory anywhere better than here. Still, even here, it claws at your mind and consumes you until you are desperate, taking any measure to forget. The whole world seems to be mocking you, whilst mortals go on with their perfect lives and your fellow campers don't seem to be facing what you are. You continue to fall apart.
For days, weeks on end you stand there over the trench, wondering when it will finally pull you in and let you fall. You will most likely rot at the bottom. Wherever the bottom is. How far can you fall? For one terrible second, you're tempted to jump in just to see. Or maybe it's to see if anyone will save you. Fear wins once more and you continue your silent waiting.
New campers show up. They always have, always will. There are lights dancing in their eyes, and their shoulders are straight. You envy them. You wish you had what they had and you hate yourself for it. You should be grateful just to be alive. How many of your friends have died, now? But all the same, you never want to see their innocence leave them. You want them to live long, happy lives as happy people. So, basically, not like you.
Life goes on. The World is a strange and complex thing. It does not stop for the pain of one person. Demigods such as yourself are pawns, small pieces to be used and thrown away as needed. You have always known this; yet you and all the others continue to hold onto hope. You hope that your parents actually care for you. You hope that you will live long, prosperous lives with your friends. Or, perhaps you hope for a light in your darkness. That hope is the only thing keeping you from falling in.
You will never live contentedly with the life you are leading now. But you are leading it, and you find that you really don't care. Not anymore, at least. You distance yourself from those around you and isolate yourself in your cabin. Your temper slips and you are constantly fighting with those who were once your friends. The only thing you feel anymore is cold apathy.
Why are you still waiting? You have nothing. Just jump in, you tell yourself, and the chains tighten. Wind whips at your face, and suddenly apathy turns to intense anger. You don't know who you're angry at, but you suspect everything. It could be mortals, the other half-bloods, the gods, you. Why won't you just let it all go? What are you waiting for? There is still no answer, so you sit down now, a bit closer than you were standing. The storm is gone, and you wait.
Waiting turns out to be your worst enemy, and you begin to hate it. You hate waiting for an answer almost as much as you hate the never-ending sea of black in front of you. It haunts every moment of every day until your life is like one giant out-of-body experience. You barely register what's there, your mind constantly drifting to the place on the edge. To the cure for your pain.
Nightmares are vicious things. They come without warning in the dark of the night to wreak havoc on your mind. With each one, your soul dies just a little bit more. You wonder what a dead soul looks like. Maybe it just disappears, like monsters' souls. Would you become a monster? Would it be any different than the life you are trying to pass off as living now?
You wait for death now. Death is the end. It is absolute. It is an answer. It may not be the answer, but it is an answer, and that is good enough for you. Boredom itches on your skin and you alternate between dinner with the others and the edge in your mind. You fiddle with the chains and bite back a laugh when you cut yourself. Oops. You are brought to "reality" with a nudge on the shoulder and a concerned glance at your hand. You had been holding your knife. You brush this off, it was only an accident, and stare mesmerized at the trickle of red sliding down your hand. This is what you are waiting for?
When it seems that you have reached the end of your patience, you gather the strength to stand up. Without glancing back, you take a step over the edge to the descent into darkness. This is it. You were weak. You gave up, and this is your punishment. Oh, how the world above must be laughing at you now.
A hand grabs yours, warm and alive, and you try to push it away, but it will not let you. Your savior pulls you back into the light and into an embrace, the likes of which you have not felt since before you lost yourself. You are told that you are loved. People care about you. You have friends who need you. They understand what you are going through. They've experienced it themselves. You're not alone.
You lean on your savior now, and forever, too. You realize that you had never been alone as you look around to take in the sight of your fellow demigods, your friends, your family, all bound to the cavern by dark chains. And you smile. Death was not your answer. No, your answer was life. All along, your answer had been here, waiting for you to see it. Your family gives you purpose.
You find life once more.