I woke up to the buzzing of my phone under the pillow I was resting my head on. I opened my eyes and rolled on my stomach as my hands slid under the pillow. I hit the lock button from memory and sat up opening my eyes groggily. I turned 180 degrees and looked around my dorm room. The room wasn't small, but if was fairly tight. I was on the bottom bunk of a bunk bed pushed into the far corner of the room. Along the all-white walls ran a thick stripe of blue adding a little bit of color to the room, which the soft pale yellow light definitely did not provide. Next to bed was a window with the navy curtains drawn. Directly below the window were a small dresser with a miniature lamp, an alarm clock, and a teddy bear wearing the school uniform on top. The dresser was small because all we had to put in there were identical sets of the school uniform: a plain white polo shirt, navy blue slacks, and a navy blue blazer with the school seal over where the heart would be.
There are 2 desks in the room, the ones with the hard seats and the laptop-sized "tables" welded to a metal tube that ran all the way to the supports in back. They almost looked like the chair grew and arm, then was throwing a punch with it. One of the desks was at the foot of the bed facing away from it. The other one was facing the opposite wall and the wall with the window, pushed against the corner in a similar fashion. Free time was a luxury that most people really didn't know what to do with, and the school saw that as an excuse to work us harder. I'm not complaining, I'm just stating the facts.
I looked out the window at the boring apartment complex and the small portion of the Tokyo skyline that peeked over it. I go to a boarding school for "Gifted children", called Kawamura Middle school. The school was small, but highly respected. The rules were strict, but not any stricter than most Japanese schools. The standards were also high, but that is to be expected for such a school. My roommate – Tanaka Yuki – was a tall, lean kid in the second grade of junior high school like me. He looked very Japanese, but with a more chiseled face and harder expressions. His black hair was neatly kept the only hairstyle that anyone had at this school; short, with the bangs neatly swept away from the face. He was one of my few friends here. Now, I'm not going to give you some sob story, but let me just say I don't fit in anywhere — especially here. Why's that? Well, for starters, I am blonde with story gray eyes with moderately tanned skin (it's actually pretty different from the Japanese complexion). I take a calculus course usually taught at the last year of senior high school and I wasn't born here. So I pretty much have nothing in common with most of these people.
Here's the kicker – my name is Vince Greene. Notice how not Japanese that is? Well you see, when I was six, my father and I moved to Japan because it was in "my best interest". Yeah, right. I think he just wanted to get away from my mom, or lack thereof. My mom literally left me on his door step (who does that?) and only visited on my birthday every other year. But on my sixth birthday she got in an intense fight with my dad and after the school year we left the country. Yeah, it stings and I still sort of hold it against my mom – which is the only grudge I've ever held, even if it's still not very strong. If there is one thing I am glad about moving to Japan for, it's the psychological training. The Japanese are very stoic people and so with as much time I spent at boarding schools I learned to control my emotions. I never let anyone see me get angry, mad, or sad. I might give you a glare to try to intimidate you, beat you up if you really push me (never had to do that, but don't doubt me), smile, or just look like nothing interesting has ever happened. That's about all of my emotional expressions right there.
I literally shook my head trying to get myself out of my thoughts. I preferred to pretend like nothing ever happened and I just magically landed here. I got up, got dressed, and then left the room. I headed to the end of the plain white halls with navy doors, evenly spaced so that each room had a door that wasn't in front of another room's door. I brushed my teeth and all that stuff, but I did it alone since I always woke up an hour earlier than anyone else. I hate sleep – well, it's more like I hat the lazy and groggy I feel when I wake up before I realize I just wasted a good portion of my day doing literally nothing. "Do nothing that is of no use." One of my idols, Miyamoto Musashi, said that in The Book of Five Rings. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to read the book yet, I've just heard some quotes. The reason I love him so much is because he was straight up the best. He practiced and dueled, and won because of his skill. He had the tactics to pick the right place and time, knew how to get in an enemy's had, and had the swordsmanship to execute his plans.
I returned to my room, grabbed my phone and then started doing some math problems. If I have some free time, I will occasionally do math problems I find on the internet. Why? It's productive and I enjoy it. People think it's weird but usually don't comment on it. That's fine with me. When my roommate wakes up 15 minutes before class starts, I start putting everything away and read my e-mail. When he is all ready, we don't say much other than "good morning." In Japanese of course; although, my father still uses English with me when I am staying with him. He says that one day I might have to go back, and (should it deeply sadden him) I must be prepared to live there just in case. I am not sure why he doesn't want to go back; I know there's something he's not telling me, but I can't question him because he's parent.
I walk out the dorm into the courtyard. The class rooms are arrange in 2 parallel rows that end just to the side of the dorms. The classrooms almost look like motel rooms and aren't much larger. They even have a porch light on the outside wall next to the door. The boy's dorm is at one end of the rows, and the girl's at the other. Although, I can barely see the other dorm from mine, because the 2-story building (the dorms are also 2 stories) that holds all of the offices is right in the middle. We walk through the concrete courtyard and around the few picnic tables neatly spread out, and finally get to my first class. I don't remember much about school in America; all I remember is that it wasn't as strict. The classes dragged on what felt like forever (especially when I had to take a shuttle to the senior high school for math) in the complete silence except for the voice of the teacher and the scribbling of pencils. Another thing that singles me out: note taking. I don't take notes. I have a fantastic memory and my ADHD makes it hard to write and listen at the same time. Not to mention that I have dyslexia, so trying to write is hard enough (dyslexia is even worse with the complex Japanese characters). That doesn't help with the whole not-fitting-in thing, and thus my day is usually pretty boring since I don't really talk to many people here.
Eventually I was heading to Greek, my last class of the day. A couple weeks ago, my English teacher moved to Hiroshima out of the blue and they moved everyone in my class into Greek mythology with Mr. Brunner. He was a Caucasian male in his fifties or sixties. He had a full head of hair, a neatly trimmed beard (very strange in Japan, beards are considered dirty but he didn't seem to care.) and kind, gentle eyes. I actually kind of enjoyed the class. He spoke great Japanese, although every now and then he'd accidentally speak in Greek. However, I seemed to be the only one who hears and I stopped asking people if they heard it as well, since they'd just give me weird looks.
Today we were going over heroes. We talked about Jason, Perseus, Hercules, Theseus, and a few others. Every now and then he would scan the room to let everyone keep up with him, but he always seemed to linger on me for a second or two before going back to lecturing. After an hour of beating what seemed like every minute of their lives into our heads (I didn't know the myths were this long), class ended and we all started packing up. I was about to head out when he called my name,
"Mr. Greene, can you come here please?" Mr. Brunner asked. I cautiously walked over to his desk.
"Yes, sir." I responded. I couldn't read his facial expression.
"Will you be leaving the campus tonight?" He says in a very serious tone. At first, I got kind of annoyed. I am old enough to take care of myself; anyways, I've made it this long, haven't I? In the end, the genuine worry in his voice helps me suppress my annoyance. I nodded slowly.
"I need to speak with you, but it's not that urgent. Where will you be going?"
I suddenly he realized he just spoke in Greek. I don't know how I understood him or he spoke in Greek, but I responded in English trying really hard keeping all emotion out of my voice and hoping he wouldn't speak in Greek again. It unsettled me; mostly because I actually understood what he said. "I leave for my Kenjutsu practice in an half an hour."
"Ok, can you stop by my room after you get back? Don't you're not in trouble with me.
"Ok, sir. I've got to go; Good bye." I left his room, stopped by my dorm, and dropped off my school stuff. I walked, in my school uniform still, off campus and past apartment buildings, office complexes, and shops. Each building appeared to be a slightly different color, height, and design. Finally I reached the station. Large white concrete walls rose at least 30 feet high with large windows placed at regular intervals. Inside it was a shopping mall with catwalks on every floor, guarded by glass panes that served as railings. Right in the center of the floor is a large staircase that leads to the actual station. Below ground, the subway looks just like they do in New York; except that it was way cleaner.
I waited for a train amongst 10 or so people until I noticed someone staring at me. He was probably 17, wearing jeans the sagged to one side with a belt that had neat holes punctured in it every inch (the holes' edge was covered by some metal ring that showed they were meant to be there). He had spiky red hair, and earphones in. I looked at him and he got up. I tensed, but he turned around and walked away. He didn't stand out too much, but he was still a little creepy. My train finally arrived and I boarded it. What could he be here for? I looked to see if he boarded the train or not. He didn't, so I guess I was just being paranoid. I'm not sure which would be more unnerving; the fact he went to the same platform as me and left, or the fact that he boarded the same train as me.
I am worrying too much; Mr. Brunner was probably one of those people who didn't like people walking around by themselves. After 15 minutes or so I exit the train and walk up the stairs. As I reach the surface, I am surrounded by the same sight of ever-so-slightly mismatched buildings as before. I walk for a couple blocks then get to the dojo. Last year, my dad decided that I should take up Kenjutsu – the Japanese art of sword fighting. I liked it; and I didn't do if often enough that it interfered with my studies.
After changing, I wore a basic cloth tunic with large, loose pants also made of cloth that were the right length, but looked like someone was continuously aiming a leaf blower up the pant leg, I grabbed my bokken. A bokken is a wooden katana intended for sparring; it is about 2 and a quarter feet long with a slight curve to one side. It has one sharp edge, but that's all you need. The bokken also weighs about the same as a katana, which is nice. After our warm-ups, we practiced our form for a little bit and then we paired up for duels.
I'm no Hercules – to say the least. At first glance, I'm scrawny and awkward. Although, I have an athletic build that is disguised by my lanky appearance. Anyways, I have gained some muscle ever since I've started, but I'm still pretty skinny. Until about a month ago, I've had great difficulty with this style of sword fighting. Unlike other styles, it's focused on control – every strike ends with the blade in the starting position, meaning I had to stop the blade at the end of the strike instead of letting it follow through. Also, every parry, dodge, or sidestep is followed by an attack. Thus it takes a lot of strength to sustain this style of fighting. [A1]
I stood a couple feet form my partner and bowed respectfully. We drew our bokken, and held it so the hilt was even with our hips and the blade was at a 45 degree angle leaning towards our opponent. He struck first – quickly jabbing his blade forward in a small, circular motion so that it tapped the tip of my blade to the right and then slashed downwards. As my blade uncontrollably tilted to the right, I stepped back to escape the attack. We were then in the same position as we started. We continued this pattern, someone would strike and the other would either counter or sidestep.
After a couple minutes, he tried the same attack as he did the first time but he telegraphed it pretty badly. Knowing what he was going to do, I quickly tapped his blade to the right in the same circular motion (since he was already moving his blade in that direction, he couldn't regain control in time) and slashed from right to left stopping my blade just before it smashed into his neck.
After 45 minutes of sparring, we were dismissed and left. I am no master swordsman, but I train hard and have improved a lot since I started– To be fair I was pretty clumsy at the start. I left the dojo and boarded the train, lost in my daily routine. I stood next to one of the poles by the door, and just before the doors closed a stray Akita walked through the doors on the other end of the train. I was surprised to see a stray dog at all, much less boarding a train. It had thick, white fur with patches of dark grey. It had a face that looked like a dog, but I could still distinguish its facial expressions. The way it's arches above its eyes (do dogs have eyebrows?) are scrunched as if in deep concentration. Some people gave the dog a strange look and gave it a wide berth, but no one said a thing about it.
It looked away from me, and methodically looked back in my direction. All of a sudden it transformed. It began to grow in size as its fur shrank in length, its coat turned a midnight shade of black, and its face morphed into that of a hound. I have even less of an idea of how no one noticed the transformation, since everyone was acting as if nothing happened. Once it was done with the transformation, it looked like a black version of Beethoven from that movie; that is if Beethoven was fed only steroids since birth and glowing evil, red eyes. The beast was the height of, well, a subway train. It was maybe ten to fifteen feet long, and very muscular. It was growling and to be honest I was kind of scared.
It started to slowly inch forward as people backed away from it. They didn't seem scared, just slightly annoyed. I don't know how they weren't absolutely terrified, but I was and so I started thinking furiously as adrenaline began to course through my veins. I was suddenly aware of everything around me at once; I saw the beast start to move forward, the buildings rushing by out the window, I noted each briefcase and handbag on floor, an old man sitting down behind me with a cane next to him, and several other things. The cane was an oak cane with a rubber nub at the end and it curved like a candy cane at the top. That would be pretty low, stealing an old man's cane, even in life-threatening situations. Not to mention, I'm not exactly sure he's seeing this demon that looks like it wants to kill me, and I don't need to deal with the police as well.
It tensed like it was going to pounce so I grabbed the cane in spite of myself, swinging it as hard as I could at the same time it pounced. I hit it square in the side of the head, but that only seemed to disorient it enough for it not to rip my throat out. However, it still crashed into me, launching me into the back of the train car. I held the stick with 2 hands, the rubber end facing the hound from hell like a spear – hey, with its midnight black coat and fiery red eyes it looked like a dog straight from the fiery place downstairs. It growled at me, and lunged again. I barely sidestepped in time and poked it in the eye with my cane. It let out a whimper and tried to corner me but I somehow managed to dive over the seat and the person sitting in it to get around the hell hound. The look on their face was priceless, and I would've laughed if this monster wasn't making the scene so scary.
I dash towards the other end of the car and opened the door. Thank goodness I wasn't in the end car. I opened the door on the other car, and prepared myself to jump. I can't believe I'm actually doing this; for a fraction of a second I stood there realizing I what I was about to do as the wind whistled in my ear. However, at the same time I realized it needed to be done, so I jumped; not bothering to close the door as the hound's head suddenly appeared in the door way snapping and gnashing its teeth. I had barely stumbled back to my feet and starting running again when I heard a deafening crash and the sound of metal tearing – similar to the same sound made when someone runs a key along the side of a car, only a thousand times louder. The hell hound had literally burst out of the previous car and tore its way into the one I was in. People started screaming and shrieking in fear, but at least they didn't run to the other side of the train; they stood against the wall forming an unintentional escape path.
I didn't think this thing could do that; but it would surely catch me if I continued to run. So I turned around can in hand, except this time I held it like it was a katana. It lunged at me and I slashed at its head and stepped back at the same time. I took a few steps back while it got back up as fast as it could and tried to lunge at me again. This time, I stepped in before it pounced and jabbed my cane into its neck. In a fury I didn't know I had, I attacked it without mercy. I continuously slashed, countered, and jabbed forcing the hound back. Whenever we arrived at a stop, both of us would slide backwards and I'd grip the cane with both hands like a staff to push it the side. It'd lunge again and I'd push it to the side again, resetting our positions.
Sometimes it would gain enough of its composure to lunge at me, but I'd sidestep and jab the cane into its neck. Most of the time it'd just try to bite or claw me. After 15 minutes or so, I was starting to get tired but so was the hound. I was mercilessly beating it and it was starting to slow. The bad news – so was I. The driver came one and said we had one minute before my stop. As the train was slowing down, I shifted my grip again to a more staff-like manner and leaned against the door to my right, hoping to catch my breath. It lunged at me but I didn't push it to the side hard enough. It bit my left forearm around the cane and I screamed in pain. It hurt a lot more than I thought it would. The feeling of the thick teeth slicing through my flesh was very vivid; like a thousand shots in the shape of a jaw. I shoved the cane down its throat when it tried to bite me again, trying to push past the pain. Luckily, this was at the same time we came to a stop at the station.
The deluxe-sized mastiff slid to the front of the car with a resounding crash as the train stopped; still choking on the cane. I spared no time sprinting through the crowds of people running away from the train as I ran towards my dorm. I swear I never ran so fast in my life. As I was getting to the school parking lot directly in front of the male dorms, I saw Mr. Brunner and 2 other people Americans standing on either side of him.
They both wore jeans, running shoes, and an orange T-shirt that said something I couldn't read. It looked like "Camp Hole-Blocd", but that made no sense. The boy on the left was about 19, tall with blonde hair, striking blue eyes the color of raw electricity, and a muscular build. The girl to the right of Mr. Brunner was actually more muscular and slightly taller than the boy. She had long brown hair that came down just below her shoulders, and sharp features. Her face looked like it was made to scowl.
"Hello, Mr. Greene. What's with the hurry?" He asked in Japanese. The weird part was the other two understood him, even though they didn't look like they knew any Japanese at all. Maybe I'm wrong, but they looked around them as if trying to find something comforting (cough, like something they can read, cough).
Was I just arguing with myself? Ugh. Anyways, he had a completely calm expression, but in the other 2 I could see a hint of panic and worry. It looked like they were trying to hide it really hard. I was so tired I couldn't think of an excuse. I replied in Japanese, with as much composure as I could maintain. It wasn't graceful, but hey I was starting to get tired. "There was this large black dog, and it attacked me. It was larger than this car, and had red eyes."
"It must've been a hell hound. We need to get out of here!" This time he replied in English, and the look of realization on the 2 American's faces confirmed my suspicion.. Their eyes widened and they opened the trunk grabbing a gold gladius, a bronze spear, and a bronze shield. Mr. Brunner then introduced me to the other kids and then took off in some other direction. The blonde one, Jason, looked at me.
"Where is it?" Jason asked nicely, but slightly rushed.
It took me a second to figure out what he meant. "I don't know; I stuffed a cane down its throat at the subway station and just ran."
Both raised their eyebrows and wore a look of slight amusement. Jason spoke up, "Come on Vince, we have to go."
All of us climbed in the car. Then Jason started up the car, and we started to drive off.
"We are we going?"
"To camp." Clarisse said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
I raised my eyebrows. "And what camp would that be?"
"Camp Half-Blood. It's a camp for people like you and me, it's there to keep us safe."
I almost scoffed. If only he knew; I don't like it when people say "like you and me" because I never fit in. Never have and never will. Every time people say that I'll fit in, they're wrong.
"We'll see about that" I said darkly. It didn't take long for the hell hound to find the parking lot. Thank goodness we had already started driving. The traffic was light enough to allow us to increase the distance between the hell hound and us.
I've felt really tired ever since my adrenaline rush wore off. However, I couldn't get myself to fall asleep since I was worried we'd get lost, and then the hell hound would catch us. I decided to sleep for the 2 hours before the flight once we got to the airport. We walked through the security with no trouble. Well, any security worker who even looked at us funny received a terrifying glare from Clarisse that made them look away immediately – that counts as nothing, right? Finally we made it to the gate, and we sat down next to each other in the seats. They were typical airport seats; 2 black leather strips were laid across metal pipes with one horizontal across the row and one vertical so that they formed seats. I always found them amusing because they were cheap but they passed off as modern and fancy.
The flight was going to land in New York, so I guess that's where the camp is. I still couldn't wrap my head round what was going on. I think I remember hell hounds in some of the myths Mr. Brunner taught us, but that can't be the explanation – can it?
I started to doze off as I noticed Jason trying not to stare at me and Clarisse giving him a demanding stare. Why couldn't my life be normal? My eyes closed and the last thing I thought about was my dad. How would he react? Wait, why was I boarding a plane with 2 strangers rather than heading home to explain everything to my dad?! My dad was usually too busy to notice me even when I was at his house, so he probably wouldn't even notice. That left a bitter taste in my mouth. Even with these swirl of emotions I was too tired to do anything. So I drifted off to sleeping hoping it's all a dream.
