Disclaimer/Authors Notes: I do not own the Percy Jackson and the Olympains Series. This is a mere fanfiction. Also, I think very highly of the Hatchet series, and I do not own anything in it. Just a fan fiction. Also, excuse my spelling or grammar mistakes, if there are all. This takes place about 9 years before the Battle of Manhattan. I hope to continue this story a bit. Also, new to so I cant figure out from to edit the title. It really is "Pride or... Percy?". Nah, I screwing with you. Its "Phillip Phemen" (Ph is sounded like a F).
"That was truley a terrible story. Parts made me want to spew the contents of stomach on it, other parts just made me feel as though life was not worth living. How did this excuse of literature make it into the stores?" I said out loud, truly disgusted.
"You know, your a real bastard, Phillip." Called Jack, the excuse I had for a friend. I hated that name, Phillip. Why did my drunk Mother give me it?
"You act like your some high-arse being." I almost wanted to blurt out I was, but I knew better. I was a Half Blood, the result of a God or Goddess and a mortal falling in deep, deep love. We were the results of failures, thats what I thought. Even other Half Bloods didn't like me, why should they? They were all sons of someone important...
"Phillip! You there?" Jack almost yelled. "You must of left Earth for a moment there. Did you hear me?" I let a frown breach my face, trying to hold the anger. I clenched the book in my hand, my knuckles growing white.
"Why would you say that?" I asked in the calmest voice I could muster. Jack let out a grin, opening his mouth then closing it, almost as if he didn't know where to begin. He probably didn't. No, I cant let my thoughts go to that.
"Oh, what about the fact that you think you know everything, even though you are only a twelve years old? Or, perhaps you think that everything is just terrible? I mean, thats a good book. Van Gogh was a good artist." Jack said, almost matter of factily. I tried my best not to punch him in the face. If only he knew...
I stormed the classroom, running full speed to the bathroom. It was lunch, so nobody was in the halls. Once I got to the bathroom, I ripped open one of the stall doors and went in. As soon as I closed the door, locking it with a dull click, I started to sob uncontrolably. At first about my Mother, Gods curse her to Hades (With that a loud crack was heard, obviously lightning.), how she would corner me in my bedroom, laughing – No, cackling at my situation. I would look for a escape, but there was none. She would hit me, over and over again.
Then I thought about my Dad... Father. Momus, the god of Criticism. Thats how I was. I was born like this. The sound of my grumbling stomach snapped me back to reality. I was so hungry... I only have a bit of bread for lunch... Thats my Mother could get. Not like she cared. Not like Momus cared.
Probably mocking Brad Pitt or something. The bastard, I hope everyone stops believing in the Gods, just so he can die. Lightning sounded again, more threatening. They can all go to Hades! Yeah, I said it!
There was a low growl infront of Phillip's stall, snapping him back to reality. Quickly he whiped the tears from his face, trying his best not to show any sign of him being a "cry baby". Slowly, he opened the stall door. There was a slobbering, hungry looking Hell Hound infront of him. Before he could let out a scream, it pounced on him...