Disclaimer: PJO is not mine. sigh...
A/N: This sorta just came to me. I was thinking about how Percy described his first impression of the undetermined campers in Cabin Eleven. I hope you like it.
What about the rest of us?
Shuffled off into Cabin Eleven, pushed to the side, 'destined' only to wait in the wings as others live out their glorious, famed filled lives on stage. That's us. We're as much as part of camp as anyone else, but so different. They pity us, of this I am sure. They look at us and think, Those poor, unwanted kids. It's not their fault. We know that. Yet, although not a word passes our lips, we all feel the jealousy and longing that originates from a lifetime of rejection, and we know that those around us share in this feeling.
Since we know we cannot blame our fellow campers for our unhappiness, we find another explanation for our outsider status. It is obvious. Surely, it must be the gods. They are immortal. Time is so frivolous to them. To them, but not to us. We only live until the Fates will the string to be cut. We must make the most of what little time we have. How are we to do so while the crushing weight of insecurity slowly wears away at our resolve? We are their children. We will not disappear if we are ignored. 'Out of sight, out of mind' does not apply to us, us who are living, breathing, feeling. The gods are cruel, in their way. They do not try to be cruel, and that is how they achieve it. They turn their back on us, and the emptiness we feel is much worse than any barb they could throw at us. We must struggle on, bracing ourselves each morning for the coming day of rebuff.
Most days that is the circumstance. There is a rare time when a wish upon a star actually comes true. One of us is claimed. They are thrust forth into the light while we who remain skulk in the shadows. The lucky one will be welcomed into a new life of recognition. New faces surround them. A new persona must be developed.
A new cabin.
And that is truly what marks us as deviants. The walls and doors do not just separate us physically, but they set us apart. Cabins distinguish our parentage, and thusly, our friendships and rivalries, competitors and comrades.
We are a mix. We cannot be defined, pinned down, labeled.
Perhaps that is what off puts them. Our inability to be categorized. They do not know how to treat us.
Maybe we do not know that ourselves.
But, despite utter lack of confirmation, we live our lives as best we can. After all, humans are creatures of habit. Even us, not entirely human, expect some degree of routine. We do what is expected, and, if anything, try to excel at whatever we are faced with. If we were to rise above the ordinary, to command some measure of admiration from our peers, would our parents not be more tempted to claim us, to partake in our success?
I think so. But, then again, who am I to pass judgment? My voice is silent. I am just an outsider, an undetermined. One of the others.
A/N: Okay. That's it. :) Hope you liked it, I know it was a little short. Please review! Constructive criticism is appreciated, flames are not. Plain and simple. :)