This will be my first real OC story in awhile for Camp Half Blood, which used to be really my main thing with stories like Summer with Dad and Cabin 11... This will focus on some of the children of minor gods or goddesses, and some gods and goddesses who get treated like minor gods and goddesses.
So far I have two distinct characters and their parentage (Hypnos and Demeter) But I"m open for suggestions of parentage as well as suggestions for, well, legitimately everything else.
Note: This is a story about demigods and what they do. I'm not going to contain any Romance because I don't feel like it. Thank.
Chapter 1- Punk Rock Lullaby
It's safer here.
I know what goes on out there.
Forget Ancient gods and devastating, virtually unkillable monsters. I know what goes on out there.
I have a gift.
I don't need make up, there are always dark circles under my eyes. It's a gift. It completes the look. The I don't look like my brothers and sister look. There aren't many of us but I'm the different one. Don't get me wrong, I'm the same as them, I sleep my life away because it's safer. But I'm not ignorant. And if you do see me out of my little safe space then you can tell I'm making a statement.
Not that a statement is important if you only come out of your "room" about once a week.
Posing the important question, who needs food?
I need few things in life, and they are in this order:
Happiness (just kidding scratch that ), Music, a mattress (I prefer tempur-pedic but we're not that picky), hair dye.
Currently it's purple. I like it right now.
Purple hair, darkened eyes. Statement, right? Whatever I'm trying to say though I'm not completely sure. They say everyone has something to say but my siblings and I aren't often given a chance. Clovis runs this cabin, but he's asleep most of the time. We all are, technically, but he's the smartest of the sleepers. He knows things. About destiny and dreams. Am I envious?
Of course I am.
I dream all the time to the soundtrack of whatever's in my life at the moment and I can't make a lick of sense of anything. All I know is that if I play my music and close my eyes then I can get a good sense of the world outside camp and exactly what I'm safe from, hiding here.
I construct a canopy with a blanket and hide in my own little world that's the length and width of a twin bed but is so much. Earbuds keep me connected to something I otherwise couldn't be connected to. There isn't a place for me outside of this little world. No one cares about me outside of this little world.
So if my deepest connection is with an iPod and a stuffed Narwhal named Horace, then so be it. Maybe it's best that way.
Maybe I'm just crazy, antisocial. Trying to be cool, to be punk, without leaving the Hypnos cabin.
In the mirror I'm slick and smooth.
In the mirror I have personality.
In my dreams I'm actually a person.
I see and understand hurt.
I can help people.
Then I wake up and the blanket separating me from the people who would be my family if they were conscious has fallen down. I rush to rebuild my fortress and forget about ever wanting to be anyone's hero. I ignore this need to set something, anything right. I fail again and fall back into a drifting sleep, music and slumber flowing through my veins.
I'm not different.
I'm just as stupid as the rest of the world. Stupid and selfish. Wasting my life dreaming without a hint of what those dreams mean, and with not enough dignity to ask someone who might know.
I stare at the bunk above me and pretend that my purple hair and the bags under my eyes make me relatable. And that if I ever left solitude, I'd have friends. But that's just a dream.
It's safer in here. I'm not going to risk anything by leaving.
Not because I don't want to. Just because I'm so so tired. And I like being safe and secure. Even though I make myself look like the kind of guy who would like the exact opposite.
I look like the kind of guy who would wander through music stores in the bad part of town to find that exact, specific record, instead of making my purchases on iTunes under the safe and protected covers of my comforter.
I'm a hypocrite.
I'll keep being a hypocrite too, until I drag my sorry behind out of this cabin and face everything I'm hiding from and everything I pretend to be.
Face everything I pretend to understand.
So that was Douglas, son of Hypnos...
Thoughts?
I don't know...
