It was a sunlit room in Manhattan, the bedroom of an apartment that Annabeth and I moved in together after we graduated Harvard College, at 20. (Annabeth managed to manipulate the administration into graduating us early.) I woke up in the sunlit room, with Annabeth beside me in the Queen bed. When she woke up, we went to the Met. And there, in front of a statue of Heracles, I pulled out a ring and proposed to Annabeth, who instantly enveloped me in a kiss and, teary-eyed, said, "YES, you kelp face!"
It was a long isle, a year later. Annabeth strode down it, wearing no makeup as usual and a white bridal dress, on the arm of her father Fredrick. She arrived at the altar, and the priest said some stuff, and we recited our vows, and she kissed me. She was Annabeth Jackson now, and I was happy.
It was a big pool in LA. Annabeth was there for my first real swimming race. I won, and it was only the beginning. As I stood there, reveling in happiness, the crowd cheering, I could hear Annabeth yell, "Congrats, Seaweed Brain!"
It was a hospital room. Annabeth lay in a bed, silent. She had just given birth to twins named Sam and Alex. Both of us were so happy, in that small room, with just one nurse.
It was an office. Annabeth's office. Her boss, an old man who was the editor of TIME, strode in. "I'm retiring, Annabeth, and you have my job now. Payment: $13.9 million a year. Goodbye, Annabeth." The old man strode out again. I hugged Annabeth very tight for a minute, and then we went home.
It was the lobby of a Sutton Place, one of the most expensive parts of New York, apartment building. I pulled out a check, and on it wrote $12,980,000 and addressed it to Sutton Place Apartments, Inc. We had just bought the penthouse, the most expensive residence in the building.
It was MIT. Sam and Alex stood in the spotlight, accepting their graduate diplomas. They hugged us, we ate for a while, and everybody was happy. Eventually, Sam and Alex went off in their respective Volvo and Mercedes, and Annabeth and I left in our BMW.
It was a different hospital, a much more technologically advanced one. Sam, Alex, Annabeth, two other adults, and I stood watching Alex's wife give birth to my first grandkid named Harry.
It was the same hospital, but a different room and 10 months later. The same group was there, except with different adults, still Annabeth and I. Sam's wife was giving birth to my second, and last, grandkid named Ted.
It was a college I don't know the name of. We watched Ted graduate, but Annabeth and I needed to get home. We were both 84, for the gods' sake.
It was a mansion in Elysium. Annabeth and I lived happily there, since we decided not to try for rebirth, and life was still fun, even though it wasn't life anymore. We remained there for eternity, having more fun than any spirit in Hades.