This is my first full length story. At least, I hope it will be. I'm not sure how much motivation I have for writing this WAY overused plot line. Sorry. But, please review!

IMPORTANT: THERE IS CURSING

ALSO IMPORTANT: FIRST THREE CHAPTERS SUCK EGGS

MOST IMPORTANT:FOURTH CHAPTER IS GOOD

Disclaimer:I do not own the PJO series or any related works.

I stopped running for a moment, just to catch my breath. I leaned against what seemed to be an ancient oak tree, towering over me.

"Strange," I thought out loud, "I didn't think trees this old still existed."

Soon I heard footsteps, running behind, chasing me.

I limped as I pushed off from the relic of a tree, but I soon forced myself into a trot, and eventually broke out into a full on run.

I cursed as I struggled with my backpack. I had put two forty pound weights in it this morning, along with my schoolwork. All in all it had to have weighed about a hundred pounds. Of course, I hadn't expected to have to run for my life.

I thought it would just be another boring Wednesday; going to classes for eight hours, then singing at Men's Choir - my stepfather had made me join - then going to Robotics, then walking home.

What I did not expect to happen was to be attacked by those... things. I could have easily outran them if it wasn't for the weights in my backpack, but if I ditched my backpack, I'm sure those things would have torn it to shreds, along with my precious schoolwork. It would take me years to make all that work up.

Perhaps I should explain.

My name is Tiergan MacDonald, but my friends call me Ajax. A particularly nerdy kid who was into Greek mythology had called me that when I was in the second grade, and I suppose the name stuck. After doing some research, even I accepted it. Nobody knows how to pronounce Tiergan anyways.

I had lived my whole life in Wyoming, from birth till the eighth grade. Supposedly my stepfather had met my mother on a business trip to Scotland, and was so taken with her beauty that he had hauled her back with him. He was hardly even mad when he found out that she had been pregnant with me for two months before they met.

She said she had gotten drunk and slept with the first person she had seen.

Needless to say, he never buys her any drinks. He's a pretty cool guy I guess.

Of course, because my mom had never been married, he wasn't technically my stepdad, just not my biological father. He was the only 'father figure' I had in my life, but I never felt any real connection to him. I wasn't even surprised when they told me he wasn't my real dad, although I have never called him anything other than Daddy to his face.

Back to the matter at hand.

I have a sort of orange red hair that my mother despised. She said it made me look Irish. I could really care less.

I'm 6'2", or maybe 6'3", I haven't checked in a while. Not since I started living alone.

My stepfather was basically rich, but he and Mom were both tied down to jobs in Wyoming. So, when I tested into a magnet school in New York, I was shipped off to live on my own, in a nice apartment, bills paid for a full four years. I had it easy.

Anyways, I'm a sophomore in high school. I have severe ADHD, but I take medication for it. At least, I usually do. This morning I had been running late and forgot.

What I didn't forget was the weights. Ah yes. The weights. You're probably sitting there, thinking to yourself, "Why does he have weights? That seems like a stupid thing to do. And how can he even carry a hundred pound backpack? That's unrealistic!" To which I say, "One question at a time!"

First off, let me relay to you the story of a Greek guy. He probably had a name, but I've forgotten it. Anyway, this Greek guy took a newborn calf and lifted it over his head one hundred times. He did this every day. As the calf grew, so did his strength, until finally, the calf became a full-grown bull. And that is the story of how some Greek guy became the only Greek guy in Greece to be able to lift a bull over his head.

I decided to try this, and every ten weeks I added another ten pounds to my backpack. This was the first day of eighty pounds. Unfortunately, I had never tried running. Let me tell you, my back hurt like hell. And I'm pretty sure that covers all the questions! Now, back to the story!

(A/N:If you do this, you WILL suffer irreversible spine damage! Never do this! Ever! You don't want to end up like Mr. Crocker, do you? NEVER EVER DO THIS!)

Before I had even gotten to school, those monsters - which I later learned, were Laistrygonian Giants - had found me, started licking their lips, and ran towards me. All I could do was run away from those 8-foot tall weirdos, at least while carrying a hundred pounds.

It was like a sick joke. Like someone had said, "Oh, you made one tiny mistake? Whoops! Your life is now over. Have a nice day!"

Anyways, I ran out of the city, after what seemed like hours - and probably was - and came to a forest. I figured that I could lose them in the forest. There were tons of low-hanging branches, and they were much taller than me.

Which brings you up to speed.

As I ran through the forest, I was surprised by the number of roots.

I had to slow my speed considerably to avoid tripping on one of them, which probably would have hurt a lot, considering the extra weight I was carrying.

For about the millionth time, I wondered why those giants were chasing me.

Why had it happened today? The day I forgot my meds?

All this thinking made me lose my focus, and I tripped over a root.

I somersaulted through the air, my backpack carrying me another yard or two, until I smashed headfirst into a tree trunk. It bent forwards a little, breaking my fall. It wasn't as big as the other trees, maybe only ten feet tall. But that's not the bad part.

My backpack exploded, papers flying everywhere, ink smearing on the damp ground.

I layed there, dazed, certain that my life was over. If those giants didn't eat me, which was starting to become a very distinct possibility, my teachers would murder me.

The fact that I valued my teacher's papers more than I valued my own life filled me with a rage that is hard to describe. The best way, I think, would be to say that it was like a killer migraine that you knew would go away if you destroyed something. All you can think of is throwing something at a wall. Hard.

Which wasn't actually too far from what happened.

Only, the something was the tree I had hit, partially loosened from the ground, and the wall was four Laistrygonian Giants, standing in a line, smacking their lips hungrily.

I suppose that fear, adrenaline, and overwhelming rage, all at the same time, was what did it.

I screamed as I wrenched the tree from the soil, and threw it with all my rage, trunk-first, at the giants, who were now staring in disbelief at what I had just done.

It flew with blinding speed, impaling all four Laistrygonian Giants, and pinning them against another tree. They disappeared in a cloud of yellow dust, but I wasn't watching.

"Oh my God. I'm a murderer. Oh my God. What am I going to do? I just killed four people. Jesus Christ. I am a murderer. Fu-" I was cut off by my fainting.

When I woke up, it was just past dawn, usually when I wake up for school.

Without thinking I put on my backpack, weights still inside the mangled mess of fabric.

I had been walking aimlessly for about ten minutes before I realized I was alone in the woods.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

Crap.

I turned around and I could still see the tree I had thrown impaled in another tree, but the Giants were nowhere to be found.

I looked down at my hands.

Had I really done that?

Me?

I put my thoughts aside and started walking, backpack still on my shoulder, weights still in my back pack.

Oh lord did I walk.

I must have walked for at least a week, but I lost track after about six nights. I never took breaks, except when I crossed a stream. Everybody's got to drink. But apparently my body didn't think that sleep was as important.

I was blazingly hungry, but all the trees were dead and all the animals were hibernating.

I had to keep walking.

I had to get away from the crimes I thought I had committed.

I walked all the way out of the forest.

When I saw the road, I thought I might die. I was okay with that I think. I had finally gotten away. I was ready for this to be my life's accomplishment. I simply layed down by the side of the road, and slept.

When I awoke, I was in a bed.

At first I thought it had all been a nightmare, to my great relief, until I realized it wasn't my bed.

I cursed out loud.

A man in a wheelchair motored into the room. He looked kind enough.

Whether he chose to ignore the curse, or whether he just didn't hear me, I'll never know.

"Well, well, well. He has finally awoken from his slumber!" said the man in the wheel chair.

"Hey there Rip Van Winkle! Have a good twenty year nap?" joked a male voice from outside of the room.

I looked with fear at the man in the wheelchair, but he just smiled. I realized it was only a joke.

When I finally managed to say something, I realized that I had the deepest morning voice I had ever heard.

"Where's my backpack?" is what I said.

"Over there," he said, pointing to the corner, "but more importantly, do you feel well enough to return to your fellow Romans?"

My fellow Romans? What in the world was he talking about?

"I'm sure they are very worried. You have been out for over two weeks."

"Two weeks!" I cried, realizing how much make-up work I would have.

Then I remembered. The giants. I had already been gone for three, maybe four weeks. And I had murdered them. I could never go back, no matter how long I waited.

I looked at these people. Would they hate me if they knew what I had done?

Would I have to hide from them?

Probably.

I had made up my mind. I would never tell anyone.

"Yes, two weeks. Your body probably needed time to recuperate, after... you did whatever it is that you did. Here, have some nectar."

Nectar? Was he serious? Like nectar was going to give me two weeks of my life back.

Almost spitefully I reached out to grab the glass, and drank heartily.

It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted, almost like... no, exactly like Kool-Aid, only with way, way, WAY too much sugar in it. It was the best thing in the world.

The man in the wheelchair looked like his brain was being sucked out through his ears, as he watched me down the whole glass.

I heard the voice that had called me Rip Van Winkle mutter, "Holy Hermes!"

Me and the man in the wheelchair were both too stunned to speak, although I wasn't quite sure why he was so stunned.

Then I started to feel woozy. I fell back down into bed, and my brain went into overdrive. I was thinking so fast it was unbelievable. Then I started thinking too fast. Way too fast. And it was only going faster and faster. Pretty soon my mind felt like it was going to explode. I couldn't do anything but stare at the ceiling.

The pain was unbelievable. I suffered through it for what seemed like years, but was probably only seconds, until I fainted again.

So? What did you think? Don't worry, I won't make Ajax a Gary Sue, though it's hard not to. And he won't be the son of some obscure god, like Chaos or something. But please tell me what you thought!

REVIEW!