The Son of Comedy
Hello dear readers, my name is Andrew George Denison. Now I'm sure you're all familiar with my fellow camper Percy Jackson and his posse. But I find that his accounts lack a very important thing, me. Now I'm not saying that I was the only reason Kronos was vanquished. Actually nobody says that, because I wasn't. Although I was there…Sorry I'm getting off topic. I thought people might like to read about the exploits of myself and some other campers.
First, a description of myself. I'm the son of Michael Denison, a literature professor at Chicago University. I had never known my mother. My dad didn't like to talk about her. All he ever told me was that she left soon after I was born. She must have really made an impression on him because he hasn't had a serious relationship since. Every May she'd send me tickets to see the biggest acts in town for my birthday. My mom may have been an absent deadbeat, but she had great taste in entertainment.
I was, and still am, an average looking guy. Dirty blond hair, pale skin. A tad bit heavy, though I wouldn't call myself fat. I mean for an American I'm in fantastic shape. And a little on the short side. I was just another kid. Nobody would ever even know I existed if I didn't speak up now and again. The only ways I could get any attention was performing in school plays or telling jokes at talent shows. Then I was a star. Other than that, I was living a quiet, boring existence in Chicago. Then I learned about my heritage and everything changed. It all began one wintry afternoon.
"And so ends another exciting day of school" I sighed as I stepped outside. It was December Fifteenth, the last day of my freshmen year before winter break. I said a prayer, just like every other day, asking for something interesting to happen. Anything that might get me out of this dull as dirt life. I mean, there were a bunch of strange people who seemed to be circling the building. But that was hardly exciting. So I adjusted my backpack and headed out to the sidewalk.
"Have a nice break, Andrew!" my math teacher, Mr. Roots called out. He was a short, chubby man with a long beard and a really bad toupee. A lot of kids teased him about his bad rug, including me. One of my best lines was how it would look more convincing if he just combed his beard over his head. Thankfully, he's a good sport about it.
I turned around to wish him the same, when I was suddenly bathed in light. I look up and see the strangest thing. An old fashioned Greek comedy mask is floating over my head. Stranger yet, nobody else seemed to notice this oddity, except Roots. He dashes over and grabs me by the shoulder.
"Whoa!" I yelped. "Wanna explain what's going on?"
"Unfortunately , you were just claimed by your Olympian parent at the worst possible time." Mr. Roots said anxiously.
"Olympi-…you mean I'm half god?" I was naturally awe-struck. "So whose kid am I?"
"Judging by the mask, I'd say Thalia, the muse of comedy." Roots said, growing more agitated by the second.
"Comedy?" and the confusion kept on coming, "you actually think the goddess of comedy was somehow attracted to my dad, the lord of boredom?" I should probably elaborate. Imagine the monotone personality of Ben Stein multiplied by ten. Then throw in the thrill of watching paint dry and you have my dad. Yet he wonders why his lectures are poorly attended.
"We'll go into the details of your birth later" Mr. Roots snapped, "You're mom just alerted all the monsters nearby of your location. Why couldn't she wait until we got to camp?" I was about to ask what he was talking about when I saw one of the people who had been circling the school. He was at least ten feet tall, and had muscles that made every action hero look like a nerdy runt.
"How did I not see that before?"
"The mist, it helps monsters like the Laistrygonians hide among mortals. They must have been struggling to find your scent. The son of a muse wouldn't have as strong a scent as kids of the major deities. It explains why I couldn't find you for so long."
"You're a…" before I could finish that thought, the giant was right in front of me.
"Demigod" it growled, "finally I can eat."
"Oh you don't want me" I responded, "I'm barely a demigod at all. I might as well be a gross old mortal. I'm told I taste like brussel sprouts and dirt" Thank the gods for my improv skills. The giant actually bought it.
"maybe you're right. But I could still eat the goat man"
"Goat man?" it took a moment for me to realize he meant Mr. Roots. "Oh you don't want him. Just look at him, he's small and nothing but gristle. But if you let us go you can have his big brother. He's right inside, and a much better meal. Plus he's a fighter, and you look like someone who likes to play with his food. Am I right?"
The giant thought about it. Then gave a small nod. I grabbed Mr. Roots and ran like there was no tomorrow.
"Did you actually just convince a Laistrygonian to let us go by plagiarizing the Billy Goats Gruff?" Mr. Roots asked.
"Hey it worked, didn't it?" I smirked. "Besides you've fallen for my stories lots of times."
"You mean a dog didn't eat your homework?" Roots thought for a moment then said, "Well, your mother is a goddess of theatre and stories, I suppose it's only natural you would be blessed with a silver tongue."
"Cool" I said, "now how about you expand on that whole 'my mom is a Greek goddess' thing"
"We'll talk more on our way to Camp Half-blood in New York." Roots said, pulling something out of his coat pocket.
"New York? Um, how are we gonna get there? I can't exactly spring for a plane ticket"
"Don't worry" Roots blew the whistle he had pulled out "I've got it covered" Almost instantly, a chariot pulled by two winged mechanical horses pulled up in front of us. Suddenly, everything clicked in my head. My prayers had been answered.
"Thanks mom" I whispered. "Shotgun!"