Disclaimer- Telling you I owned Percy Jackson would be the final proof of my insanity. You believing Rick Riordan doesn't own Percy Jackson would mean someone's getting a new neighbour in rehab.
Dear Diary,
There are two kinds of people in this universe. The living, and the dead. Wait, scratch that- there are 3 kinds of people in this world. The living, the dead, and then there's me.
The idiot who believed he could be part of both. If only.
Now I'm part of neither. I don't know who I am anymore. Go Figure.
I apologize for starting my entries on such a pessimistic note. Guess undead Blackbeard is finally rubbing off me. I'll remind him to stop smoking marijuana when I resurrect him next.(that would be when I get hold of food, which usually takes few weeks) But I kinda have an excuse for being like that don't I? I mean, look at me(not literally, you'll be scarred for life and beyond) I'm gay homeless demigod son of Hades, whose closest thing to family would be a father who's visited 9 times in 15 years, a mother who was struck down by Zeus when I was 4, and a sister who died and chose to be reborn rather than waiting for me to join her. That's me and the life I'm forced to endure.
But don't worry too much about me. I'm used to being neglected. See, I figured out the truth a couple of months ago. People(me in particular) Don't always(and in my case, never ever) get what they deserve. If you have a pretty face and know your way with words and money, then sure, Life's a walk in Olympus for you. But for the rest of us, Life, not death
gives the most misery.
For me, life's like a rebel being crucified. The fire's not small enough to be doused, nor is it big enough to give you the pleasure of an early death. It's just enough to slowly, antagonizingly, make you suffer , to torture you.
But it's all not that bad. I sometimes come close to experiencing that odd fuzzy feeling you people call happiness when Hestia visits me for our little 'Dr. Phil' sessions. If you tell her I said that I'll personally make sure you are the main course of that fabulous banquet that is Cerebrus' dinner. Also, just a couple of years ago, dad visited me and gifted me a beautiful yet deadly sniper rifle, that is a remodel of the DSR 50. It's made of Stygian Iron and is enchanted to shoot bullets made of Celestial Bronze and plain silver(I made undead Beckendorf add that after my little encounter with Lupa). Also, it's enchanted so that it only appears when I need it. I'll admit I was tempted to shoot myself with it, but that would just be a waste of such good bullets. Plus, it wouldn't really matter now. Just few days ago Alecto broke the news to me that Mom chose rebirth. So I guess there is no silver lining for me after all, even in death. Wow. Seems the fates just loves knocking me down again and again. At least them old hags get some entertainment. I just love the way things are going. That, FYI, was sarcasm.
On a different but not unrelated note, Reyna and Grover suggested I should probably spend a little father-son time with Dad. I would have choked on my Gatorade when they said that if I had enough mortal money to buy a pack. Obviously, that idea has not worked. Anyway, I won't be writing for a few days now. Tyson is going to visit me when I travel from the Underworld to Alaska. If he gets hold of this and decides to read, I'm screwed. Yet again.
That's all for now, I guess.
I have to shadow- travel to Italy. Mrs O Leary is probably wrecking havoc in the family mansion.(that thing is in ruins already)
Nico Di Angelo