He loved them. Those wonderful moments of pure quietness. They were rare, uncommon, and practically impossible to come by. But they were wonderful. And they were his.

He could imagine anything he wanted to. Those five minutes that she didn't speak weren't moments filled with hatred, but with smiles. Really, the ice cold screams that suited the mood could have easily been laughter. Those tears streaming down her face could have been caused by laughter, not him. Her red cheeks could have been a result of happiness or comfortable warmth, like a glowing fire on a snowy night. They weren't the frightening, startling purple-red of frostbite, sweat, and anger. No one said otherwise. Words of protest could not be heard. It could have been something else.

Imaginary scenes swirled through his head. It was back to the old days. He was with them. They were all smiling madly, forgetting the troubles of being a demigod. Each gave their unique, hearty laughs as yet another hilarious joke was told. None of then were cold, bitter laughs. None. Each was genuine, kind. Their echoes filled the blank sound.

Maybe she didn't hate him. Maybe she loved him. She never said she didn't. The words she's never said play over and over again through the impenetrable absence of noise. "I love you. I love you. I love you." The simple words are forever on repeat, and nothing breaks them until it does the same to the dead air.

If it's not that sound that he hears when there is a lack of it, it's something else that rings through his ears. It's still related to her. To them. It still stings, but it still heals. It's just a single a word. It's a mere three syllables. Only six simple letters are in the word. Family. And it's simple. It's that simple, but it's so complex. And it hurts, but it doesn't. And it cleanses, but it makes him cringe. And it's meaningless, but after all those years it holds so much. It's nothing anymore, but it's his everything. And he can't fit it into his head, but it's the single thing he knows most about, the thing he is so familiar with.

"Luke." And the bliss is done with, over, dead. The single syllable has broken everything. It's filled with hate, disgust, anger, and indescribably burning fury. There's no pretending that she's smiling, or pretending that she's happy. It's clearly impossible. She's spoken, and made everything so terribly clear. And the peace he found is gone.

But maybe it's a good thing. The stillness of the air isn't always a pleasant occurrence.

He always has that ringing in his head. And that one simple word won't leave him. It haunts him. It's his favorite word, but he hates it above all other words in the dictionary. He hates it above all the other sounds in the world. None are worse than this one. It is, of course, that same echoing word. It is the awful, burning word. Family. To him, it's a broken word. It's a hopeless word. It's the kind of word he wouldn't dare say, and is afraid to think. It's a similar situation to a young child and a curse. It's a frightening idea to think that it could creep onto your lips and sneak out into the air. To think it is almost as bad because it ounces around your skull, vibrating as it would in the silent room. It's absolutely horrible. It's terrifying to think a word has this much power. Just a few simple syllables could make him stop for a moment. It would make him think, What have I done? And he's scared, so scared to even think about thinking about the word because he could invade at any second, and if he invaded those thoughts for even a millisecond, there would be trouble. There would be much trouble. And if he didn't sneak into those thoughts, there would be no one to stop them. And that was frightening in itself.

So, maybe he needs the sound. Maybe he needs another distraction from all of this. Perhaps the noise is just as helpful. It gets rid of those frightening thoughts. The sound banishes the hopeless dreams, hopeless wishes, and hopeless words. It makes it easier. Easier. Easier to face the truth. Things won't get better. Kronos will use him. And then he'll die. He'll just be that convenient little stepping stone. He'll just be the candy wrapper; necessary for the success of the plan, but useless, and disposed of immediately when he's served his purpose.

But, then, who says you can't have a bit of a happy illusion? Who says wars can't be interrupted by simple imaginary worlds? Maybe it's okay to pretend that things aren't as bad as they are. Maybe, just once in a while, you can act like you just might get out of this chaos alive.

So, he decides, those uncommon moments of silence just might be wonderful.


AN: Winter Solstice today... Anyone die? That's my excuse for the pathetic quality of this one. I honestly have no idea where it came from. Wherever it did, I sure hope nothing else comes from there... I suppose this would take place around the fourth book. After the third, but before the incident. I guess it could be after that, too. If it wasn't obvious, "she" is Annabeth. If you'd like it to be Thalia, go right ahead, I don't care, but I pictured it as Annabeth. If it seems to wander a bit in places, I agree. I started wondering where I was headed after a while. If I don;t post til then, merry Christmas/happy holidays. (I'll probably sign absoltutely everything that way until the day after.)
-Lexi