i tried something new, writing style-wise.
lemme know what you think :))

Percy figures he doesn't have that much to worry about when he's on a raft in the middle of the ocean, being the son of Poseidon and all. Especially when the raft is magical and is probably being watched by the Gods themselves (Not that it matters, he thinks, most of them would love to kill him in a heartbeat, anyways)

Even so, a part of him can't help but worry something will go wrong - it seems to happen a lot around him- as he watches the water churn dangerously, angrily under him.

It reminds him of the sea of monsters when he, his friends, and an army of dead confederates had crossed Charbdys' territory. The water had move uncontrollably, recklessly, just like it was now (reminding him that it's a part of him, it'll always be a part of him. No amount of bleeding will help).

He wonders if it makes a difference- being a child of the Gods- and if it changes what he does, who he is, or if it's all predetermined by the Fate's (he still remembers the sound of the yarn cutting over three lanes of traffic, years later). He thinks if that's the case, it's not so bad. He wants to be able to blame the mistakes he's made, the people he's let down on something (other than the obvious culprit- himself) and they seem like a pretty good solution.

His gaze wanders back over the edge of the boat and how the water's like blood (the way it spills everywhere, and stains what it touches). The thought makes him wanna jump over the side, but he knows it won't do anything, anyway, because he can't drown (part of him wants to be able to, while the other part wonders what would happen if he did. Would his dad save him or would he just sink, sink, sink ?)

He looks away so he's not tempted and forces his thoughts elsewhere. His gaze diverts down to his hands and up to his arm to the new, aggressive scars there, like unforgiving mountains and valleys of regret, a constant reminder of what he did. The half a million people he displaced, the injuries and illnesses he caused.

Hephaestus's words come back to him, cutting, cutting, cutting, like a knife- you don't know how powerful you are. He turns them over in his head, as the terrifying realization that they were true hits him full force in the gut.

He had lost control in the volcano (he'd lost control of his powers, of his emotions, of himself ) which meant that it could happen again. He didn't want to think about that (it stung almost as much like the lava that had seared through his skin, branding him, burning, burning, burning ), but he just couldn't wrap his mind around it.

50,000 people.

50,000 people.

Everyone kept saying he was a hero, that he was supposed to be some sort of great prophecy child, and he would change the world (maybe he would change the world, just not in a good way), but what was that supposed to mean if he couldn't get ahold of himself? If he kept screwing everything up and others had to pay for it?

He shifts again, idly wondering what would happen if the raft got a hole in it, looking at stars. He bitterly thinks of how rather poetically sad it is that the sky is the last thing they leave behind. Like nothing else matters except what's above them the vast emptiness of infinity, that seemed to consume everything. He sighs, staring up at the stars, at the constellations at Zoë Nightshade (another person he failed).

He's not ready to go back to camp. Going back means explaining what happened to Chiron and Annabeth what happened in the Labyrinth, in Mount St. Helens, and (he knows) he's not ready to relive it, to tell them about it. The searing, hot pain still flares through him (when he looks in the mirror), and the smell of smoke (like ash and shrouds and death-) clings to his skin and it attacks everyone one of his senses when he tries to breathe (he tries to avoid doing it, but he can only ever last so long).

He's starting to wonder how long it will be until he sees land (though maybe it'd be better if nobody ever saw him again), because he's getting anxious (and riptide feels like a deadweight in his pocket), when the raft comes to a stop, bumping along the shoreline (the water churns at the edge, and his thoughts feel like they're going in circles, spinning, spinning, spinning, but never going anywhere).

(he tries to ignore his trembling legs and shaky hands as he gets off, and prepares himself for what's inevitably going to happen)