Chapter 2. I (unsuccessfully) Pray That I Do Not Die a Second Time

When Pete Jenkins of Brooklyn was born, the doctors declared him dead after six minutes and twenty-two seconds. The baby was not breathing.

In the birthing room of clean, white walls, littered with an array of medical equipment, a man tried to console her wife.

"Please… not my son. Not my little boy," she moaned through hitches in her sobbing.

Her mourning was disturbed by the sudden exclamation of one of the staff, "It's alive!" They looked in wonder at this miraculous occurrence and hurriedly rushed into action to give a full medical examination.

Within the next two and half hours, the baby was declared clinically dead, then alive, dead… then alive again—its heart would stop beating and its skin turning pale for a dozen minutes until it suddenly appeared alive again. On the third time of this happening, there was quite a lot more hesitance to assume of its passing again.

It was diagnosed with a rare form of brain disease, where the mind failed to coordinate with the rest of the body, causing occasional convulsions and the heart to beat irregularly or, sometimes, not at all.

The doctor informed the parents that it was unlikely to live for long, and even in the rare case it does, it would most likely remain in a state of being close to brain dead. Besides, it would need to be attached at all times to an array of machines to remain in the realm of the living.

The parents of the child readily agreed, despite the steep costs of doing so. The infant was their child, and they would never abandon it. Not in a thousand years.

Throughout the next few years, the existence of Pete Jenkins remained unnoticed by the world, though some doctors of this and nearby hospitals had come to study the boy. The consensus was that it was a medical anomaly based on luck and the array of life-support machines.

The savings of the parents of the boy were draining at a rapid pace, they were slowly losing hope.

When the boy was two, tragedy struck. As the father was coming home from work, a truck attempted to swerve to avoid a head-on collision with another car that was traveling in the wrong lane. The unfortunate pedestrian caught in the accident suffered a head injury and was dead within minutes.

For the next year and a half, the mother of the child worked two jobs—a day shift and a night shift—in order to pay the medical costs, barely making her own ends meet in the process. She suffered from overwhelming stress and was rapidly losing hope that her child would heal and wake from this terrifying coma.

On the morning of the boy's fifth birthday, on Floor 4, Ward 7, the denizens of the Hospital heard an echoing scream, a loud crash, then there was silence.

It was dark. So dark.

I felt pain, then pain, more pain.

Then, more pain. A lot of pain, so much pain. It hurts, I don't know how long it has lasted, nor how long it will last—it felt like eternity. It was eternity.

I was in… a sea of pain. Wait, no. That's the wrong idiom. A lake? No no, a world of pain. A-ha! I got it! Wait…

Oh gods.

I was dead.

No, I mean, I was dead. Now, I'm dead dead.

Wait.

How come in a state of nonexistence, I was still talking inside my head?

Head? Do I have a head?!

I'm hungry.

Pancakes. I want pancakes. Blue pancakes.

Something bright appeared in the distance. I squinted my eyes. It was… an orange orb?

Was it in the distance? Or was it right in front of me?

I tried snatching at it, it was not right in front of me. I took a tentative step forwards, the ground was solid, was there a ground? All around me was pitch darkness, contrasting the single ball of light ahead.

I wobbled a little before walking forwards. One step, two. It did not get any larger.

I started running, sprinting forwards. Three, thirty, three-hundred. The pain roared in my ears, I endured. The orb, still, did not seem to increase in size.

Suddenly, I stumble. I trip, and I plunge towards the ground. I'm falling and falling. I scream.

Everything came to life. It's like riding a rollercoaster that had just been derailed, and as you sit in that car as it flies into the air, right before gravity takes hold, you have a transcendent moment of realization: what the hell is happening? What am I doing here?

Of course, I have not had the pleasure of experiencing such an event, and anyone else who did go through it would not be able to tell you how they felt. Therefore, my analogy was flawless and you can not tell me I am wrong.

I opened my eyes, it was so bright, so surreal.

I'd like to say that I accessed the situation carefully, scanning the room for threats. It seemed like I was in some sort of a hospital ward, though the two other beds were empty and nobody was in the room. I felt heavy, with a complete lack of energy. There were an array of tubes stuck into my body, with those connected to large, bulky machines. It seemed like… I was reincarnated.

Of course, disappointingly, my narration was a little inaccurate.

Instead, I awoke screaming.

What happened? What's going on? What the hell was going on?

Oh, I'm still screaming. I stopped screaming.

I choked on air. I said something like, "Gurhgagua," as I attempted to regain my senses.

Looking across the room, I spotted a pink-framed handheld mirror leaning against the wall on a plastic desk. I stared at my reflection for a few seconds and proceeded to have a violent panic attack that involved the destruction of tens of thousands of dollars worth of equipment.

I rapidly pulled out every single needle and tube inserted in my body. Why were there tubes in my nose?

Bolting straight up and swinging off the bed into a standing position, black dots assaulted my vision. I stumbled sideways, crashing into a medical stand which slid across the flow before creating a jarred jingling side as it banged into a wall.

Then I stumble backward, hitting a tall, metal machine. Why did it topple over so easily?

The entirety of the machine broke apart, like when you lose control with a tall stack of plates and they slide and crash into the ground, like an overfilled burrito splitting apart in a chaotic explosion. Scraps of metal shards splashed across the floor as I backed away at a rapid pace.

Apparently, I used every drop of energy available in this pathetic body. As I collapsed onto the floor, I saw the blurry images of nurses rushing into the room with expressions of utter disbelief.

I was woken up by the cacophony of conversation all around me. Some were engaged in heated conversation, while others were busy bustling around, barking orders.

Stay calm. Stay calm. I shut my eyes tight, pretending to still be unconscious.

What should I do? What would Annabeth do?

I recalled Adrian, no, Aidan—what was he called again?—pushing me off that rope bridge into what he said was an instant portal to instant death. I remembered the despair and terror I felt as I plummetted closer and closer to imminent doom, then I felt agony… for a very long time, then I was here.

Ah yes, Adonis, that's his name, he said something about mother earth on her way to wreak havoc and exert brutal revenge, that probably doesn't sound good.

Okay, the pit of death apparently didn't work because I was alive, and somehow I got my memories back.

What did my tour guide say about not drinking Lethe's water before rebirth? Something about a painful premature death, screw him—I was alive, and I am not dying twice.

I heard someone talking in the background in nervous tones. "His medical history is absurd, this kid has been declared clinically dead twice."

Never mind, it seemed like I had already failed my challenge.

"He somehow woke from a five-year coma. What were his parents thinking? Wasting money on a lost cause like that."

"Hey. Well, it worked out in the end," another voice sounded. "He did it."

The first person retorted, "And destroyed 30,000 dollars worth of equipment, can his mother even pay for the damages?"

Oops.

The person continued, "It's also very likely that he suffers from a series of mental disabilities due to limited brain development. He will have to go through a tomography scan before we determine his next steps."

Crap, do I have to pretend to have the intelligence of a toddler?

Action plan: keep my mouth shut, whatever it takes, or I will spend the rest of my life being studied in a lab.

I heard doors slamming open, then it swung shut again. Someone was holding my hand now, it was warm and comfortable.

She whispered something in my ears. I fell asleep.

It turned out, however, I didn't need to pretend to do anything. My motor functions were practically nonexistent.

I was only capable of forming a few measly syllables if I strained the hell out of every facial muscle I had, and my legs weren't even strong enough to support half my body weight.

Basically, I was pathetic. It was degrading, humiliating—I had the instincts of a baby. I could only watch my life unfold through a triple-layered bullet-proof window.

After less than a week, I was discharged from the hospital, probably because they realized the accumulated medical bills would soon be too steep for my mother to ever pay off.

She rented a tiny one-bedroom apartment in New York.

I don't even know her name yet, but I've grown to care for my new mom. The amount of love and attention she sent my way made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

That was until I found out my name.

Pete Jenkins.

Was this a cosmic joke? Was Dionysus in on it?

Anyways, she was taking time off from work to take care of me, and I was getting healthier day by day.

I was learning to speak at a rapid rate, and I could waddle a few steps with a bit of effort. My mom thought I was some sort of child prodigy by my progression so far.

When I scanned one of the newspapers lying on the sofa, I saw the date 2008. A ball of dread sank down my stomach.

After rubbing my eyes and triple-checking the date, then checking the date on my mom's phone, I concluded that I must have somehow traveled back in time.

But this was impossible. How do two identical souls exist at the same time?

I found my answer when I peeked out the apartment's tiny window. The skylines were different, there were big fancy buildings that I did not recognize. This was not the New York that I knew. The dread blossomed into an overwhelming feeling of horror.

I was… not in my world?

Did the abyss of terror that I fell into take me into another dimension?

The sense of hopelessness consumed me. The prophecy apparently said that I would be the only person to stop the earth mother, or whatever her name was. But I now wasn't even in the same plane of existence…

Another thought invading my mind, I turned around and stared at a beaker of water. I willed it to rise. Nothing happened, no tug in my guts, no drain in energy, I simply looked mildly constipated.

I was useless. So utterly useless. That was what I've always wanted, I guess—to live a normal life. But this wasn't a normal life, not in the slightest, trapped in a weak and frail body cursed with the burden that my friends were in imminent danger.

I was interrupted from my depressed musings by the concerned voice of my mom. "Dear, are you feeling alright?"

To my profound annoyance, I burst into loud and ugly wails.

Existence sucks.

It has been a year since my painful entrance into this universe, and I have since become a fully-fledged child prodigy.

I realized that I had neither ADHD nor dyslexia. Words no longer swan around in confused disorder, giving me blinding migraines, and since I was not going to be a badass world-saving demigod, I figured I could make the most out of my relatively advanced intelligence. Annabeth would be proud.

I was reading primary school textbooks, which were all unsurprisingly easy, but I had to maintain the facade that while I was just exceptionally smart, and not make others think I was a demon from hell.

Wait, technically, I might just count as a demon from hell.

Anyways, my plan was to skip as many years of primary school as possible, and just in case my powers only come with age, I'll keep trying to exert control over water, and eventually scout for the mythological world. That is, if I could see it or if it even existed.

If not, I will create positive change through the power of academics.

My plan changed when, four years later, aliens invaded.

Beta'd by GodofFamine

A/N:

I made some edits to chapter 1 and changed everything to first-person.

How was it? I felt like this chapter was pretty mediocre. Please comment, follow, favorite :)

Also, I have no plans for how this story will go and the plot and writing style is entirely dependent on my mood lol.