I just noticed that other PJ writers have written a lot on this topic :D ooooh my fanfic won't be that popular, what with the much spotlighted competition. But ive read them, and i figured that they are all half hearted, hardly with any meaningful plot. People on need to learn to write better, with the exceptions of some...

"Dear Diary,

My dream is to become a novelist, we all know. Uncle has just passed away and I really don't know what to do – I'm homeless, I'm alone, and I can't even wander in the streets of New York because if there's anything I know, it's that America is a rapist's paradise. I'm scared and hungry. I bought this book with money I got from begging and the pen too. And a lot's been happening. This is the first time I'm writing here. It's because I've met him.

Met who? Might you ask?

I'll tell you.

I was wide awake, but tired. A whole day of walking, searching, though I don't know what for. I knew I needed a woman's shelter place, because I just didn't have anything – my same old clothes I kept in the best condition possible, no money, no papers, no passport, and no home, nobody to help me, nothing. All I could lose was my life, and my clothes, and that's when I'd crack.

It was night – late out, but I didn't know what to do. I was sitting at the edge of a pier jutting off shore into the sea, and my legs were dangling from the last plank. I was sitting in peace, smelling the sea spray and listening to its rhythmic flow. As if it called to me – I felt like singing. I felt like writing poetry. Nothing was more comforting than watching inky black waves with shimmering moonlight in the indigo blue sky. Nothing was better than sitting in oblivion, with the mounting waves erratically swishing by, occasionally jumping to catch my feet.

I knew I needed someplace to sleep, and what better place than sleeping here? The sea would keep my company. Its crash and drawback was better than any nightingale or lullaby that I had ever heard.

Before I knew it – I had just been staring at the sea – I felt drowsy and fell asleep, slumping sideways, gently, and my eyes closed on landing.

The scary thing was that I had a sensation of rolling into something wet, and arms were around me, warm as a mother's.

When I had woken up, I wasn't on the damp warping wood of the jutting pier anymore, with the comforting cadence of the sea; no, instead I was on some soft material, wrapped quite warmly, and under the nice blanket-y material, there was uneven, ridged ground, sure to be rock weathered by water.

My eyes fluttered slightly, and I felt warm. The sight was warm. Blurry, but it was warm. It was yellow. The sound of the sea had faded, and now it was like silence reverberating off the cave wall – the silence served as another lullaby.

I straightened my back and rose to place myself tenderly on my backside. There was a blanket on top of me. And instead of facing the sea, I was facing a person.

A man.

He was looking at me with an intense look in his eyes – a look so sharp that my eyes hurt just looking at them. I stared into their green depths while my heart jumped, and I sprang up. I was in a cave. With a man.

It was uncomfortable – the stories I had grown up with were forever etched in my mind. Immediately, I felt so scared that I had a hard time breathing – a hot painful tingling spread up from my stomach to my throat and it felt s if my Adam's apple had plopped into my intestines.

He didn't stir; his face was modelled handsomely – he had carelessly ruffled black hair, that of a young teenager, and large, framed green eyes, His skin was supple, but he looked slightly aged, as if years, possibly millennia of sight, had aged his body, and that he was bored. His nose was a manly large type – flat. He had dimples, it was easy to tell, and he had the mot beautiful mouth I had seen – a manly pink and wide, pearly white teeth glistening. The mouth was slightly apart in concern, his brows furrowing.

All the while, I stared at him, holding the blanket up. I was still in my clothes, thank god.

"Whatever you're thinking, I'm not going to hurt you."

Had he read my mind? I remember dismissing the possibility because my uncle had told me that I was easy to read. Then again, his gaze never left my face – his green eyes were depthy, but sieving information. All men about to pounce sad the line, all of them.

"Get away from me," I whispered, backing off.

"I'm telling you, you're safer here than out there-"

"Get away from me," I hardly dared to listen to him and his fibbing lies.

"Ok, fine, I'll just 'go away'." He shrugged, got up, and walked out of the cave's dark entrance. He was wearing an unbuttoned white shirt, which was the first thing I found scary – though it was a little humid. Under, he wore blue cargo short and flip flops. He had a wispy black goatee.

I was surprised. I'd gotten up and he had gone away? I regretted spurning his advances slightly. Yet I knew he was being sincere – he had left to have me avoid any discomfort.

I felt bad. I had to say sorry.

I remember trudging out of the cave, and sighting his muscular body walk towards the black water.

The sky was never black – it was always a shade of blue, always. His silhouette captured me, and wrapping around me the blanket, I watched him, wondering why he was heading towards the waves.

The lullaby of waves started again as I looked at them. He too seemed to admire the power of the sea as he trudged comfortably to it.

He was a step away from the water; I never thought he's go in – it was cold at night and dangerous too, but he kept on walking, his feet now gauging an uneven path to break the cadence of the waves. He waded through and I gasped, wondering why he was being foolish and planning to swim of all things in the dead of the night.

What did I do? I ran. I ran towards him, my blanket fluttering like a cape and I yelled "Oi!! What are you doing??"

He halted and turned around, and I appeared on the fringe of the waves, not daring to go in at all. He was truly startled, having been caught in the act, and he certainly did not expect to see me of all people there.

"I'm sorry for my behaviour back there," I mumbled.

"It's ok. You're human, after all."

It took a while for me to digest that – what was he implying? That he wasn't human? Dismissing the comment as a phrase, I took a step closer to him and felt the tinier waves tickle my sensitive toes.

"Please don't go in – it's dangerous."

"What is?"

"The sea, at night."

He took it offensively, I could see. His soft and curious expression transformed into one of transgression. He seemed hurt.

"What's so wrong about the sea at night? After all, the sea is a base for all life."

Overhead, somehow, thunder boomed at his words, as if God was rebuking him for highlighting the sea of all elements in life.

"No…I meant that it's just not safe as of yet at night. Don't go in, please."

Something in my expression prompted him to exit his stand in the water. He walked back to me, and as soon as he reached me, I turned around. The two of us walked back to the cave.

"Thanks," I said, "for saving me, if it was you. I thought you were some kind of crazed goon."

"Not all male helpers are goons," he chuckles, smiling at me. "And you're welcome. After all, I'm not that kind of a guy, the type that goes around scaring women."

I laughed slightly, and I believed him.

"What were you doing on the pier?" He inquired.

I was shifty, uncomfortable. I could tell him the truth, couldn't I?

"I was looking for a place to sleep. The sea has its charm in the evening and I sort of…fell asleep."

"What about your home?"

"Homeless. I've been searching for a woman's shelter place for a while."

Even in the darkness, it was evident that he could sense my discomfort. But he wasn't repulsed or put off – in fact, the sympathy now plastered to his face, the unabashful type, seemed to come straight from his heart.

"You're homeless?" He was appalled by the possibility.

"Yeah."

"But you're – you're…..how can you of all people be?"

Wow. Shocking.

"What do you mean "me"? Being homeless isn't all that bad!!"

He just looked at me intensely.

"Ok, it's bad."

He looked like he really wanted to put his arm around me to comfort me.

It was almost morning, dawn was going to break; the sky had lightened slightly. So instead of heading back to the cave, I trudged to the pier, the same woody pier, and he followed me. The sea was calming down, and it was beautiful – even I longed to jump in and have all my worries disappear from my mind. Instead, we sat on the edge of the wooden shafts, the blanket around me, and I sighed mournfully.

"How did this happen to you," he asked me, his voice weak with stupefaction.

"What? Homelessness?"

He nodded.

"My parents died in a plane crash not long back – and I was orphaned. My uncle took me up, and I wanted to become a novelist by the time I passed my adolescence with him. But then he was diagnosed with cancer, and all our money went into that, and I had to even sell off the house to have him live. He died, and all that cash just…wasted away."

Pause. "Sorry," his manly, godlike voice whispered. "Even trite human things can hurt."

"Trite?"

"It's in a different sense. America does not know the meaning of trite."

He left me confused.

I was getting used to him. But at the very moment, there was a certain warmth than was spreading through me. You know that feeling when you see a cute guy looking at you? That type. That feeling of a sudden rush of hormones in your blood. I don't know where it came from, but it was a nice feeling. I was having….feeling for my saviour, this cute guy who'd landed up beside me.

"What happened when I was sleeping?"

He looked at me and smiled.

"It's a tall tale."

I frowned. "I can stand tall tales."

"No really," he grinned. "It's literally a tall tale."

And though I knew he was holding back, I let it go.

My hand hurts right now, writing all of this. It's a miracle I can remember everything he said – but it's because I really like him. He's a gorgeous person who's open and out, and he didn't even dare to hurt me. He seemed interested in me too.

So when he said that he really had to go, I was a little sad. I mean, when you meet the guy of your dreams, you don't entirely want him to leave you.

I allowed him to walk back to shore, and after I had thanked him, he told me that if I wanted to, we could meet again at the same place later on today…in the evening. He parted then, smiling at me, his green eyes of power digesting and lingering on my flushed face.

Then he just turned and walked back, walking along the shoreline, but walking diagonally, as if purposely drowning his feet in water. When he was far along, and thigh deep in water – right by that big overhanging cliff rock, I giggled slightly, glad I'd met him.

I turned around.

Then I turned back, and he had disappeared."

Annabeth stopped, ad the diary entry had finished, and she turned to face me and Grover, with her eyes glistening slightly.

Wow. Sally Jackson and Poseidon…Part 1.

The magic of such a thing happening – I could almost feel my mother recounting those words to us, her face dreamy as it always went talking about father.

"And to think he left her," I grumbled.

Where the resentment came from, I do not know. But it was hard to imagine my father parting with her what with Sally's immense affection for him.

I only wondered where I would come in.