A job that slowly kills you. No Surprises ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:35 Radiohead

Percy was overwhelmed. He was tired, he was stressed.

He was only 12 whenever he was handed his first quest. He was only a boy whenever he was landed a prophecy to take on.

He couldn't stand to face scars on his body from battle. He couldn't glance down at patches of his skin without vile rising in his throat. His eyes were always filled with shame if anybody's eyes even lingered a second longer than they should have.

He never wanted this. He never wanted to be depended on as he was. He wanted to live a normal life.

He longed to go to college. He yearned for a chance to stay at a normal school, not a boarding one.

He wanted his hands to be clean, not littered with blood. The blood may have come off, but he could still feel the sickly texture of it hanging from his fingers like webs.

He looked so tired. So unhappy.

The gods don't speak for them. They don't speak for his emotions, or any of the campers. They only care about the reign of Olympus.

Now, as he takes on even more quests for a chance of recommendation letters, he can't help but wear down with each strike of his sword.

He would come back after a quest. Heavy heart, and puffy eyes as medics inspected wounds of his that were 'guaranteed' to heal.

The cuts may close up, but the sadness that lingers never will.