garbage

jason grace really did deserve better lmao

"Again."

Jason is wheezing, gulping down cold air in his burning and aching lungs like it's water and he's lived through an arid desert for his entire life. He can't keep his knees locked much longer, so he falls to the ground, crashing like a plane. He can't lift his head— it's hanging and his blond hair cascades against either temple.

His fingers curl into the dirt below. He would make fists if he could exert the energy. His arms are wobbling. Spit drips from between his teeth and blood pours from his split lip.

Scabs turn to scars after they have suffered enough. Pick at them and hurt them. The bleeding is proof that you are alive. When it turns white, you have persevered.

A sharp crack resounds against his bare spine, like it's counting the grooves in his vertebrae. Jason doesn't even have the strength to scream; that time has passed. His throat is raw, rubbed through with agony, and red. He just falls, just falls to the ground.

"Get up."

Jason can't. He turns over on his back and inhales sharply, staring through one good eye at the sky. A pale blue, and wispy clouds stretched thin across it like a blanket.

"You can. You must. You must complete what is expected of you. That is your destiny. Pawn or otherwise. You cannot stop moving."

Jason is exhausted, it reaches deep into his bones and fills him with lead. But he knows that she's right. He needs to move like a shark, deadly and calculated. Every move he makes has to be thought out and visualized before he does it. His words are weapons, his hands are weapons.

"You are a weapon, pup. Get up and run it again. You might even earn supper if you hit the mark. Come. You can do better than this."

A face flashes through Jason's mind, eyes electric and hair jagged. He remembers Thalia in bits and pieces, and knows that if he had listened and followed the rules, everything would have fallen into place for him.

Jason pushes himself up to his elbows and exhales, slowly, calming his thrumming heartbeat. He gets to his knees, then to his feet, posture straight. He is a weapon, and this he must accept.