νεκρός || Annabeth Chase x Fem!OC

Vol. 1-8: I chit-chat with a pouty boy

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I went back to Cabin 11 for a little bit. In the early part of the night, I pretend to be asleep until I know everyone else is passed out, and then I go into the woods. I changed and claimed my sleeping bag on the floor. I'm not alive, so I can't feel the floor, but it does feel like a slap to the face.

"Nice racing today," Connor said to me.

"Wasn't me. It was Annabeth," I pointed out.

"Nice lying, too," Travis said.

"What lying? I didn't drive."

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I didn't," I enforced. "The horses don't like me, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. That's a good point."

Stupidity amuses me so.

Anyways, once everyone was asleep, I silently got out of the bed and made my way out of the cabin. I decided to take a walk on the beach, since I don't go there very often.

It was nice, I suppose, but I've never cared for saltwater. I've always preferred the bayou. I know a lot of people think that's stupid. The water is doodoo brown, it kind of stinks like gator shit, and all of the trees get in the way. Oh, and all the parasites and snakes and stuff. But you have to remember, I'm from there. The bayou was literally my backyard. It was practically my second home. And besides, there's tons of reptiles there. I like reptiles.

I also don't like sand. It keeps getting stuck in my shoes and stuff and it's super grainy. Mud is better. Mud is mud. If you get mud on your clothes, you just hose them down until there's no more mud. Sand tends to stick around like a damn leech.

I stood in one spot for a little while, watching the waves roll up and lap at the shore. The bayou isn't like that. The water is almost always calm there unless there's a motor boat or an alligator is thrashing and killing something. This water was grey and smelled salty, and there weren't any trees anywhere. I was good at climbing trees, honestly. I used to take Rhiannon and Toliver to the bayou with me and teach them things. We used to catch some fish and crawdads to cook later on, or make mud ointment. (Hey, medicine wasn't easy to get back then. If you got cut? Slather some mud. A rash? Slather some mud. You got a fever? Mud for it. You will be shocked to learn that I never ingested Ibuprofen a single day in my life, while you probably use it once a week.)

Then I realized I was thinking of my family again. And I try not to allow myself to do that, but I usually fail.

I stepped into the surf, feeling the waves lapping at my feet. I considered just going under and sitting there. I can't drown, so why not? I've buried myself alive before. Didn't die. I've walked straight into bonfires. I smelled smoky once I'd "healed", but otherwise, I was always fine. Sometimes, I'd like to be able to feel pain again. It seems like every aspect of my existence just reminded me... it was just that. An existence, not a life. I'd love to get punched in the face and feel my nose bleeding and my eyes tearing up. I'd love to get exhausted after running around for a while. I'd love to to get a migraine and tell everyone to shut up before I kill them. Instead, I'm stuck like this.

Sometimes, I can manage to forget that I'm technically a ghost. Sometimes I convince myself that I'm a zombie since I'm so much more life-like than ghosts. I don't deal with intangibility on a daily basis. I'm not some shimmering, glowing, ethereal form that catches your eye. I just look... well, as normal as I can be, anyway. Weird from a human standpoint, normal from an alive standpoint. But sooner or later, people notice I don't have visible veins or the red webbing in my eyeballs. People notice that I'll forget to pretend to breathe for a little while, and my chest doesn't move for minutes at a time. People notice that my skin is colder than ice and I don't get hurt. And then I have to run away again.