¹POCKET FULL OF POSIES. p. jackson

i. The Chore of Patrolling

chapter one
❛ the chore of patrolling ❜

━━━━━ IF POSIE WERE honest, border patrol was the worst chore at Camp Half-Blood. Even compared to chores such as checking storage and stock of weapons, or even preparing lunches with the harpies — being put on border patrol was Posie's worst nightmare ... after all her other fears, of course. Such other fears include her hands glowing green, giving her or someone else boils on the skin and a cough, another conversation with Apollo, going into the Underworld again, or nearly getting made a human-sized chew toy by Cerberus. All rational, sensible, and reasonable fears, mind you! (She didn't need to be told she was a worrywart. Posie knew that already, thanks to the likes of her brothers, Michael and Austin. They really knew how to instill her with confidence ...)

        Border patrol was the most recent task added to the list of chores. The newest addition as in: hardly even a week ago. Despite the limited time since it was added, Posie was certain this was the worst chore to be assigned. Yet, what even is border patrol? Well, it was quite boring and painfully dull. The person assigned to the task stood on the border of Camp Half-Blood (that's where the "border" part of border patrol came in) and they patrolled (and that's where the "patrol" part of border patrol came in) for any monsters that could be lingering around. It was exactly as it sounded — standing at the treeline on Half-Blood Hill where the magical borders of the camp met the mortal world, waiting to see if any monsters stumbled upon them, sensing the weakening magic that kept them safe. Standing there, weapon in hand, weighed down by armor, and waiting to see if any monsters came by for a large meal of demigod-ly thighs.

        But why was border patrol even added to the list of cycling chores for Camp's demigods? The answer is Luke Castellan.

        Just as she was (rightfully) scared of glowing green hands and the Underworld, Posie was just as afraid of something so many talked about casually — dreaming. She was absolutely terrified of falling asleep and her mind conjuring some ghastly scene to show her, so the night full of rest she was supposed to have gotten, she didn't get. Unlike the other things on Posie's (Ever-Growing) List of Fears, she couldn't run away from her dreams; not how she could run away from Cerberus, the Underworld, or anything that could make her hands glow. Everyone had to sleep, and even if she tried not to sleep, the visions would still find her. She would see flashes of images. Throughout the routine, almost mundane life at Camp Half-Blood, she would have these split-second moments where she saw things — that (unfortunately familiar) sickly green glow, black poplar trees like the Underworld's, a golden knife, and golden eyes. At times, even, the flashes became so fast, they were indescribable — only confusing blurs as Posie had to reach for the thing nearest to her as her feet staggered underneath her, and it felt as if the earth was spinning out from beneath her.

        One particular night, not too many nights ago, she felt particularly nervous to fall asleep. With the summer session getting ready to commence, many of Cabin Seven still hadn't arrived. It was her, Lee (as the Head Counselor, he typically ended up arriving just a little before the rest of the summer campers), and Reed (his mother dropped him off early since he got suspended until the end of the school year; it was supposed to be punishment, but her half-brother didn't look particularly upset regarding his early arrival) in the golden cabin as it dimmed in the shinning moonlight Artemis brought with her silver chariot. Posie just knew that night, the moment she closed her eyes, she would have a nightmare. So she tried not to fall asleep.

        If her brothers took notice of her trying to stay awake, they didn't say anything (even if they did glance at her oddly every once in a while throughout the night until the lights were out). Once both Lee and Reed turned over in their bunks, and Posie heard them snoring ever so slightly, she continued to lay awake. By technicalities and rules, campers weren't allowed to "decorate" their bunks beyond bedding, pillows, and the like; however, many former campers took it upon themselves to carve their initials into the underside of the top bunks. Posie dragged her fingers along the old initials — L.O., R.C., G.W.