Forgotten memories

Who is the president?

This memory was like the one I had before, but in a different setting. I was younger and shorter, around 10, maybe. I looked through what looked to be a door slightly open. I could see a table and a chair. In the chair I saw Apollo sitting. He was like he always was looking, but more casual the usual. He was wearing a bland shirt with a denim shirt on and jeans. He was looking at the other side of the table, it was a bad view, because I could see a pair of legs under the table, but the wall hid the person owning the legs. Apollo looked irritated, but understanding, he began to say.

"John, I know you don't like this ordeal, neither do I. We have no choice." He said insisting. A voice began to hear from the other side of the table.

"Yes, I don't like this ordeal. It's all because your father decided to be an ass," echoed through the room, and the impact of those words hit me like a wave. The jab in my heart intensified, a mix of emotions swirling within me. My memories with my father, though scattered, had always been a source of comfort. Now, hearing those words from his voice in this particular context, I felt a pang of confusion and hurt. Apollo sighed and ran a hand through his golden hair, a gesture of frustration.

"John, you know it's not about our preferences. The Fates have woven a complex tapestry, and he's entwined in its threads. Our cooperation is crucial to maintaining balance."

The voice on the other side of the table, my father's voice, sounded bitter.

"Balance? Your father meddling in mortal affairs, causing chaos, and you call it balance?"

Apollo's expression tightened, and he leaned forward, his hands resting on the table.

"It's not that simple, John. You know the consequences if we don't follow through. The prophecies, the destiny of him, hinges on our actions."

My father's legs shifted under the table, and a moment of silence hung in the air before he spoke again. "I'm tired of playing your games, Apollo. Tired of sacrificing for the sake of Olympus. There has to be another way."

Apollo's gaze softened, a flicker of empathy in his eyes. "I understand, John. Believe me, I do. But defying the threads of destiny only leads to greater chaos. We must fulfill our roles, no matter how burdensome they may be."

Your father's voice grew more strained. "This will eventually tear me apart."

Apollo's expression mirrored the pain in your father's voice. "I know, John. I've made sacrifices too. But our sacrifices serve a higher purpose. The Olympian order must be maintained. He needs to follow the stars."

I heard a sigh then my dream went black. And I woke up on the back of the boar.

We rode the boar until sunset, which was about as much as my back end could take. Imagine riding a giant steel brush over a bed of gravel all day. That's about how comfortable boar-riding was. I have no idea how many miles we covered while I slept, but the mountains faded into the distance and were replaced by miles of flat, dry land. The grass and scrub brush got sparser until we were galloping (do boar's gallop?) across the desert. As night fell, the boar came to a stop at a creek bed and snorted. He started drinking the muddy water, then ripped a saguaro cactus out of the ground and chewed it, needles and all.

"This is as far as he'll go," Grover said. "We need to get off while he's eating." Nobody needed convincing.

We slipped off the boar's back while he was busy ripping up cacti. Then we waddled away as best we could with our saddle sores. After its third saguaro and another drink of muddy water, the boar squealed and belched, then whirled around and galloped back toward the east.

"It likes the mountains better," Percy guessed.

"I can't blame it," Thalia said. "Look."

Ahead of us was a two-lane road half covered with sand. On the other side of the road was a cluster of buildings too small to be a town: a boarded-up house, a taco shop that looked like it hadn't been open since before Zoe Nightshade was born, and a white stucco post office with a sign that said GILA CLAW, ARIZONA hanging crooked above the door. Beyond that was a range of hills... but then I noticed they weren't regular hills. The countryside was way too flat for that. The hills were enormous mounds of old cars, appliances, and other scrap metal. It was a junkyard that seemed to go on forever.