My story | PJO x male reader

Ch 2: I'll Beat You With My Bare Hands (Rewrite)

I got down the stairs leading outside of the house and stood outside waiting for the bus to arrive. I stared off blankly into space as I kept trying to think of what my dream was about. I remember a forest and— running. Yeah, I remember running through it. Why was I running?

My brain just kept drawing blanks and after a while, it just stopped working and I zoned out, looking at the black asphalt on the ground

After a few minutes of blankly staring a rustling caught my attention.

It was coming from the trash can my dad made me put in front of the house, last night. Out of the green-can a little furry hand came out, and then another. The lid flipped open and the head of a raccoon popped out.

Its head quickly swiveled, surveying the area, while holding a half-eaten chicken wing in its mouth. I watched as it slowly crawled out of the trash can, landed on the cement, and look around the area again.

It soon saw me. The first time it saw me it, for some reason, did a double take, dropped the chicken wing leaving its mouth wide open, and then just stared at me.

"Hi?" I said.

That seemed to knock it out of its trance as it quickly grabbed the chicken and ran off into the bushes.

Just then, I heard the sound of a motor, then the classic hissing of a bus stop. I turned to my left and walked towards the vehicle, got on, thanked the driver, and started walking down the aisle.

I looked over the people on the bus. Some of them were quietly talking to each other, a few were sleeping and a few were looking at me.

"Hey, Birdbrain!" A kid named Tom stood up and threw a paper ball at me. He would typically do this. It was just a paper ball.

It was heading straight for my head but mid-flight it vanished with a brown and red flash around it.

"What the—" I said.

"Dude!" one of the boys laughed at Tom. "Ain't no way a bird just snagged that. What would coach say?"

Tom laughed back. "If at first you don't succeed..."

He, and now his friends, stood up and each threw paper balls which sailed through the air and hit me. I just sighed and kept walking down the aisle.

"Hey, Y/N." A male voice said.

I turned to my left and saw short black hair and immediately knew who it was.

I just sat down next to him, sighing.

Mike was my only real friend. He was tall, way taller than me. Skinny, tan-skinned, has brown eyes and—

"Wanna play chess?" would always have a chess board on him.

"You do know I still don't know how to play it." I said. "Teach me it in history."

"Aww. Alright."

We then fell into a comfortable silence. I decided to go back and think about the dreams I'd had. It's really been bugging me. Why can't you remember something that you've experienced three different times?