ꌗᎮꀤ꒒꓄ ꀤꉓꃅꂦꋪ - ᴀ ᴘᴇʀᴄʏ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ ꜰᴀɴꜰɪᴄ

ꉓꃅꍏꉣ꓄ꍟꋪ ꓄ꃅꋪꍟꍟ - I Know Places

A camp for misfits
Children of ancient Greek gods
That's where I belong

⋆⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

"So you're saying I'm not schizo and all the things I'm seeing are real?"

Hedge is not making me feel better about my split-second decision to get in his car with all the talk of monsters and gods, but what was I supposed to do? Once I heard the sirens, all caution was thrown to the wind.

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Huh. At least he doesn't beat around the bush. To whatever gods are out there, if you're out there like Hedge says, show me a sign that I'm not making the worst decision of my life, I pray. After so long of thinking I'm insane and going to therapy training my brain to see the world normally, my mind whirs at twice the speed to process this new information.

I let my gaze wander out the window of Hedge's chipped, orange pick-up truck and rest my chin on my hand. The world flies by in a blur of colors that bounces up and down with the truck. Honestly, he really isn't a great driver and my stomach would agree.

"Hey, I know this song!" My eyes flick to the radio. The blocky green letters flash I Know Places, Taylor Swift.

"'Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes."

Hedge glances over at me and then right back to the road to swerve back into our lane. Eyes on the road, he says, "Oh yeah? They let you listen to music in the asy- I mean, psych-" he makes a sound that sounds like a cross between a cough and a bleat, "mental hospital."

"They are the hunters, we are the foxes. And we run."

"I got an exception, but my mp3 player only had Taylor Swift downloaded," I explain, reaching for my pocket only to find it empty. "No. No, no, no, no! My mp3 player! I must've left it behind."

"Baby, I know places we won't be found."

Gleeson leans down to move his seat up a little more and I get whiplash from the random burst of speed his distraction causes. "Do they still make those things?" He asks, scratching his beard.

"They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down."

Before I can answer, Hedge glances at his window. "If they do, I bet we can find one in there."

I follow the path his finger paints to see a giant shopping mall just off the freeway.

"We can make a quick pitstop and then head to camp. We have time. Probably," he mutters almost as if convincing himself which isn't very convincing to me. "Besides, we've got to get you cultured. Have you ever had Auntie Anne's pretzels? Or Orange Julius? No, Dole Whip! Gods, it's like a little taste of Elysium wrapped up in a styrofoam cup."

I have no idea what this man, sorry, goat-man is going on about, but I would really like my mp3 player back. Seeing as going back for it is not an option...

"'Cause I, I know places we can hide."

Is that my sign? I ask the heavens. Hiding would certainly be welcome and who better to confirm my worries than T-Swizzle herself?

"Sure," I say. In Taylor we trust. What's the worst that could happen?

•─────• ☾ ☀ ☽ •─────•

Rule number one of being a demigod: if you ask dumb questions such as what's the worst that could happen, prepare to be jinxed. Or in the wise words of my idol, "Play stupid games, you win stupid prizes."