The Godly Pursuant (A Percy Jackson fan fiction)

3 - Maggie Crowberry

Alright, so my mind has been blown up a couple of times today.

First, I was brought to a place (by a chariot. A real, tangible, legit flying chariot pulled up by flying horses) that I never knew existed, and not to mention full of lunatic people who claim that they’re godly offsprings. Demigods, in correct terms. Yeah, I’ve been hearing about them demigods from Dad’s stories.

Secondly, yeah, my dad. My father, Hamilton, whom I recently knew was fake. A fake dad. His real name is Chiron. All my life I was never sure of anything. He was the only thing that I know is right but then, I’m wrong.

Last, these lunatic half-god kids are assuming that I am a daughter of Poseidon. Poseidon. The sea god. The god of earthquakes and ponies. The god who I don’t even know if he existed or he just popped out of story books and collective imaginations. I badly wanted to punch the crap out of the guy’s face.

And now I sit in a house called the Big House and it’s not even that big (because I’ve seen bigger houses), and it’s not even a house, for crying out loud, among other lunatic half-god kids who never got farther my own age.

You know what’s creepy with these children? I can’t read their minds directly. I had to keep up a conversation with them—or anything to exchange brain energy—before I could see what they’re thinking. It’s like there’s a protective barrier wrapped around their heads to shield them from mind attacks. Somehow that fact tipped me even more to the theory that these kids aren’t entirely human because they are not so vulnerable. Most of them have attention deficit hyperactivity disorder—ADHD—and dyslexia too, just like me. For a moment I felt belonging, or gratefulness. At least I’m not the only one who has that curse.

It’s not that I’m enjoying this experience. I’m just waiting for an explanation to all these confusing moonshine, and then I’m off. For real. All by myself.  I won’t even invite Fake Dad to come back into my life.

Across the long table in front of me sits Clarisse La Rue, the girl that I thought is a boy, with her beefy legs and feet topped on the edge of the table. She is beside this guy named Chris Rodriguez who is her boyfriend. I would know, because her mind blurs up everytime she looks at him. She’s arguing with this girl named Lou Ellen. They were bickering something about harpies and Greek fire bombs that seemed to be pleasant-sounding things.

Beside me is Percy Jackson, my hypothetical brother. Well, he seemed to be really sure that he’s my brother and I don’t wanna hurt his feelings so I just go with it. And besides, Percy Jackson is really good looking in an exotic kind of way. It would be nice to have a good-looking brother. Good-looking brothers give you popularity points.

One thing that really freaks me out is… he looks like me. This Percy guy. It’s not like I stare at my own reflection in the mirror for hours at a time to know, but I just know. He and I could pass off as twins so badly.

It doesn’t necessarily mean we’re related.

Percy glances at me with swift looks. Everytime he does, I can see in his mind the curiosity, protectiveness, longing…

“Don’t look at me like that, Percy Jackson,” I said self-consciously. It’s been the third time I told him that. And I feel guilty. His longing for a sibling is so unfeigned that I could almost taste it on my tongue. But yet, I don’t want any emotional attachment.

“Sorry,” he apologized. Then he looked down the table. Annabeth stroked his head miserably.

I felt even guiltier. I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, really. I’m just not used to those kinds of emotions from other people.