Daughter of Poseidon (A Percy Jackson story)

Chapter 1

The name's Nymphadora, but call me Nymph instead. Try to call me Nymphy or Dora and you'll find yourself standing in the middle of the street with nothing but a sign that states 'don't anger a homeless teenager.'

Oh, did I forget to mention? I'm a homeless teenager. No, no, no. Don't give me that look. The one that says 'oh you poor thing! Do you need me to buy you a something or other?' No. I don't need your help. I've been doing fine on my own for the past 6 years.

I've been on my own since I was 7, so that means I'm 13. Yay! teen years! What a joy! Please note my sarcasm. I've found enough food to keep me alive this long.

I don't think you'll want to stay by me for much longer, though. I attract trouble like kids to a giant flytrap. For example, I was minding my own business a while back, just pickpocketing a nice looking wallet from a nice looking man on his phone. He didn't even notice my heist until a deep voice yell, "HEY!"

Both I and the man turned around. The man turns around to find that I have his wallet in my hand and I find a...thing. Well over 6 feet tall and a face full of scars. I gripped onto the wallet and ran for my life. The big guy kept up with myself, a wonderful task since I perfected the art of getting away from the cops and child services centers.

Determining that the guy had a larger body mass, I began running in zig zags. The sharp turns caused his body to be flung to one side by inertia. I had thought that I had gotten away until a fireball flew down my current alleyway and exploded centimeters away from my head.

I escaped eventually, with numerous strands of burnt hair. Speaking of hair, I haven't even gotten to the best part! Myself! I'm obviously a thirteen-year-old, but not just any regular teenager. I'm an incredibly attractive kid if I do say so myself. I've got a head full of thick black curls. In the winter time, up here in New York City, I think my hair is a blessing, but in the summertime, I sweat. It's times like those when I feel grateful for hair bands. Paired with my black hair, I've got tan olive skin with a sprinkle of freckles across a rather small nose, and a pair of eyes that look like the ocean. Or what I think the ocean looks like. I've only seen pictures of the big blue sea.

Don't get me wrong, I love the ocean any type of water that I'm surrounded by. If I listen closely, I can hear the water talking. Not in a 'I watch when you're sleeping' type of way. More like, 'I've got some secrets I wanna tell you.' What's weirder is that the tiny voice comes from my water bottle. Imagine, you try and try and take a sip of water and a voice emanates from it. I wouldn't be lying if I said that I was startled.

The tiny voice in my water has been directing me from my home in New York City to a dense forest waaaaayyy outside the city. I'm honestly surprised that I didn't drink the rest of the water to get rid of the water, but something prevented me. Maybe it was my curiosity about where I was headed and maybe I was scared that the water had something funny put in it and I was just hallucinating.

I've been in these woods for days and today is the day that the mystical water bottle tells that I'm close to my destination. I was having my doubts when I tripped over the hundredth root that day. I must've looked like a train wreck. I could tell my hair was a bit ratty, my skin was littered with tiny scratches, and my eyes could've been bloodshot from my lack of sleep.

I was about to pass out when I stumbled upon an opening in the forest. The water bottle urged me to go through it, and I gladly accepted. I burst through the forest to find myself standing before an amphitheater of kids. They were all ranging from 8 to 18-ish. And they were all staring at me.

"Um," I started. I hadn't talked to other people for a long time, "I'm kinda in a spot."

And then I promptly passed out. Before hitting the ground, I heard dozens of cries ringing through the theater.