Judgmental (a Percy Jackson AU)

A Picture Can Tell a Thousand Lies

Hazel was sitting on a bench in the local art gallery and staring at the painting in front of her, but she wasn't really noticing its subjects. Instead, she thought of how she wanted her own art to be up in a gallery one day. She wanted the work of her hands and mind to be remembered long after she was forgotten. She wanted her work to lift up others, so that she could save them even if she couldn't save her mother.

       Hazel turned on her phone and scrolled through the photo gallery. She finally pulled up the last photo taken of her mother. In it, she was smiling and her hand was around Hazel's arms. Her expression was regal and it was easy to forget that she had killed herself the very next day. That's what pictures do, Hazel thought, they tell a story and people believe it even if it's fictional.

     "It's a beautiful painting, isn't it?" someone said.

    Hazel turned around to see a tall, strapping man. His dark hair looked like it had recently grown out from a short military cut and his muscular physique suggested he was a fighter. He had a handsome face and soft brown eyes

     "It's a pity this painting is a lie," the man said. "What's your name?"

    "Hazel," Hazel said. "Hazel Levesque. How do you know this painting is a lie?"

     "My name is Frank Zhang," the man said. "I know the painting is a lie because I know the artist."

      "You do?" Hazel asked. "That's so cool! Who made it?"

    The man's ears turned red and he shuffled nervously.

     "I did," Frank answered.
****

    Hazel was thrilled to be sipping coffee beside a real, actual artist. She may have sketched and painted for years and even sold work, but none of her artwork hung in a gallery. Frank explained how he had made it when he was in the military as part of an art therapy program. The painting showed an eagle soaring high above a squadron of U.S. Marines who were charging at the enemy.

     "How is it a lie?" Hazel asked.

     "We lost the battle I depicted," Frank said. "I showed it how I wished that it had been."

   Hazel wondered if that was what her mother had done. When she had taken that photo with Hazel, had she known that she would soon die? Had she planning it even then? Had she wanted to give Hazel a pretty lie to remember her by or had she given her a truth that was only part of the story?

      "You look sad, why?" Frank asked.

     Hazel looked up. This man had fought in battles. He had seen the worst of humanity in war and here he was, comforting a stranger. How did he have it in him?

    "I was thinking of my mother," Hazel said. "She died."

     "You love her," Frank said gently. "You miss her."

     "She died years ago," Hazel said, wiping a tear from her face, "but. . ."

    "But the grief never truly disappears," Frank said. "I lost my parents too."

     "I have a father and two half-siblings," Hazel said, "but I miss my mom."

     "No one can replace her," Frank said, "but hopefully your heart will grow and make room for others."