I ran like the horses, swift and wild, because I am my father’s child. My breath fogs the air in fluffy puffs, feet barely touching the ground. I feel the ocean to my left, beating a deep bass pulse like my own heartbeat. ‘Mr. Brunner’ said I’d feel better now that we know where I belonged at camp, more like in the hierarchy of things. The pain will stop, he said. And it has, I suppose. But it never really does, does it?
Thrusted into the limelight, I stick out like a barnacle on a ship. Now, I just let the dawn air pierce my lungs; my legs starting to burn a little, getting too hot. That’s okay, though. With a thought, I willed a slight chill over my skin and the clouds of my breath grew denser. I could do this because I am my mother’s daughter.
That’s who they see first, my lineage. That’s how it works here with everyone else, too. Then, if you let them, they might attempt to see past that. I liked keeping myself to myself, give people the end of your thread to hold and sooner or later they’ll try to unravel you, figure you out. I can’t begin to understand my own self and what’s happened to me, imagine what a freak they’d see – what they’ll feel. Pity, awe, horror. I’d know because I’d feel what they do. Just like I felt hot anger of the jogger I passed, the nervous squirrel dashing past. I feel what’s not mine to as a toll for living, because I am my parent’s child.
Maybe I’m reading too much into it. I live a lot in my head, in my books. Mom’s worried, so’s my step-dad Ivan. Luca’s got his head buried in some car’s engine to notice. That’s okay. I’ll adapt, I always have. Stuck is no way to live, I thought, kicking up my pace a notch as I neared the bend ahead.
I created this character from scratch, an idea in my mind for months now but she’s based in the world of Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series. So she’s a demigod but you’ll have to guess her parentage. This is a first draft, any corrections are welcome! I understand that’s might be too vague but I hope you liked it.