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Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood.
Iconic first sentence.
F.D. Gross and 11 other people liked this
But if you recognize yourself in these pages—if you feel something stirring inside—stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it’s only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they’ll come for you.
My name is Percy Jackson.
Well duh.
You should’ve seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.
Grover tried to calm me down. “It’s okay. I like peanut butter.”
“Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan’s stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it’s time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?”
Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, I thought. And make you sing soprano for a week.
“Oh, nobody much,” Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. “Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions.”
The last thing I remember is collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above me, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a pretty girl, her blond hair curled like a princess’s. They both looked down at me, and the girl said, “He’s the one. He must be.” “Silence, Annabeth,”
“You’re Dionysus,” I said. “The god of wine.” Mr. D rolled his eyes. “What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, ‘Well, duh!’?” “Y-yes, Mr. D.” “Then, well, duh! Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?”
LMFAOOOO
When we say the Big Three, we mean the three powerful brothers, the sons of Kronos.” “Zeus, Poseidon, Hades.”
“Poseidon,” said Chiron. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.”
“Braccas meas vescimini!” I yelled. I wasn’t sure where the Latin came from. I think it meant “Eat my pants!”
The Gods Mount Olympus 600th Floor, Empire State Building New York, NY With best wishes, PERCY JACKSON
“How does Gladiola know about the reward?” I asked. “He read the signs,” Grover said. “Duh.” “Of course,” I said. “Silly me.”
He fed in the quarters and set the knob to FINE MIST. “I-M’ing.” “Instant messaging?” “Iris-messaging,”
She would never…I mean, she’s like a little sister to me.”
Interesting.
I thought about that as we waited for the ghouls to pass. I pretended not to see Annabeth wipe a tear from her cheek as she listened to the mournful keening of Cerberus in the distance, longing for his new friend.
What horrible things would you have to do in your life to get woven into Hades’s underwear?
“Your uncle,” Poseidon sighed, “has always had a flair for dramatic exits. I think he would’ve done well as the god of theater.”
“Take care, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth told me. “Keep your eyes open.” “You too, Wise Girl.”
