Not Just Another God ✓

Chapter 30: The end of a beginning and the beginning of an end

The sun was streaming in through the open window, giving me just enough light to pack my things, stuffing random items into a trunk.

Mom came in, Estelle balanced on her hip, watching me attempt to cram a small notebook into the limited space.

"You'll need space for this," she said, handing me a hardcover book as she walked out of the room, Estelle still crooning with the excitement of motion.

Hestitanly, I flipped the book around, tracing the soft greens of the cover, attempting to read the title.

"The Lightning Theif," I managed to decrypt, tears threatening to spill out at any moment.

Here, my story, Annabeth's story, would live far longer than we would.

"It's going to be bad," Mom had said, "People might not like it."

I had assured her that her writing was great.

But still she was scared. Scared of our enemies, of the dangers it could bring our family, if someone read the book and took offence.

So she used a pseudonym.

Rick Riordan. 

I ran a thumb over the capital white letters, as if I could feel them, using something stronger than just my bare eyes.

Turning back to my suitcase, I dug around for something to take out so I could fit the book in.

I had packed all my memories.

Rare pictures, Annabeth's sketchbook, little tiny bits and bobs that stirred up old thoughts and reminiscings.

And I wanted to bring all of them. If I could, I would pack up my whole room in my suitcase, down to the weird items I stuffed under my bed when I was 'tidying up'.

It was different when I went to Camp. That was just for the summer and I had built up my own collection of memories there as well.

College wasn't going to be forever, but it would be a pretty long time. And it was going to be worth every second.

Somehow, I managed to fit in the book, knowing that I was going to devour it as soon as possible, and those words would become mine, part of my brain, part of my world.

It was a pretty solid read, and with my dyslexia, it would take me a few weeks at least.

But I wanted to read it in it's original form, to savor the words that lost their meaning when they were translated into another language.

So the struggle would be worth it.

And I had the time.

More than enough time.

My eyes flickered to the window, a slight smile itching at the corners of my mouth as I gazed at the familiar skyline, a sight I would surely miss.

Just then, a voice sounded, a clear whisper in my ear, meant to reach me only.

"I'll be waiting, Seaweed." A laugh followed, a small excited sound of exhilaration that made my heart stop pounding in my chest.

I stopped short, wishing I could somehow record that beautiful, sunny laugh and replay it in my head, over and over and never ever get bored of it.

Smiling, though the action somehow contained a bitter element to it, I took out my wallet, pulling out the picture Annabeth had sent me all those years ago, of her standing my the Lincoln Memorial, with a proud smile plastered on her face, her thirteen year old eyes free from the future hauntings she would have to suffer from.