The Daughter of Poesidon

Chapter 1: Life Sucks. There, I said it.

Being a demigod isn't nearly as bad as my brother makes it seem. I mean, yes, it can suck and it can get ypu killed in many painful ways, and you  don't want to be one if you've lived a normal life up until now. However for my little situation, it was actually kind of better. Finally being able to fight back, being important, fighting for a cause, and if I go down I promise you I will go down fighting, and that's perfectly fine by me.

About my situation....Let's just say, I was an accident child.
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I sneak up the old, rusty fire escape. Seven stories up, I come to a window that leads to my bedroom window. Very quietly, I slide it open. I always leave it unlocked. Crawling inside, I step to avoid my mother's boxes of crap. I breathe shallow, quiet breaths through my mouth, doing my best not to inhale the smell of cigarettes that my biological mother smokes in my room so it doesn't disturb her, um, guests.

I slowly open the door, as quiet as I can as if my safety depends on it, which it kind of does.

I creep down the halls, avoiding the deadly floorboards that make noise. Once I enter the kitchen, I grab a slice of pizza from the box on our chipped counter. As I make my way back to the window, I freeze in my tracks as I feel her eyes burn into my neck.

"What do you think you're doing, Jade?"

Reluctantly, I turn to face the woman that gave birth to me. Her messy dyed blond hair is hastily pulled into a bun. Her bright pink lipstick is smeared and her mascara is running. She holds a half empty beer bottle in her hand.

Despite everything she'd done to me, I felt a slight bit of sympathy for her. She had always dreamed of becoming an actress and gave it everything she had...but she failed. She started drinking and soon became an alcoholic. While drinking away her problems, she also, erm, used men as a distraction. One man however, caused her pregnancy to start. The worst part is, she didn't even know his name.

"Just grabbing a bite to eat....mom."

"Did you pay for that pizza? No. Didn't think so. Go buy yourself some food."

My hands clench. Despite learning that I really should keep my mouth shut, I snap back, "do you pay for your obsessive amount of alcohol? No. Didn't think so. And maybe I'd having money for food if you'd stop stealing it!"

Her drunken eyes catch a fire to them for a moment, "you wretched little girl!"

She raised her hand with the beer bottle. I squint my eyes shut and brace for impact.

The glass shatters against my skin, but I won't cry. I will not cry. The remaining beer gets stuck in my hair making it messier than before.

I look up and lock eyes at a necklace hanging from her neck. My necklace.

It's a turquoise seashell with the details in silver.

I remember finding it when I was nine years old. Right after.....

I sat on my bed, trying to drown out my mother as she screamed at me from a closed door.

"Please daddy..." I whimpered, " please help..."

As my mother's screaming got worse, I climbed out my window into the night. As I step onto my fore escape, I look down and see the necklace.

I came back that night, and my mother continued to hit me and took the necklace for herself.

I know what ypu're thinking: what kind of mother is she?

Well here's the thing, she is NOT my mom, and she never EVER will be. The only relation we have is the fact that she gave birth to me.

After I was born, my mother obviously didn't want me, she just couldn't afford abortion. I was given to my single aunt in Canada, who had always wanted a child. She was my mother. She raised me to be kind and respectful, she was the nicest, best person I've ever met. The best kinds of people have the rottenest luck.

One day, when I was six years old, my mom (my biological aunt) went out to get some powdered donuts as a reward for my good grades. She told me to stay home and set the table for dinner that was on the stove. It was only a two minute drive, so she figured it would be fine to leave me on my own for a bit.

She wasn't home in two minutes.

She didn't make it home.

She was killed by a drunk driver who had swerved off the road. I didn't understand much, since I was only six, but I knew one thing, it wasn't fair. I had just lost the only person I had in my life. She didn't do anything wrong, the drunk driver did. But he survived. My mom didn't. It wasn't fair, and I wanted that man to pay. There was a storm that night, and by the beach the waves were 20 footers, and flooded a town near the water. Almost everyone survived, there was only one death: the man that killed my aunt.

I called it karma. I didn't even feel bad. I smiled, thinking that at least there was some justice in this world as I made my way to court.

The court decided that instead of foster care, or an orphanage (either of which are better than my situation), I'd be sent to live with my mom in Union City, New York. She would be given $128 a week to help pay for me, but my mother chose to spend most of it on alcohol to drink her problems away.

For a while it was fine. For about a year, she tried to be a mom, she didn't have men over every night, she fed me well, but after a while, she grew bitter. She claimed I messed up her life. She hit me when she was angry, she stopped feeding me as much, almost nothing.

I tried to follow my aunt's example, but I needed to eat. I pick-pocketed to get change for food.

I made a friend though. Jennifer. She was the only one I ever told about my biological mother, and I made her swear not to tell anyone. I was over at her house a lot. Her family fed me, they gave me clothes, they are probably the only reason I didn't starve.

I know life is hard. Okay...life sucks. There, I said it. But hey, I've already experienced all it can throw at me, and I have Jennifer. Life isn't too cruel, right?

Wrong.