An excerpt from:
Who am I?
Summary: آپ are lonely and scared and just can't bring yourself to care anymore. But آپ do and he doesn't, which makes your دل hurt even more.
+.::.+.::.+.::.+.::.+.::.+
"Leave, please, just . . . leave." آپ look around, with tearful eyes and try not to meet his.
He tries to catch your attention; tries to place a hand on your shoulders, but آپ shake him off stiffly, a look of deep regret on your face.
His mouth opens, as if he is about to speak, but he quickly closes it just as fast, a ghost of a forced smile flitting across his lips. آپ give him a moment; آپ want to see if he will even try to make amends.
He still doesn't speak.
آپ release a sigh and turn your back to him, eyes burning with tears, your دل throbbing painfully in your chest.
Thump. Thump. Your دل doesn't feel broken, does it? It should feel broken, آپ think.
آپ spent a good half of your "school" سال pining after him, trying to get him to notice you. For months after that, when آپ finally told the big dope your feelings, suddenly he was different.
Not the boy آپ used to know, not this boy now. A new personality, new feelings, but still that same, stupid, body.
How dare he march into your life, spin your world around, and then leave again when he found someone new? How can he even look at آپ without remorse یا regret? Does he not know that as آپ walk away آپ can start to feel your دل throbbing louder and louder, your head a mix of faint buzzing sounds, your legs moving without your mind's consent?
Your feelings aren't here now; they remain behind with him. Not that he'd know, anyway, since he obviously doesn't care anymore.
Suddenly, آپ feel your body turn, and your eyes flutter open, your tears dry and your lips chapped.
Your mouth widens and آپ say, dead calm, so calm it scares you, "I want to hate you, آپ know. I wish I could squeeze that little head of yours into a bloody pulp, but I can't. I want to—oh, gods—"
آپ let مزید tears fall as آپ try to find the right words, ignoring his confusion. "Oh, shut up," آپ start off with, but as he tries to say something your voice slows, becoming emotionless and flat as your face relaxes considerably, "and I simply can't hate you, and I hate that, because it's me—damn it!—I should be able to hate whoever I please!"
آپ wipe stray tears off your face. "I trusted you. A lot, actually. I trusted آپ with my life—and I absolutely hate that I still do. I don't want to trust آپ with my life; I don't want to feel a lot of things around you, to be frank."
آپ shake your head, willing yourself not break down in front of him. "I don't even know why I'm telling آپ this, آپ know, I feel like I need to tell آپ everything on my mind, which sucks, سے طرف کی the way."
آپ take another deep breath, dry sobs racking your body, "I can't even stand the way آپ stare at her anymore. I use to tolerate it, thinking that آپ just missed your friends, but it's something more. I can just tell. So leave me, don't try to come back. And even if آپ people don't work out, and she's gone, don't آپ dare come and remember me."
Your tears stop, آپ feel your limbs go slack (you are just standing there, and you've never felt مزید vulnerable), and now he's staring at you, his eyes burning holes into the back of your head. آپ turn away wordlessly, feeling hollow inside.
The harsh sunlight greets آپ and آپ cringe. It shouldn't be sunny today. It shouldn't be sunny ever.
Yet, a small part of آپ is happy, happy for all this complication to be over and done, practically ecstatic because, hey, آپ bested him—he was everyone's hero, after all, so it's like آپ bested the whole damn king of them all, and that leaves آپ at the top, right?
At least until آپ see him laughing with his arm draped over a new girl with سٹرابیری, اسٹرابیری blonde hair (the kind آپ could never have), quite a big chest, (that آپ couldn't help notice,) and sparkly blue eyes, because that's when your دل starts throbbing painfully again.
(And آپ don't think it will ever fully stop.)
+.::.+.::.+.::.+.::.+.::.+
This is a story I have on fanfiction.net. For the rest of the story go to link. The first few chapters aren't so good, but I think they improve?
And, yes, I'm aware I did use cuss words but I truthfully couldn't think of any godly substitutes.
Can آپ guess who this is?
Question: Can anyone think of a better title? I don't have a very good one. And does anyone want a picture for this piece? Don't forget to comment!
Who am I?
Summary: آپ are lonely and scared and just can't bring yourself to care anymore. But آپ do and he doesn't, which makes your دل hurt even more.
+.::.+.::.+.::.+.::.+.::.+
"Leave, please, just . . . leave." آپ look around, with tearful eyes and try not to meet his.
He tries to catch your attention; tries to place a hand on your shoulders, but آپ shake him off stiffly, a look of deep regret on your face.
His mouth opens, as if he is about to speak, but he quickly closes it just as fast, a ghost of a forced smile flitting across his lips. آپ give him a moment; آپ want to see if he will even try to make amends.
He still doesn't speak.
آپ release a sigh and turn your back to him, eyes burning with tears, your دل throbbing painfully in your chest.
Thump. Thump. Your دل doesn't feel broken, does it? It should feel broken, آپ think.
آپ spent a good half of your "school" سال pining after him, trying to get him to notice you. For months after that, when آپ finally told the big dope your feelings, suddenly he was different.
Not the boy آپ used to know, not this boy now. A new personality, new feelings, but still that same, stupid, body.
How dare he march into your life, spin your world around, and then leave again when he found someone new? How can he even look at آپ without remorse یا regret? Does he not know that as آپ walk away آپ can start to feel your دل throbbing louder and louder, your head a mix of faint buzzing sounds, your legs moving without your mind's consent?
Your feelings aren't here now; they remain behind with him. Not that he'd know, anyway, since he obviously doesn't care anymore.
Suddenly, آپ feel your body turn, and your eyes flutter open, your tears dry and your lips chapped.
Your mouth widens and آپ say, dead calm, so calm it scares you, "I want to hate you, آپ know. I wish I could squeeze that little head of yours into a bloody pulp, but I can't. I want to—oh, gods—"
آپ let مزید tears fall as آپ try to find the right words, ignoring his confusion. "Oh, shut up," آپ start off with, but as he tries to say something your voice slows, becoming emotionless and flat as your face relaxes considerably, "and I simply can't hate you, and I hate that, because it's me—damn it!—I should be able to hate whoever I please!"
آپ wipe stray tears off your face. "I trusted you. A lot, actually. I trusted آپ with my life—and I absolutely hate that I still do. I don't want to trust آپ with my life; I don't want to feel a lot of things around you, to be frank."
آپ shake your head, willing yourself not break down in front of him. "I don't even know why I'm telling آپ this, آپ know, I feel like I need to tell آپ everything on my mind, which sucks, سے طرف کی the way."
آپ take another deep breath, dry sobs racking your body, "I can't even stand the way آپ stare at her anymore. I use to tolerate it, thinking that آپ just missed your friends, but it's something more. I can just tell. So leave me, don't try to come back. And even if آپ people don't work out, and she's gone, don't آپ dare come and remember me."
Your tears stop, آپ feel your limbs go slack (you are just standing there, and you've never felt مزید vulnerable), and now he's staring at you, his eyes burning holes into the back of your head. آپ turn away wordlessly, feeling hollow inside.
The harsh sunlight greets آپ and آپ cringe. It shouldn't be sunny today. It shouldn't be sunny ever.
Yet, a small part of آپ is happy, happy for all this complication to be over and done, practically ecstatic because, hey, آپ bested him—he was everyone's hero, after all, so it's like آپ bested the whole damn king of them all, and that leaves آپ at the top, right?
At least until آپ see him laughing with his arm draped over a new girl with سٹرابیری, اسٹرابیری blonde hair (the kind آپ could never have), quite a big chest, (that آپ couldn't help notice,) and sparkly blue eyes, because that's when your دل starts throbbing painfully again.
(And آپ don't think it will ever fully stop.)
+.::.+.::.+.::.+.::.+.::.+
This is a story I have on fanfiction.net. For the rest of the story go to link. The first few chapters aren't so good, but I think they improve?
And, yes, I'm aware I did use cuss words but I truthfully couldn't think of any godly substitutes.
Can آپ guess who this is?
Question: Can anyone think of a better title? I don't have a very good one. And does anyone want a picture for this piece? Don't forget to comment!
Why does every one think Reyna is a b**ch? I mean annabeth was just like her when we were first introduced to HER!! she seemed uptight and unaccepting too but now look..... Reyna's just has a bad life! She's Praetor for gods' sake.. she needs to present her self in a certain way... everyone needs to look up to her! she has to be and example to everyone aat camp! and to those of آپ who say that JasonXReyna is wrong and jason should be with piper, well think about it this way... if it were reversed and rick riordan had written about the roman camp, Jason would be like percy, reyna, like annabeth and piper like Rachel!
and we would be saying things like this about ANNABETH AND PERCY FOR GODS' SAKE!! THAT AS WRONG AS KILLING PUPPIES!!
and we would be saying things like this about ANNABETH AND PERCY FOR GODS' SAKE!! THAT AS WRONG AS KILLING PUPPIES!!