Disclaimer: I don't own Percy Jackson, the cover image, or the quotes at the beginning of the chapter. Thank you.

Rating: T/PG-13

Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future.

-Lewis B. Smedes

Prologue

We all sit in a circle.

We sit crisscross applesauce around a colorful rug, just like in kindergarten. I trace a shape in the rug with my index finger absently, my fingers brushing against my shoelace. Though it may look like a random squiggle that I'm drawing in the rug, I know that it's not. Far from it, in fact. I'm writing a name: the name that I will never forget, no matter how many people tell me that I should forget. No matter how many people tell me that I need to forget.

I look up, around my surroundings. We all sit in this confining room, and there is nothing but silence around us. After the years of phantom shouting and yelling, the silence is more deafening than the most bloodcurdling screeches. There are about fifteen people, all sitting on the floor of the room, all sitting on that same carpet. There is one man, sitting in a chair, looking down on us.

I've never met this man in my life. I don't know his address, or where he was born, or his life story, but he knows ours. I know his name: Doctor Peter O'Malley. I know his job: therapist. And, of course, I know why he is here: to help all of us put our lives back together. We're all here for different reasons, in this therapy room. We're all sitting down around the kindergarten rug for different purposes. He has balding hair, a potbelly, and a pair of old, horn-rimmed spectacles. Doctor Peter O'Malley, indeed.

"Percy."

I look up, startling out of my brief reverie. "What?" I say dumbly, earning a few chuckles from a group of kids sitting to my left. I ignore them. Since I woke up, I've met a few of those kids. I choose to let them be. It's better than the alternative.

"Hush, hush. Quiet down, now," Doctor Peter O'Malley tells them. "Percy, it's your turn. This is a sharing circle," he says, putting the emphasis on sharing as if I'm in preschool. "We share our feelings."

"My feelings," I repeat. I laugh a little bit, leaning back on the palm of my right hand. It claps down on the linoleum floor loudly, echoing in the small room. There is no sound but the ticking of the analog clock, right above the door that I walked through not ten minutes ago.

Doctor Peter O'Malley seems to sense my discomfort. "Why don't you start on how you're feeling today," he says kindly. "Or how you feel most of the time. How do you normally feel?"

"Confused," I say immediately. I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "Anxious. Angry. Sad. Happy. Miserable. Ecstatic." I smile wryly. "That good enough for you?" I say, posing a question for the doctor in front of me.

Doctor Peter O'Malley nods clinically. "Very good. That's a great start, Percy. Now, why are you feeling those emotions?" I stare at him blankly. He seems to fumble around, rephrasing. "This is a sharing circle, Percy. Why don't you share? Why don't you tell us your story?"

"My story," I say. I look up at the ceiling tiles. There is a wooden ceiling fan up there. It looks to be years and years old- there is a thin layer of dust on it- but it is still intact. It doesn't spin, but just lies there, the laminate slowly becoming obscured with a layer of dust. Just like me, for the past five and a half years. "My story," I say again. After I woke up, I seem to have acquired a fondness for repetitiveness. I think I hope that it will make everything make sense. So far, I have yet to prove that theory.

Everyone is watching me. Waiting. Seeing what I will say. I'm not in the sharing circle because of something I did. It's because of something that happened, a long time ago. And I've got a story to tell. I may as well start here. With a deep breath, and a sense of foreboding, I begin telling my story.

"My name is Perseus Jackson," I say. "I was born on August 18, 1993. My favourite food is blue chocolate-chip cookies, and my most recent school was Yancy Academy. It's a middle school. I went there in sixth grade." I smile bitterly. "I am now seventeen years old.

"Five and a half years ago, I was hit by a car." Slowly, I move my right arm- my good arm- up to touch my left arm. "My other arm is prosthetic. It no longer works. Fortunately, most of the damage has been taken care of. I wasn't conscious for any of it." I take a deep breath. "For the last five and a half years, I've been in a coma. I've been living in a dream world."

"Why don't you tell us about your dream world, Percy?" Doctor Peter O'Malley suggests.

"My dream world," I say, rolling the words around my tongue. I smile. "Well, that's a long story. You see, to understand that, you go back to the time that I was hit by a car. It starts in a school bus, on a field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art."

I gaze at Doctor Peter O'Malley evenly. "That was when reality became my dream world," I say. I remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday. I remember Nancy Bobofit, with her liquid-Cheetos freckles, and Grover, with his peanut-butter and ketchup.

I finally finish drawing the name into the carpet. I know that she's not real. I know that she's just a part of my dream world, and that slowly, agonisingly tracing her name into a red kindergarten carpet isn't helping anything. Somehow, though, it just seems to help. I gaze down at the carpet, picturing the name drawn into the carpet.

In that millisecond, I see her face. I hear her laugh. I feel her lips on mine. I remember her smile, and being underwater. I remember the good things about her, and then I remember the bad. I remember Tartarus, and the river of fire, burning my throat. I remember watching her take a poison knife for me. I remember her yelling at me. I remember falling in love.

I look down at the name. In precise cursive, highlighted for only my brain to see, it reads: Annabeth Chase.

The love of my life, still trapped in a dream world.

A/N: Okay. This is an idea that I had a while ago. I'm giving it a shot- or, a first chapter, at any rate. I'm not really sure if I'm going to continue with it, so if you want me to keep it going, review and tell me! The more feedback I get, the more likely the chance is that I'll continue.

Anyway...

Please review! Constructive criticism is appreciated!