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 Ignoring Copyright Laws and Those Angry Phonecalls Like a Boss

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Cassandra Valance
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Posts : 399
Join date : 2017-03-05
Age : 15
Location : Last Time We Checked--Earth

PostSubject: Ignoring Copyright Laws and Those Angry Phonecalls Like a Boss   Fri Apr 07, 2017 11:50 am

A/N: Well, I originally posted this on CHB, which I have given up on. The worst part is that there are new people joining that site all the time and they can't do anything because no one will approve the characters (no bitterness there).

So, this is a fanfiction. Yay. At heart, I am a geeky/nerdy fangirl. On the surface, I am a shoddy fanfiction writer. I originally wrote it as background on a character from Damon's past (seems like I obviously pay attention way too much to one character and not enough of my others xD). I honestly think I wrote some hardcore crap, but if you wanna waste your time and part of your life that you'll never get back reading this, be my guest.



"Dispensable"


His name was Zachary Lloyd Peterson—not that anybody who mattered cared; Luke didn’t care, Kronos didn’t care, and the gods sure as hell didn’t care. That was okay. That was normal. If there was one thing Zach knew for sure was that it was perfectly fine to have not a single being in this life care about you.

Sure, he had friends—of course he had friends, since everybody had friends. Yeah, sure….he had friends….only they weren’t truly his friends; they were just the guys who trained with him….they were just the guys he sat by at meal times….they were just the guys who, like he, had defected from the side of the angels to the side of the demons—metaphorically, of course, since angels and demons were on both the “good” and the “bad” sides.

Good and bad. Right and wrong. There had been a time when Zach would’ve told you that the gods were good, that they meant both mortals and demigods well, that they cared. Then his eyes had opened, and realized the terrible truth: the gods didn’t care about any of them. It had taken him four years at Camp Half-Blood, living in the Hermes cabin, unclaimed, unloved, unwanted, to fully understand how much the gods didn’t care about him. But that’s okay, he had told himself. Why should they care about you? You’re only a demigod—they’re freakin’ immortal! They’ve lived for thousands of years and you’re not even old enough to legally drink yet. Who are you to demand endearment from the divine? Who are you to demand that your father claim you?

So he’d allowed himself to exist with that mindset: he was nothing; he was expendable; he was merely battle fodder. It didn’t make him mad. No, it just—it just made him feel….well, empty. He had believed that he existed for one purpose: to die a terrible, painful death and for a cause he would never believe in. Training lost its original appear; the food all tasted like sand to him; the laughter of the Hermes cabin sounded far-off, unreachable, no longer enjoyable. But it hadn’t ended there. No—the Fates are cruel, and rarely do they ever show even the slightest sliver of mercy. Then he had begun to notice the others looking around camp the same way: blank, doleful eyes staring at the wonderful world revolving without them. Then he had begun to feel something other than emptiness: hatred—hatred towards the camp for not recognizing the minor gods that no doubt parented the unclaimed, hatred towards the gods for not claiming them, and hatred towards himself for being too insignificant to do anything about it. Perhaps if he were stronger….perhaps if he had been claimed….perhaps—gods, why did it even matter? They were nothing! Nothing!

And then Luke Castellan had informed him of everything.

Everything.

Everything!

The son of Hermes told him of his plans to overthrow Olympus and destroy the main gods once and for all, of the theft of Zeus’s lightning bolt and Hades’s helm, and of his alliance with the fallen Titan lord: Kronos. Then, he had made Zach a proposition: join his cause and see the unclaimed finally matter.

To see the unclaimed matter….

Zach had initially been far too stunned to give Luke an answer—which the son of Hermes had been perfectly fine with and had no doubt expected; it had been too much—far, far too much to take in at once. To destroy Olympus….to see the proud fall at long last….to see the unclaimed take their position among the others….to see the demigods finally become something far greater than simple battle fodder for the tyrannical gods—it couldn’t be true, it was far too good to be true! Yes, it was good. It was good. He’d finally discovered the true good and evil: the gods were evil, and insurrection was good.

So he’d joined Luke’s alliance, becoming one of the first demigods to defect from the side of Olympus. Many followed after him.

Zach’s dark brown eyes searched his surroundings, looking—actually looking—at what he’d left Camp Half-Blood for all those….they couldn’t be years, could they? Surely, it couldn’t have been that long! Feeling suddenly insecure for the first time in four years, Zach nervously rubbed at the beads that hung around his neck. He had never been able to part with them, those beads he’d earned at Camp Half-Blood for surviving; almost everyone else who had originally came from the camp had disposed of theirs, some snapping the leather cord the moment they stepped outside the border. Call it weakness, call it sentiment—Zach no longer cared; Zach was no longer capable of caring.

Evil and benevolence. Sin and virtue. There had been a time when Zach would’ve told you that the gods were evil, that the demigods were right in usurping them, that the Titans would be far better rulers. Then his eyes had opened, and he realized the terrible truth: nobody cared about him here, either. Everyone was so caught up in their own personal goal that no one realized that the “greater good” they were fighting wouldn’t help achieve their superfluous desires. He had wanted recognition…he had wanted position….he had wanted to be loved….but that was all in the past, now. Now, he wanted—he wanted….

Nothing.

He no longer cared about what happened to him.

There was a girl in front of him, a deadly one, perhaps around his age. She had just sent one of his “friends” running off, limping due to a nasty wound inflicted by a celestial bronze spear. All he had ever wanted was a friend—a family—ever since he was a child. His mother had been a neglectful drunk who had nearly killed him accidentally numerous times; he still had a dark scar along his jaw line from a car accident. He didn’t trust any of these people to hold his drachmas for him, let alone watch his back in battle. But they didn’t matter, anyway. They were dispensable—all of them, every single last one.

It didn’t really matter what side they were on; either way, they were battle fodder—whether it be for the Olympians or the Titans or even themselves. He wondered if all of them who fell tonight would be granted Elysium—surely, every last one of them died “heroically,” as they were told to believe. It doesn’t matter, he thought. We’re mortal. We’re vulnerable. We will all die one day, each and every one of us….

The girl turned and faced him, the rage of battle cloaking her face. Her long, dark hair whipped around from under her helmet. Her dark eyes bore into his own, hatred evident on her face. Good, Zach thought, at least she can feel something.

“Surrender,” she growled, raising her huge spear menacingly.

Zach couldn’t help but bark with bitter laughter. “Why?” he asked, the mirth leaving his face as quickly as it appeared, his face going slack, emotionless, as if it were carved in granite or marble. “Why should I? I’m with the good guys, right? I’m just trying to benefit all of the demigods,” he challenged—perhaps sarcastically, but even wasn’t sure at this point. He took a step forward, unhooking his bronze chest plate as he did so.

The girl aimed her spear at his now unprotected chest. “I—I’m warning you! S-stay back!” she stammered, seemingly unsettled by the young man’s behavior.

He took another step forward. “They told me I was fighting for a noble cause,” he continued, deaf to her threats. “They told me that I was helping the demigods—that me and the rest of the unclaimed were finally going to be honored along with the rest of you oh-so-great children of the Olympians.”

“Don’t take another step closer—”

“But they told you the same thing—haven’t they? That you’re the good guys. That you’re doing what’s best for the future. One of us has to be wrong, right? We can’t both be the good guys, right? I mean, we’re fighting each other! How can we both be the good guys, hm? Does it even matter anymore?!”

“Don’t—”

But Zach wasn’t listening anymore; he was too absorbed in his own monologue, too confused by his own thoughts and beliefs—but what did he believe?

Battle fodder….battle fodder…. “Do you think you’re right….” Good and bad, wrong and right…. “…and I’m wrong….” Mortal….insignificant…. “….and we’re both at ends because we disagree?” Evil and benevolence, sin and virtue…. “Well? What say you, spawn of Olympus?” What do you think….what do you believe…. “What say you?!” Why do you even ask....why do you even care....

He raised his sword.

She threw her spear.

He wasn’t the only one that night who died not knowing where their allegiance truly lay: to Olympus, or to Kronos. He may or may not have been the only one who wasn’t bothered by it.

THE END.
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