“Is this the life you want?”

“Right now,” Savin, the satyr beside whispered,

“The world is watching.”

The usual reaction to a full-blown camp attack.

Hundreds gathered around the town hall like primitive Barbarians choosing which town to sack, everyone pondering on what just occurred, and how. I didn’t blame them. It was unexpected. ‘How could three manticores break in? It had to be one of us.’ The first half-hour was spent making accusations. Words thrown at one another unsubstantiated. The true colors of this camp were shown. Truly, entitled children who value their opinions more than anything else. But when the dust settled, and the real confrontation of the problem occurred, it all came down to yours truly.

I don’t blame them for all expecting me to lead them through the way through tough times. Everyone wants answers. Yet, the second I was proclaimed, my word immediately became gospel. An invisible cult emerged, and now, everyone here, from the minor demigods to the centaurs that run this camp — even Dionysus — expected me to know what to say. If David Bowie started playing in the background, the irony would be clear. Like every scenario since that night, the words I was about to mutter were about to make, or break me. They’d completely forgotten that I’m looking for answers as well.

Maybe that’s not what they needed me for. I was only here as someone who had it figured out. These guys didn’t want to be friends, they wanted to to feed their own beliefs that they’ll always be safe. That was me. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s as if they forgot the Oracle lives less than a minute away.

I often hear demigods complain about their lack of purpose, or their seclusion from the rest of their crowd. Oh, if they were in my shoes.

I once believed that I, and only I, crafted my future. My fate was in my own hands, and no one could ever control my life. Every time I felt out-of-touch, my step-father would be here to remind me to take control of my own life.

But the pressure is too much. The toughest truth I had to accept was that I wasn’t in control of my own life. The only lie that I cherished early on my life. No one could tell me that I was anything else other than what I believed I was. This happened all too quickly. Sons and daughters of minor and other gods always tend to complain about how they’re meaningless and have no purpose.

‘Is the life you really want?’ I’d listened to that Roger Waters song earlier today. At this point, as I opened my mouth, the six words kept repeating themselves in my head, like the endless pattern circles a windmill makes. I could see Brendan in the end, with a widespread smirk on his face: the indecision was clear.

At that point, while everyone was beginning to question the silence in the room. Sensing the vulnerability and getting ready to draw blood, the only clarity in the rising chaos were my step-father’s worlds: “Take control of your own life.”

The exit stood there, and as everyone began to persist, I couldn’t help but keep my gaze zapped to that one, electrically bright, doorway out.

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