Resurrected

I hate semi-trucks. I loathe 18-wheelers and I despise big rigs. Why? One of them almost killed me and a couple other people thirty seconds after we had resurrected. That’s right. Thirty seconds after we came back from the dead, we were almost transformed into a series of grease spots on the side of Mt. Lee Drive.

Okay, so let’s back up a little bit. How did I come to be resurrected with a bunch of random people? I have no earthly idea. All I remember was seeing a blur of red, the flash of a blade, and then I was standing before a panel of three judges, like on the X-Factor. But these guys weren’t here to hear me sing. They looked like they were judging my soul. They deliberated for about five seconds, and then turned back to me. I realized with a start that they were ghosts. I was even more surprised to find that when I looked down, I was a ghost too. The three old ghosts turned back to me and said,

“Tommy Doyle, you were brainwashed into supporting the Titans. You were forced to fight, but that doesn’t take away your support for an enemy of the gods. You are hereby sentenced to eternity in Tartarus.”

Before I had the chance to realize my name was Tommy Doyle, all three of them banged their gavels on their desk. Instead of passing through the ghostly table, they landed with a loud crack!, scaring the crap out of me. Then, I was flying. But when I landed, I found myself in more pain than I had ever felt before in my entire life. Visions flashed before my eyes of a figure in red bringing down on my neck the flash of a bronze blade over and over again. For the first time, and for countless times after that, I felt the pain of dying.

And then after what felt like an eternity, I was flying again. This time, I didn’t land into a world of pain, but rather, onto what felt like solid dirt. It was dark outside, but after being in Tartarus for who knows how long, I could see clearly through the midnight black. I looked around me and saw three other figures, two guys and one girl, rubbing aching wounds while sitting on the ground, just like me. I thought that this must be another figment or vision from Tartarus, but then, a searing pain reached into my mind and spoke, in a raspy, dead voice,

“Tommy Doyle, you have been cursed with The Rage of the Styx. Enjoy life.”

The Rage of the Styx? I started to think about what the heck that could be but I couldn't think for long because of the painful sound of the voice. I clasped my hands to my ears to block the pain, and looking around, I saw that the three others were doing the same thing. I wondered what they were hearing. Then, after another 15 seconds of excruciating pain, everything cleared, and I could see straight again. I realized that I was sitting between two massive white letters, held up by metal scaffolding. To be specific, I was sitting between the letters “Y” and “W” at a very specific spot. The Hollywood Sign.

We didn’t say anything to each other, but all four of us got up at the same time and walked towards Mt. Lee Drive, to the north. I was the first to reach the road, and after spending so much time in Tartarus, the bright headlights of the massive truck completely paralyzed me, leaving my eyes blinded and my brain fried. Then, I heard the honk of his horn, and I fell backwards, landing in the weeds that populated the side of the road.

_______________________________________________________________________________

I woke with a start, as the girl from the Hollywood Sign was shaking my shoulder with her hand.

“Tommy, you okay?” She asked gently.

I wasn’t on the side of Mt. Lee Drive, but rather in a leather-clad SUV speeding along at a solid 75 miles per hour on some random highway. I looked at the girl again, and a name started to come back to me. She had chocolate-brown hair and summer-sky blue eyes that were seriously beautiful. The way her forhead creased in concern, and the way she formed her words made me recognize her.

Silena, I thought, Silena Beauregard.

“I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head against my drowsiness, “Just having a nightmare.”

“Are you sure?” She replied, still looking concerned.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Really, I’m fine.”

“Okay,” She said skeptically, and then, turning to the driver, said, “Ethan, how much longer until we get to Camp? I can’t wait to see it again!”

“Just so you know, for the millionth time I have had to say it, I don’t have much fondness for that Camp. And neither should Tommy. After all, weren’t you never claimed?”

More memories came back, and I remembered a glimpse of my old life. Yeah, I had been to that stupid camp. I had waited and waited in the cramped Hermes cabin, but nothing happened. Then one day, I had a dream about the glory of…somebody, and…I think I ran away from camp. The memory was fading now, but I responded,

“Yeah, never claimed.”

“See what I mean?” The driver, Ethan, said, “No fondness for that camp.”

He was Asian, with a slightly darker complexion and I he looked tall, thought it was hard to tell in a car, and had black hair. Looking into the rear-view mirror from the back seat I saw only one brown eye, as dark as coffee. The other one was covered in an eyepatch.

Nakamura, I thought, the name coming back to me.

The only other person in the car was asleep in the passenger’s seat. He had slightly curly black hair, and skin the color of bronze. He was massive, with ripped muscles bulging from his loose cotton shirt. His right hand was resting on one of the armrests, and I could see that it was completely calloused, as if he spent a lot of time working with his hands.

But then, the guy spoke, still keeping his eyes closed, as he said,

“Well, my makeshift GPS says about 3 more hours, but I can’t be sure. It’s always hard to make intricate stuff with no materials.”

His voice was deep and melodic, simultaneously loud and soft at the same time. As he opened his eyes and looked back at me quickly, I saw a deep brown color in them that held a lot of pain, pain that shouldn’t have been showing. That pain only worsened as he looked at Silena, who was trying to look at another car behind us. He looked at her like he recognized her, like she was part of his old life. But she didn’t seem to care, or even notice him. I felt bad for the guy.
Before he turned back to his seat, I noticed a piece of curly lettering on his shirt, which looked like a mechanic’s work outfit. It took me some time to decipher, but I finally made out the word ‘Charlie.’

Charles, I thought, Charles Beckendorf.

I had now successfully remembered the names of the people who had survived “the way out” of Tartarus. Great. But why? Why were we given a second chance? Why me?
I thought of any possible answer all the way up to the hill atop of the Farm Road 3.14 on Long Island. Then, I remembered everything.

Notes

New Story, old characters! Hope you enjoy! I will be posting a new chapter every two to three days, depending on how much time I have to write, with two chapters every weekend.