Author's notes: Written for the prompt, "top ten," at 31_days on LJ.
Disclaimers: I don't own Percy Jackson and the Olympians, nor the Heroes of Olympus.
Book of Facts
At Castrum Durus, there is little time for Percy to put together the scattered pieces of his past. When he's not sleeping or eating or taking a leak, he must train. Train until sweat pours down his face and his muscles, invulnerable as they are, weep in protest, until he can't think of anything except the mantra of parry, thrust, dodge, duck.
He doesn't have the time to think and reflect on who he once was and what he left behind; Lupa and the praetores of the other barracks make sure of that. He was given to them as a replacement for the leader they lost — the son of Jupiter — and they're doing everything in they can to mold him into their own.
The praetores don't hatehim; in fact, they get along when they're not beating the crap out of him in training. But they don't understand why he wants to know about his past, especially when they think they're making him better than before. They don't understand what it's like to wake up one morning with a blank slate, and the desperate hunt to find themselves again. Percy doesn't want to forget, doesn't want to become something new, even if his something old wasn't as good and great.
The memories that do come back to him creep into his mind in the twilight moments, when he's on the verge of falling asleep or slowly waking from a long dream. The memories are slick and shiny, hard to snatch and often too quick for him to understand in full. He writes what he does remember on a piece of paper and shoves it under his mattress, in a little crease in the frame of his bed where no one will find it.
There are ten things he knows about his past life for fact. Out of all the details that make up a life, only ten have survived and forced themselves to the front of his mind to be recognized. There's no context, nothing that will help him make sense of it all. But on the days when he's beaten and lonely and his heart is aching for something he can't remember, the list brings him comfort.
He is not alone, the list assures him, and he'll never be alone so long as he remembers.
Things I Remember
i. 212-639-9675 , phone number. Maybe cell? Belongs to a woman who smells like licorice and chocolate chip cookies. Called once, no answer, left a message.
ii. Moonlace grows right outside my window. It blocks the view of the neighbors across the alley. When I look at it, I get sad.
iii. I owe Tyson three jars of peanut butter. ?
iv. Someone named Luke tried to kill me with a pit scorpion once. First time attempt? Or last time? Definitely happened more than once though. Note: avoid Lukes.
v. I have a frequent, reoccurring redheaded nightmare. It's a dare.
vi. The shoebox under my bed has a minotaur horn, a statue of Pluto, a busted watch, and some gold coins in it.
vii. Enchiladas. My favorite food or ... ?
viii. I was named after the only hero who got a happy ending.
ix. A girl with princess curls who refuses to call me by anything but a dumb nickname doesn't want me to get away from her too easily. Must remember what I did to piss her off before she finds me again.
x. I drool in my sleep.