They say we are legends.
We existed, but only in ancient times.
The philosophers say this.
The historians say this.
The history books say this.
We are legends.
But we live among you.
Zeus had looked up at the sky and knew the time was coming. The people we looked down on would soon believe us to be mere legends, creatures of myth, only coming alive in the stories of war , love and revenge that is a part of our history.
"They will stop believing," Zeus had announced. His wife, Hera, had clutched his hand, terrified of what this meant. Apollo, the god of the Sun and music, had turned to look at him. "What happens to us?" he asked. He was expecting to hear Zeus say they would disappear, become nothing, become legend. But he hadn't.
With a sigh, Zeus looked straight at Apollo, and said, "We join them."
My name is Piper. I'm seventeen years old and live in New York. New York is an ideal location for a teenager: cabs at 3am, the best skyline, the neverending parties.
I've just lied to you.
I'm not seventeen. I'm eons older than you, pal. Well, technically I am seventeen. I just happen to be this god knows how old woman in this 21st century teenager's body.
My name is Piper, aka Persephone. Yeah, the girl who Hades took from her mother and kept her in the underworld, only to let her return to her mother in spring when the flowers bloomed.
Don't call a therapist for me, or a mental institution. I'm not crazy.
You see, I come from the time of the ancient Greeks. Zeus had known there would be a time when we would become characters in history books. Gods are immortal. Zeus had no choice but to keep on living. Living on a prayer, like good old Bon Jovi says. Man, Jon Bon Jovi's hot. So Zeus took his gods and goddesses and placed them on earth, as you do. They take on the appearances of the people and change in different eras. I may not be a goddess, but my mother, Demeter, is. I have to partake in this creepy thing. As soon as we joined the mortals, I was released from Hades' grasp. He loved me, but my mother loved me more. But I'm not totally free from the God of the Underworld. Hades is now Hunter Snow, the leather jacket wearing eighteen year old at my school. Creepy, yes?
I hate my hair.
Honest to God, I hate my hair.
It's too blonde.
I mean, there's blonde, and then there's BLONDE.
It's the colour of the freakin' sun.
Maybe that's because I'm the Sun God. No, that wasn't a chat up line. I literally am the Sun God. But hey, no biggie.
I attend Lincoln Academy, full of preppy New York teenagers with a trust fund, the kind of teenagers who's ass I'd love to kick. History is a boring subject; after all, I am history.
Heh. You probably want to kick my ass after my arrogance. I'm a nice guy, honestly. I'm just sick of not being able to own up to who I am. When my history professors go on about Apollo, I feel like standing up and telling them the real story. That's why I tend to fall asleep in history class – it stops me from actually doing it.
Right, back to my hair.
It's too blonde. Hence the reason I have hair dye in my hand. Yeah baby, this blondeness is going down. It's not being dyed to a completely different colour, no I'm not that sick of my hair. I just want it to be less blonde, which is why I'm going to put in dark blonde streaks, give it a sort of beachy effect. Colour the strands of hair you want to dye with the brush given in this kit. Easy enough.
Now wait 30 minutes for the dye to do its magic, girlfriend! Ahem, no. Thirty minutes to do something to pass the time. I feed the dog. I watch some videos on YouTube. I do 300 crunches, without a break.
I wash the dye off my hair, ready for my streaks to come through.
Oh, fucking hell.
It's still the colour of the fucking sun.