worn out faces-- private

Today was just one of those days where you wanted to stay in bed, contemplate life, and wonder what in the hell you were doing on this earth and what your purpose was. Simon didn’t go through these days a lot, mostly being an active member of the Athena cabin, helping his younger half siblings and staying far far away from his sisters cabin. It was one of those days where he woke up bright an early — 4:30, a soldiers time, made his bed perfectly, without line or cease or fold in its complexion, and sat down on the bottom bunk with a book in his hands. The book was about life during wwI, and Simon found it to be nostalgic. There was a pit in his stomach that he just couldn’t shake off, and he was a little bit nauseated but not too much. Thinking about the farm made him want to cry. But no tears dared to spring up to his storm clouded eyes, soldiers did not cry. Not for their fallen comrades. Not when they lost the war. Not even when their closest family members died, and Simon had never experienced any of those things. For one, he didn’t have friends, ergo he couldn’t tear up when random demigods fell on the ground dead, and he hadn’t lost any wars thanks to his sisters, and his father died a long time ago. Benjamin Crane, Simon’s father. Oh how the son missed his father. More than he missed the farm back in England, more than he missed 1914, more than he missed the silence of a simpler time. 

Benjamin Crane, shortly after his two children had fled to the lotus casino in America, had been drafted into the English army in 1916, and lived. Of course, there had been some damage done both physiologically and physically, one that couldn’t be fixed, and one that took almost a decade to get rid of. The one that was irreparable forever was his eyesight. During a particularly horrible battle for the allies, Simon’s father had been hit full on in the face with mustard gas, and luckily he lived, but was blinded for the rest of his days. Naturally he was taken out of the ranks, sadly though, the time in the trenches had taken his tole, and the once father now had shell shock, which took about five years to eradicate completely. Other than that Benjamin had a mostly happy and normal life, though he never forgot about Tessa and Simon, the two children that time forgot. He also tried dating many women, but it never worked out, and for the rest of his life the man was lonely. In 1978 Benjamin passed away peacefully in his sleep. At least, that’s what Simon had heard, and he was inclined to believe them.

He looked at his watch after reading a few chapters of the book; it was 7:42, and Simon decided to go and get ready for the day. Well, not really. He was just going to stay in his rumpled clothes, but he had to go and brush his teeth in the bathroom down the hall. Excellent personal hygiene was very important to the young boy and practiced it twice daily. So he set the book down and dangled his feet off the edge of his bed, pausing for a moment before blinking a couple of times. Sometimes, if Simon wished it hard enough , he could believe for almost a second that being here was just some dumb stupid dream he’d made up, and if he blinked hard enough and wished with all his might, he’d wake up in his bed back in the past. But it was too good to be true, just like always. He was stuck in this shithole, in this camp where everybody talked too loudly and as if every single one of them were the most important human on this green earth. Simon Crane could assure any number of them that they didn’t matter at all in the grand scheme of things. 

Finally Simon stepped out of his bedroom, and was utterly surprised and caught off guard when he saw his father sitting in a chair opposite the door. He looked just like he had the day that he and Tessa had left, though his features were not that of sadness, but of joy and happiness. Simon knew that had to’ve been a trick, Benjamin had died 37 years ago, that’s what Chiron had told him. “What? I-“ The demigod was dumbfounded. There had to be a good scientific explanation for his dead dad to show up right outside his bedroom. However at that moment the naive sixteen year old didn’t give a damn what that explanation was. Simon stumbled towards his dad, relief and calmness filling every single line in his face. He embraced his father and hugged him tightly. “Papa, oh papa.” The boy said, using the endearment he stopped saying when he grew too old for childish things. “Oh how I have missed you papa.” Simon was relentless to let Benjamin go. His father had come back to him. He looked up at his dad and smiled. “I will admit that I was not. But I am glad you are here anyways. However, I would like to figure out how you are here today. Everyone here said you died 37 years ago in your sleep, how can that be?”