Sometimes it’s like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story. That story is what defines who we really are. So we live that story because truth and reality hurts so we lie… we lie to everyone but especially to ourselves. But sometimes we get so caught up in that lie that we forget who we are. We forget who we used to be. And when we start to forget, we get scared, and when we get scared we start to run. We run and when you start running you can never stop. You never look back, because if there’s one thing that I have learned, it’s that when you’re going through Hell… keep going.
For anyone reading this I would like to just say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. Sometimes I wonder if things could’ve been different if I wasn’t so damned scared. But the truth of the matter is that even though I’ve seen what happens, I wouldn’t change anything. Go ahead and call me crazy, but put yourself in my shoes for one moment. Really think about it and ask yourself this; what would you do for family?
I’m getting ahead of myself here, you probably have no idea what I even talking about, so let’s start again, let’s start at the beginning. Yeah, that seems like a good place to begin.
First let me introduce myself, seeing as this sorry excuse for a life is actually mine. Who am I?
Well that’s a difficult question. Are we talking biologically? Because then well I’m a human, well half-human see I am what you call a half-blood, or a demigod if you want to get technical, I am half-human half-god. I know it sounds crazy but I swear to all things holy that I tell the truth (besides the daughter of the god of truth is sitting right next to me so I can’t really lie).
But we might be talking physically, so in that case I am twenty-one going on twenty-two. I’ve got dark blonde hair, braided down to my waist and bright blue eyes (filled with mischief like my dad – or so I’m told). But I doubt you really care about what I see in the mirror.
We might also be talking culturally, well now that’s a completely different story. So my dad’s a Greek god, so I guess that makes me half Greek. But my mum is half Greek and half Italian, so that makes me; quarter Italian, three-quarter Greek… yeah that’s about right.
But I highly doubt you care about any of this. What you want to know is who I really am? You want to know what makes me tick? What makes me, me? So let me tell you. And I think a good place to start would be with my name.
My name, my name, my name… Where to start, well those closest to me call me Anna; those I consider friends call me Lia; others call me Emilia. But you want to know my real name don’t you. The name that I never use. The name that is only heard from the lips of enemies or when mum scolds you forgetting to do the dishes for the hundredth time. Well ladies and gentlemen, that name does not leave these pages for that name may sound petty, but it is a reminder, a reminder of something best forgot. That name is Emiliana.