It's KeeponReadin just going to say a few things before we get this story started:

1) I own only the characters I make up and the plot yadda, yadda, yadda, Rick Riordan is a boss, etc.

2) This story was just something I randomly cooked up in my head

3) Sorry it's taking me a while on the other stories! I just want them to be awesome!

4) What I mean by #3 is... I've got "Writer's Block" (They will be awesome though!)

5) Alright I'm done boring you... read!

Get Back Up:

Chapter 1:

Hunger, pain, devastation, destruction, sorrow, anger, want, need, and loneliness were the feelings I experienced that night. I may have only been 18 months old but it didn't take a genius to realize I was all alone. No one could take away the images that were forever ingrained in my memory. Watching my family, my home, and all that I had ever known disappear within minutes leaving me the lone survivor. I lay unconscious among the wreckage and dead, broken bodies that used to be my family. They told me I laid there for a day. They told me my Mommy and Daddy would never come back. They told me I was lucky to be alive. I disagree; it should've been me. Joyce doesn't take that crap though. Joyce was the police officer that found me the day after I lost everything. She took me in and took care of me, she was my lifeline, the only reason I'm alive today is because of her. Joyce says I'm not hers and I can't stay with her forever. She says they'll come and take me to my new home… wherever that is. She doesn't like to talk about that though, Joyce likes to focus on the present. She says dwelling in the past does no good, especially when your past is crappy.

Most nights I don't go to sleep. Most nights sleep never comes, I just lay on my bed and think, my mind is one of my only refuges. When I was younger I was afraid of sleep, every time I went to sleep I would always wake up crying and screaming begging someone to put me out of my misery. Joyce never allowed me to quit, she told me I'd be dead if I were a quitter and that she'd kill me if I decided to be one now. I sighed and rolled over; even at the age of 2 I knew that tomorrow was the day I had to leave Joyce. I could tell by the way her shoulders sagged when she had talked on the phone earlier. Despite being hard-headed and strict Joyce was always in a relatively good mood; she was tall with long brown hair that was always up in a high pony tail, and chocolate eyes that could see into your soul and automatically tell whether or not you'd been in the cookie jar. But when in her police officer's uniform she radiated pure, indisputable power.

Every day that I came home after day care Joyce would tell me a little more about my past and my family. Some days I had to nearly drag it out of her but, it was pretty easy because she always said I had her wrapped around my pinky finger. She told me that a storm had destroyed my town and that I was one of only ten survivors. She told me she literally had to dig me out of the rubble with the help of four other police officers; when they first found me one of the officers said I must've been "kin to God". She also told me about my family: "Your Father, Fred, was a college professor…"

"What about my Mommy?"

"I-I don't have any records on your mother…"

"But, Joyce, I remember her."

"Annabeth, I'm sorry, I've looked everywhere but there are no records anywhere that say anything about your mother. The only proof we have of her is you."

I didn't know how or when I would find out, but I was determined to know who my Mom was. She had to be someone, and one day I'd find her and-

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

"Annabeth," Joyce whispered while poking her head in through the slightly opened door.

I sat up, looked Joyce in the eye and did what any stubborn 2 year old would do. "No."

Joyce crossed her arms and responded as any stubborn police officer would. "Yes or I'll taze you."

"But, Joyce I don't want to go." I sighed and gave her my best puppy dog eyes.

"And I don't want you to go, but nobody ever asks my opinion now do they?" She took two swift steps and pulled me up out of my bed and into her arms. I looked into her eyes and she looked into mine, we had a silent conversation. A lone tear came to her eye but disappeared as quickly as it had come.

We rode silently to the San Francisco Police Post where a shiny, black car awaited us. Joyce got me out of my car seat, hugged me one last time and handed me a small silver bracelet with Joyce's favorite saying engraved on it: 'Get Back Up'. I looked back up at her and motioned for her to lean down. I whispered in her ear, "Who said I was ever down?"

Joyce smiled and whispered back, "Wise ass."

That was the last thing Joyce ever said to me. She was the closest thing to a parent I ever had because the next 13 years would be absolute hell.

How was it? Review please!