This is going to be extremely angsty.

And here's a clue: I got inspired to write this by a combination of reading The Running Dream, which is an amazing book, and watching Soul Surfer, which is an amazing movie.

No, I don't own anything that needs a copyright sign.

O-o-O

When the going gets tough, the tough kills monsters. That's been my mantra since I was seven and ran away from home. My life has always been about being independent, about never needing anyone to do anything for me, about being a role model. Being tough.

But what if the tough couldn't kill monsters? What if the tough was forced into submission, into total and complete helplessness? What if the tough was wheelchair-bound for the rest of its life, trapped by the sheer inability to defend itself?

What if the tough couldn't fight anymore?

What nobody ever tells you is that sometimes, the tough gets knocked onto its butt and is left there to flail and flop and basically become a sitting duck. Sometimes the tough needs help, but refuses to admit it, so the stupid and stubborn tough gets snapped up by the monsters in a single, horrible gulp. But if the tough is smart, the tough will accept the outstretched hands and pull itself back up and go right back to fighting. Sometimes the tough will accept the help it needs.

I guess I need to introduce myself. My name is Annabeth Chase, I'm eighteen years old, and if you call me Annie I'll slit your throat with a spoon. I am the tough. I don't need anyone, or at least I didn't. Then I got knocked on my butt, and for a while I swatted away everyone's hands and sulked, which was a big mistake on my part. But finally the tough got smart and grabbed the hands. I pulled myself back up.

This is the story of how I got back on my feet.

O-o-O

Review? I know it's a little mysterious, but all will be explained in later chapters, I promise.