Stoned, a percy jackson and the olympians fanfic

This next story is what I like to call 'why I should not go to bed as late as I did last night'. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own the following characters, or the premise which set this story up.

Stoned

Flash.

His eyes hurt and opening hours weren't even halfway through yet. If he could at least blink or something, that would be better. His eyes would be in less pain. Hell, even if his eyes could just tear up he'd feel better. But no. His idiot ex-wife had made him completely turn into stone. His eyelids were stuck in place, just like the rest of him.

Flash.

This was why Gabe hated bus tours. At first, for the greater part of his life, it was because they created traffic and he just hated tourists in general (which was the height of a curse for a New Yorker). Now he hated them because from their loins and the pits of hell, they released swarm after swarm of Asian tourists with freshly-charged digital cameras and a readiness to be impressed and fascinated by everything.

Flash.

Would it kill you to turn off your flash?

If it killed you, then the better for him, but just turn it off!

Flash.

Because of the aforementioned paralysis, he couldn't turn his head away so he really didn't have much of a view to compensate for having become a view. His eyesight could pick up either tourists and their stupid, never-ceasing, painfully bright flashes or the cement table and frozen poker game laid down in front of him. A bag of pretzels was tipped over the table; there were even pretzel crumbs and little beer-can stains on the table. Whatever Sally had done, it had kept all the details of that very last poker game. He didn't even know what exhibit was right next to him.

Flash.

He still didn't know what the hell she'd done to make him like this. At first he'd assumed that it was a nightmare, but nightmares couldn't be this long and it had been too shocking when Sally had caught his hand in mid-air when he was about to hit her and had given him two options- move out, or move into an art gallery. He never would've come up with that.

Glue? Like, had she poured glue over him and stuff? Gabe didn't think so. He would've starved by now.

Was it some kind of drug? That was the best Gabe could think of. Or hope for. That way one day it'd wear off. He could unfreeze. Grab a beer, have some food, make that stupid ex of his pay for this…

Flash.

But a drug that lasted just as strongly after five years and wasn't even close to becoming weaker?

Flash.

Now a class shuffled in front of him. They were college-aged, and he noticed some NYU hoodies among the gang of kids holding sketchpads.

"Take a second to observe this- the craftsmanship, the detail, the quality, the smoothness... Now: how does this work make you feel?" The guy who must be the teacher said.

Oh for Christ's sake.

Flash.

A girl raised her hand and the teacher said her name, Dana or some crap, with a nod of his head.

"It represents loneliness and loss to me," she said.

"Elaborate?"

"Well, he's a poker player. That's even the name of the statue," Dana said. "But here he is sitting at a table with all these empty chairs alone. He's holding all the cards. Who plays poker alone? Unless he's got nobody to play with. The feeling… It runs very deep"

No you don't understand my ex-wife is a serial… whatever this is. A serial statue maker? Whatever. She just kicked all of my buddies out before doing this to me.

"Excellent. Thomas, you had something to share?"

"I think it represents the pressure that people take on. Like, we try to do all these things alone even if we need people to do them- like playing poker by ourselves."

"Interesting. Sophie?"

Flash.

The art class finally passed, except one student who didn't look like he belonged with them anyways. He wore a high school uniform. The guy leaned forwards and Gabe nearly didn't recognise the kid. His hair was longer, his face was older and more serious, he was taller and bigger and built like an athlete of some kind.

He leaned on the railing- which security guards usually yelled at people for doing.

"Wanna know what the statue really represents?" The kid asked. He could barely remember his name- Percy. "It represents the degree with which you should not mess around with and hurt women."

Oh, so being a statue was Gabe's fault now? He'd totally picked his fate? Checked a little box that said 'get mistaken for a piece of cement artwork' on a list of things he wanted to do with his life?

Flash.

The kid was using his phone to do it on purpose.

Flash.

Gabe should've murdered him when he'd had the chance.

Flash.

"Seaweed Brain," a girl called. She was the cute blonde type, except her eyes were way too serious for her to be a surfer or model or whatever. She was wearing a school uniform too, she looked about his age. She put an arm around his waist and kissed his cheek.

Flash.

What the hell? Jackson had a girlfriend? A girlfriend like that? What the hell! What had he missed?

"Sorry I took so long in that other exhibit," she said hugging her books closer to her, "but I've got this thing with Inca architecture going on for, you know, Olympus. I'm glad you kept going though, this is a great gallery. But what's so special about this sta-"

She trailed off and looked at Gabe's little placard.

"Oh," she said. "This is him?"

She said it with disgust, as if Gabe couldn't hear her. Or maybe she was just really shameless and ill-bred.

"Sure is." Jackson said. His eyes were burning. Gabe had never noticed how scary they could be before.

"Gods. Your mom sure put up with a lot," she said.

"Sure did," Jackson smiled. "I've had enough of him. Even in statue-form I can still handle only little doses of him. Let's get out of here."

Flash.

If only, Gabe thought somberly.