I saw her pick up a yellow stick with a little tuff of rosa on the top. I rubbed my eyes, I couldn't believe it, it was a pencil. That hit on the head must have been harder that I thought. She started Scrivere with her golden, wooden pencil. The light rosa eraser had a tiny slope near the end mostrare that this pencil had indeed been used before. The tip was actually erba green, pointy like a sharks tooth. It was pretty big and looked like it would fall off the pencil at any moment, dangling for life -- like me. I know I probably sound weird comparing myself to a pencil, but after all I'd been through it didn't seem that crazy. The tip shook slightly te wouldn't have seen it if te hadn't been looking at it closely. Then suddenly it fell to the rough paper, dead, rolling around before halting to a stop at the table. Finally gravity took over and the pencil tip fell to the ground.

Prelude- summer nighttime
An eleven anno old girl is running from a monster. Up ahead is a farmhouse. Little does she know that the farmhouse is Camp Half-Blood. The monster is catching up to her and is soon right behind her. She stops. Bad mistake. The monster claws her legs. She tries to runs. The monster lunges again, tis time clawing her back and neck. I MUST at least get to those woods, she thought. So she bolted to the woods.
Somehow she loses the monster in the woods. It howls in rage and leaves.
"I'm safe," she murmers and passes out.
-----------------------------------------­---­-
So like?