On The Way Down
Summary: Sam's lost her mind. Danny's trapped in a world beyond his comprehension. The strange thing is the one link between them is an empty notebook.
Rating: PG-13 for mature themes and language.
Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, Butch Hartman does. I do not own On The Way Down, Ryan Cabrera does.
Sick and tired of this world.
April 24, 2005
Dear world at large,
I don't expect you to understand this. I don't expect anyone to. But if I don't write this down I'm going to convince myself he never existed. Never lived, never breathed, and never was. I can't do that. He diserves better than that. My name is Sam Manson. And my best friend was, or is, Danny Fenton. We had been best friends forever since kindergarten. Best friends through everything. And nothing could change that, me becoming a goth, Danny becoming a ghost. Nothing.
But suddenly one day that I'll never forget, Danny just ceased existing. He didn't come to school, so I called his family. They didn't know what I was talking about, didn't know who I was. I heard the mother of my best friend tell me she didn't have a son. That she never had. I called Tucker. He didn't know what I was talking about either. Said he hadn't talked to me since second grade. I just sort of slowly lost my mind. I can't explain how it happened, all I remember was sitting in the park we met at screaming his name and crying my eyes out.
Now I'm here. Cedar Pines Recovery Home for Mentally Distressed Girls. That's what I am; distressed. But I think I have a right to be. One of the greatest people I have ever known is nothing but a memory. And now all I get from everyone everyday is that I have an imaginary friend. That I've regressed to a sort of five-year-old mentality. God, I wish that was true. That I was five again and Danny was still my best friend with the dorky smile and stupid looking haircut. I'm in counseling three times a day. I have a room mate named Katie who thinks she sees demons. That's what I am to everyone else. That little kid off The Sixth Sense who can see dead people. Except my person never existed.
So I've taken one of those composition notebooks that everyone encourages me to write in. I'm writing this to myself so in a few years when they've brainwashed me, I'll have this to remind me I didn't make him up. It all comes down to one simple thing:
Danny Fenton did exist. He had blue eyes and dark hair. He had a dorky smile and a melt-your-heart grin. He always wanted to be an astronaut. His favorite food was Kraft Macaroni and Cheese with hotdogs in it. His birthday was March 22 and his favorite color was red. He was clumsy and stubborn to a fault. He could always make me laugh no matter how bad I felt, just by singing I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts. He got me a music box for my seventh birthday because he said I needed to start acting like a girl. I kissed him when we were eleven and we promised to never talk about it again because we wanted to be friends forever. I was one of the first people he told when a lab accident turned him into a ghost. He was the sweetest person in the world and will always be the first boy I ever loved even if I'd die before I'd tell him that.
That's why this has to go down on paper. Even if it makes no sense to anyone but me. Cause, maybe, there's a reason I can remember even if no one else can. And maybe that's why I'm here. Living without him, without everything. All I can do is hope I never forget, because it's all I have. It's all I'll ever have.