Danny Phantom is [regrettably] not my creation, but instead, that of Butch Hartman. He is a wonderful producer and animator of some of my favorite shows. So, (with that in mind), please read, and enjoy... I did an edit on this first chapter, so, yeah, re-read if you'd like, much love:
"You… You what? You didn't—You, you never…" He was stammering, dumbstruck and speechless. He turned on his heels to face away from her, biting his lip so hard it nearly bled. He refused to let her see him cry. He was stronger than that—stronger than her. He stood mumbling incoherently, eyes watery and lip quivering, when he heard her speak.
"Please, Danny, No… you don't understand…" came her voice. He felt her hand descending down onto his shoulder. He heard her footstep coming forward. He moved, avoiding her touch. Get away from me… He squeezed his eyes shut and spun around to face her. He opened his eyes, then his mouth, but balked. He couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't incredibly harsh. He considered this, and chose to ignore it. By now he was near hyperventilating, his teeth grit and fists clenched.
"I do understand, Sam. I do. I get it. No; please, don't… don't bother yourself on my feelings, I'm just a, a toy put here for YOUR entertainment. Just remember to put me away when you're done playing with me! You, YOU don't have to worry about my feelings, because yours are the only ones that matter—right?!" his face was red, flushed with anger and embarrassment; his screams were echoing through the hallways.
"I-I can't even BELIEVE you would ever do this to me! To ME, Sam!" He cried, still holding back the welling tears.
"What am I to you, besides nothing at all?! Was I ever anything to you? How could you have the… the… the audacityto lead me on for all this time!How could you do something so terrible to any human being?! You didn't even… you didn't even bother to—God! It's—It's—It's not like you at all! Who are you? Where's MY friend Sam?! WHO ARE YOU? Then again, how should I know? I'm only—" he stopped short. His liquid magma thoughts pouring out of him had almost let him say the one word that drew the line in this argument. He'd caught himself, he stopped, inhaled, then spoke.
"…I'm only the kid who used to be your best friend." He let out the breath he'd been holding with a shuddering exhale and continued; his voice now hoarse from shouting. "I've had it, Sam. I'm done. This… this is it. I can't deal with you anymore; I can't deal with what I'm feeling. I hope you're proud of yourself. Have a nice life, you manipulative bitch."
"NO!" He barked, throwing out his hands and halting Sam in mid-thought, "…just stop, Sam. Please. Don't even try anymore…" his voice had reduced to a whisper, "...you had your chance. You had a thousand chances..."
He looked away from her, shook his head slowly, and walked away. He had to, before the vibrations he felt in his chest became tremors outside of his body and became noticeable. He felt an overpowering wave of nausea, but refused to throw up. He heard no footsteps behind him as he walked down the hall and out of a side door; she's not coming after me. He forced himself to fly—to be someone else for a bit; someone with no problems and no worries. He'd let go of his persona of Danny Fenton to be Danny Phantom: the faceless superhero who doesn't have to deal with teenage drama…
He flew high above the ground; invisible to the eye should anyone come looking. He didn't want anyone seeing him, especially not Sam. He sighed deeply, closed his eyes, and let himself glide on the wind. The current under his arms lifted him higher, farther from his problems and farther for the tears streaming down his cheeks to fall. Nothing passed through his mind, yet, he was plagued with thought. He was weighed down with worry. He flew and carried his burdens for what seemed like hours on end, though it was quite possibly only an hour or so. Eventually, conscious thought entered his mind when his stomach groaned for sustenance.
What the hell is wrong with you, Fenton? Why didn't you eat lunch at school, like everyone else does? Oh yeah. I was talking to Sam in the courtyard… With a shake of his head, he removed the thought and looked down onto his hometown.
He was over the nice part of Amity Park. Well, the other nice part, that is. The town of Amity Park was, in theory, a sandwich; turned on its side. The entire downtown was urban, but the suburbs pretty went, from the far left side to the far right, Upper class, middle class, lower middle class, middle class, and Upper class, respectively. He was sure to stay away from the side that Sam lived on… at least, for now.
He didn't recognize the place he landed, though he felt he'd been there before. His boots made contact with someone's back porch, overlooking a small children's playground. Normally, he'd never trespass. He'd care about being on private property, but he was tired, scared, lonely, broken. It didn't matter where he was. What happened to me? He thought with a deep, shaky sigh.
The seconds passed by painstakingly slowly, forming yet slower minutes. He could've sworn that he sat there for several hours, his hunger jabbing at his side with sharp pains, his fatigue pulling him down and making gravity a pain, the cold, nipping at his extremities… all of these things made him conscious. They kept him awake; aware of the world around him. He couldn't drift into a thought—no matter how hard he tried—so he was doomed to sit in a lawn chair: hugging his knees to be comfortable, clasping his hands over his shins, and resting his chin on his left knee. He closed his eyes, but they no sooner closed than shot open in surprise at the sound of another voice:
"Holy hell! Danny Phantom!?"
Yes, I redid it. (: Your welcome. If this is the first time you're reading this, then yay~! Continue please, I promise it gets WAY better.