Note: Red, orange and yellow means the flame's thoughts.

Disclaimer: I don't own the song "Burn it Down". Linkin Park does. The stuff in italics it Burn it Down lyrics, along with the red, orange, and yellow writing. Thoughts are also in italics, but I'm sure you can tell the difference. I also don't own anything related to Danny Phantom, that's owned by someone else (Butch Harman, I think). I do own all OC's. Please read!

The cycle repeated

As explosions broke in the sky

The vicious sounds of dive-bombing planes whirred in the sky. One landed to its target, causing the huge complex to implode with the clanking of medal. It slowly sank down on its self, breaking more and more flooring until it could hold its own weight. Its implosion caused enough ruckus for the everyone to notice.

It wasn't everyday that you witness the death of the Twin Towers.

I ran out of the school, seeking my parents, like everyone else. Police sirens filled the streets, along with so much panicked shouting I couldn't think strait. I could already see it, one of the two Twin Towers of legend was smoking, set on fire. My eyes watered from the ashes even from here.

I hope I can make it in time.

All that I needed was the one thing I couldn't find.

I raced through the crowded streets as fast as I could. It was hard to take in, the soot, police cars, the crowds of people all looking for their loved ones. I looked up from the ground and saw the burning red of flames. To my side I could see a police officer holding back an elderly lady who was shouting at the sky.

"Let go of me! My husband is fine! He really is! Let me go get him!" she struggled against the officers grip. "Let me go get my… HUBBY!"

I quickly averted my gaze to the ground. I didn't want to see anymore, I didn't want to see the crowds of guilt ridden people, I didn't want to see the mourners, the screamers, the criers. I didn't want to think that the same thing could happen to me. I didn't want to think that my dad had died.

He's probably at home, looking for me. Yes, his shift didn't start until one, he's just at home.

I looked up at the sky, slowing for long enough for the falling ashes to rest in my hair and on the bridge of my nose. I prayed before I looked down at my watch.

1:30.

And you were there at the turn, waiting to let me know,

My official dread levels rose. Nothing else was more important about finding out what happened to my dad.

I pulled out my cell phone and checked the messages. Mom had called seven times, each one sounding more desperate than before. I was going to call her back when something caught my eye.

It was a message. From dad.

I ran into an ally and hit the talk button. I clutched the phone to my ear like it was my lifeline. The message played.

Sweetie, *cough, cough* it's getting pretty bad up here. We were told to stay put *cough, wheeze* but I'm having some asthma problems. (coughing fit) I'm-having- *cough* -a-hard- *cough, wheeze* -time getting air. I- just- want-to- let-you-know…

(Thump. A shrill scream. 'He's fell!')

I could tell what was happening. I read about it when I realized my dad has asthma. He's suffering from oxygen loss. Maybe someone has an inhaler?...

But I knew what was coming.

I. Love. You…

I could here the sounds of someone checking his pulse and the faint muffles of 'He's gone.'

But I wasn't listening anymore.

Time blurred. Soon I was standing on a corner, people flowing like rivers to their houses, or work, or where ever their relatives are. Screaming still filled the streets, police officers still at their posts. But it didn't matter. All my attention was at my mom, who was standing at the corner looking at me with tears streaking down her face.

"He's dead." She whispered, so quiet I could hardly hear.

I leaned forward and hugged her, becoming a steadfast rock in the middle of the streets river.

"I know."

We're building it up

To break it back down

We're building it up

To burn it down

We can't wait

To burn it to the ground

The colors conflicted As the flames, climbed into the clouds

Everywhere I looked was full of flames. The curtains, the floor, they were all flames, licking up my arms, legs, crawling into my face, into my eyes, out of my mouth. The sensation was tingly, enough to know it was imagined, but the heat, the pain, it was so real.

I stood in front of the Twin Towers, looking at the singular tower burn and collapse on its self once more. I thought about all the people up there, all the dead people. It hurt.

My mom was there next to me, hovering herself over, watching the doors of the second twin tower where many husbands were coming out alive, waiting for my dad to come out unscathed. He didn't, and I'm pretty sure mom knew he wouldn't.

I was staring into the flames, thinking of what it would be like if I were in them. Sure it would hurt for a little, but then I would be in heaven with my father. Everything would turn good in the end.

But what about mom? The rest of the family?

Though the suicidal thought was tempting, I kept myself content looking at the flames, dancing from red, to orange, to yellow, free as a bird.

I looked up the sky to see a large column of smoke and flames climb into the baby blue clouds, shadowing the sky in their dark and oppressiveness.

Even the clouds were losing their innocence.

I wanted to fix this, but couldn't stop from tearing it down

I screamed bloody murder at the room.

All I could feel was rage. I ran around the kitchen and slammed open drawers and cupboards, throwing china and dishes onto the ground. They all shattered into glass, the fragments glittering on the peach tile. All the plastic materials were shattered on the floor, having already been thrown into walls or slammed into pieces. Sharp and dull knives alike were speared into the wood of the cupboards, all except for one which I was using to cut a long, jagged line down my arm. It oozed with blood that was welling up at the edges. Satisfied, I moved on to my next arm.

I knew I shouldn't be doing this, but I just couldn't stop. It was the only outlet I could think of for my grief, so I keep cutting the lines down my arm, soaking up the pain.

Drops of blood fell to the peach tile floor. If anyone looked to closely, the stained tile looked eerily like fire.

The knife imbedded into the counter with a loud Crack!

And you were there at the turn, caught in the burning glow

And I was there at the turn, waiting to let you know

It was light, so light it burned the eyes. I was standing in the same corner that my mom and me hugged at so long ago, except that my dad was there in his gray suit he wears to work every day.

I ran up to him, taking in everything about him, his smile, the way his pens are always crooked in his pocket, this shaggy hair…

He smiled, so bright that I thought it would burn through my soul. Then his smile turned devilish as he became inflamed in fire, fire that seemed to chuckle and whisper to me, whisper to me the dreaded words.

He's dead, He's dead, He's dead…

My dad was completely drowned in fire, his face twisting in pain. I screamed to him but I couldn't move. I could see blood rolling off my body in waves, tumbling into the fire, causing it to burn larger and brighter.

I couldn't move one inch, and I could only watch as my dad opened his mouth to let out the loudest scream that I have ever heard. My dad was being burnt alive.

Suddenly, he slumped down into the fire, his hands around his throat. In the end he didn't die of the flames, but died of oxygen loss.

My scream was much louder that the one in the dream.

We're building it up

To break it back down

We're building it up

To burn it down

We can't wait

To burn it to the ground

Some people misunderstand me, and these people are just some of them. They should be happy to give their life to such a worthy cause.

That's the reason that the second plane pilot ignored the screaming and scrambling taking place in the back of the plane. That's also the reason that the pilot didn't spare a second glance to the dead original pilot who lay on the ground with a bullet in his throat.

It was necessary for me to gain control of the plane. Besides, anyone who would willingly serve this dictator deserves to die.

The planed attack was going well so far. Plane number 1 had hit its target, the first twin tower. Plane number 2, which was his, is in position to hit the second tower. Plane number 3 was going to the Pentagon last time he checked, and Plane number 4 was on its way to Washington DC.

The pilot was proud to be part of the attack. It wasn't everyday that four, brave people gave their lives for a pure cause. He was glad to be one of those four assigned to rid this nation of their dictators.

When he was younger, twenty or twenty-five, he was a governor. He rapidly rose up in rank, until he was the presidents right hand man. He had gave many testimonies about how great the president was, but when it all came down to it, it didn't matter. The president kicked him out of office, for the false charges of bribing judicial officials.

That's when he found the true, just cause of ridding the US of their dictator, just what they planned to do if their carefully charted plan worked out.

Which it would, it always does.

Suddenly, four of the men riding on the plane at the time came busting into the room holding large, heavy objects, like baseball bats. They swung at the him, but he deflected then easily. He was out numbered though, and was positive that he would have to surrender if this went on much longer.

That was when he remembered his gun. He shot it, killing three out of the four men and causing the other to get a concussion. He quickly turned to the controls, realizing that if anymore men came he would be weaponless.

He aimed the plane for the center of the second Twin Tower. Not once did he think about turning the plane around or what innocent people he was going to kill. Just about the wonderful thing he was going to rid the world of.

He started chanting.

"You told me yes, you held me high

And I believed you when you told that lie.

I played soldier, you played king

And struck me down when I kissed that ring

You lost that right, to hold that crown

I built you up, but you let me down

So when you fall, I'll take my turn

And fan the flames as your blazes burn."

The minute he finished his revenge chant, heat blasted up into his face.

Sound echoed around all the roads, medal cracked between the explosion that followed, allowing the second twin tower to burst into flame and fall into the first one, causing even more smoke to hide the clouds.

The planes occupants screamed their last scream as the plane slammed into the tower, while the pilot was already dead. He lost his life basking in the flames he caused. To him he died to martyr. To others he died a traitor.

A long ways away, the fatherless girl had just woken up from her dream to hear the explosion of the second plane hitting the second tower.

The ashes of death started to rain from the sky.

And you were there at the turn, waiting to let me know

"DADDY!"

How come 'da big-metal-flying-object was falling now? 'Da big-metal-flying-object I was riding on with daddy was still in 'da sky until now. Now it's falling down to the ground. We need to get a white-billowy thing that the people in 'da TV use before we hit 'da ground. Why does no one have a white-billowy thing?

My daddy left with some other boys to go into the plane's front. Daddy said that he has to stop some bad guys. He said he'd be back soon. It's taking daddy longer to beat the bad guys than I thought it would.

When 'da white-billowy thing, a parachute is what daddy says, comes up I want to be ready to land. I grabbed my birdie blankly, Barbie dolls, and my eagle wings sweater. I hugged them to my chest and searched for daddy. He hasn't come back yet.

I looked into one of the shinny-metal parts of 'da big-metal-flying-object to check my hair. My golden curls were still bouncity. Good, my hair has to be all in place so the wind can mess it up when we land.

Daddy still isn't back from beating up the bad guys yet. Where could he be? He can't be captured like in Penelope Pitstop, right? Never mind. He's probably still on 'da wild goose chase that the bad guys always give before they're defeated. Just like in Scooby-Do.

Suddenly there were three gunshots right in a row, BANG!, BANG!, BANG!, just like in the movies. That means daddy's in 'da final battle. He's going to win any second now…

There seemed to be a struggle, and then there was a clatter, like a weapon falling on 'da ground. Yay! Daddy won!

Then the door creaked. My eyes swiveled towards it. A baseball bat was leaning against the door, having pushed it open.

Before me and daddy got on the plane today, I managed to scrape myself on a box. The scrape hurt and some red stuff came out of it. Daddy explained to me it was blood. It comes out of you when you hurt yourself.

My daddy was laying on 'da ground inside the door. His eyes were rolled back into his head. There was a hold by his ear. It, and his entire head, was covered in blood.

I screamed to a pitch I didn't know I could scream. "DADDY! DADDY! DADDY!" I screamed and screamed and screamed and then I ran. I ran and ran and ran into everywhere on 'da plane, looking for something, anything. Soon I got tired and stopped screaming. I slowed my run down until I stopped. I was in 'da pet-and-suitcase-hold. I sat down.

Tears ran down my checks. All I could think about was my daddy, sitting there, not even moving, his eyes rolled back into his head. Daddy…

A ragged sob came out of my mouth. I cried and cried and cried some more. It felt like forever before I could stop. Once I stopped I would think about my dad again and then start to breath-very-fast and cry again. Soon my golden curls were plastered to my face from my tears.

A squawk caused me to stop crying and hold my breath, dreading 'da silence. What made that sound?

Another squawk came from behind a curtain. I crawled over there and lifted up the curtain. I slid in.

There was a parakeet, yellow, red, black and blue, sitting inside a large cage with perches for it. It looked like a majestic male bird. Looking at him, I wanted to keep him so much. There was another girl sitting next to him, though. She was really old, fifteen, sixteen maybe. She has brown hair with feathers in it, wearing a blouse and jeans. The bird belonged to her.

I was about to slide out of the curtain when the girl called me over. "Come here." She said.

I crawled over to her. She didn't look angry, and the bird was squawking at me again.

"Do you like my bird? His name is Twist, since he loves pretzels. Do you want to feed him?"

The girl handed me a pretzel. I looked at it, and then the bird. I've loved birds for forever, but I've never fed one before. Ever since I saw the bird my thoughts had never turned to daddy. Daddy… Blinking my eyes to ward off tears I could feel my tear tracks crack on my skin.

"Do you want to feed him?"

I blinked. I almost forgot about the girl. I nodded.

"I'll show you how." The girl said. She took a pretzel and slightly through the top of the bars on the cage. Twist got on one of the perches, and started nibbling on the pretzel. Eventually he pulled into the cage and finished it up.

"Go ahead, try." The girl urged.

I did it. 'Da bird enjoyed it very much. I could tell.

"You can have him." The girl said. "I was going to have to get rid of him anyway, since I can't keep him in my apartment."

Yes! I get Twist! Yay! My happiness was squelched by dark, unhappy thoughts. Daddy… with blood dripping onto him…. Daddy…

"Hey," the girl looked at me like she could read my mind. "What's wrong?"

I never got a chance to tell her. Suddenly lights started blinking on the plane. Someone, or something, broke glass, leaving windows with long sharp edges. Smoke came in through the windows. Screaming was heard.

Something, I think the plane, was squeezing. Tighter and tighter and tighter until I could actually feel the pressure surrounding us. It took so much effort to move anything. I could barely feel the arms wrap around my chest. It was the girl, and she was not letting go. I somehow managed to wrap my arms around her, and we waited for the other shoe to drop.

The screaming stopped. The pressure was so high no one could talk. It increased and increased until it was pressing the very fabric of our beings until…

Twist was the first to explode.

We were all next.

We're building it up

When you fall, I'll take my turn

And fan the flames as your blazes burn

To break it back down

When you fall, I'll take my turn

And fan the flames as your blazes burn

We're building it up

To burn it down

We can't wait

To burn it to the ground

When you fall, I'll take my turn

And fan the flames as your blazes burn

We can't wait

To burn it to the ground

When you fall, I'll take my turn

And fan the flames as your blazes burn

We can't wait

To burn it to the ground.

The US military placed the American flag into the rubble of the Twin Towers. My eyes were wet with tears, reminding me why we're here. My mom must have been feeling the grief to, because she hugged me the hardest she hugged me the night of the second explosion.

We were here to mourn for my fathers death, and for all the people who had died on what we are calling 9/11.

It took a while, but I figured out how to deal with the grief. My suicidal thoughts went away, along with the cutting I've been subjecting myself to. I told myself that this was not the way that my dad would want me to live. That my dad would have wanted me to be happy even though he's gone.

The national anthem played, and I couldn't help it, I cried. Tears for my dad, my mom, myself, for everyone came crashing down my checks. But they were also tears of perseverance. These traitors are not going to get away.

Once the anthem ended, I reached down into my pocket and pulled out my dad's most prized possession, his memory box. It was a tiny wooden box with hardly anything in it. He said that it held his dreams.

I spooned a little of the ash from the Twin Towers into the memory box.

These traitors are not going to get away with this.

I coated my fingers with ash and then brushed them under my eyes, like war makeup.

I won't let them.

The peacock feathered quill scrawled the words across the page. The golden paper gleamed up at me; the purple ink just settling on the page. My blue bangs dropped into my eyes, but I ignored it until I wrote my unintelligible signature at the bottom of the golden parchment.

There, done.

I had been working on that project for a week, the longest project I've ever done. I've been the Ghost Writers apprentice for a year now, but I still generally get the easy projects or the errands. I'm the first apprentice the Ghost Writer ever had and he doesn't want to do anything wrong.

Sometimes I mind. I love to write, and I find myself good at it too. But most of the time I enjoy the extra time that I get to spend with Suzy, one of my only friends in the Ghost Zone. After we died we met each other immediately and became the best of friends.

Suzy's a sweet little girl, probably about six years in age. She loves birds, just like me, but she's a lot more peppy about it. The most noticeable feature on Suzy is her golden curls, which reach her feet, and the eagle wings she has on her back.

Yes, you heard me right. She has eagle wings. She was a bird lover when she was alive, and I assume she like eagles the most. I'm not any less weird. I have a strange style. It's punk, rock, emo, and casual all at the same time. But what's stranger is my hair. I have hair that changes into different bird's feathers. I can control it, except for my bangs, which are static. They always stay peacock. I don't know why. Right now I have peacock bangs and black and white hair, the hair completely white with certain black spots in it.

I looked at the time on a watch that I stitched onto my leather jacket I'm wearing. It's much later than I'm normally up. But I still need to proof read this so I can give it to the Ghost Writer tomorrow.

I yawned, but read through the whole piece. What the project is, is to follow a 12 year old child during 9/11 and write down what happened to her. The Ghost Writer has been doing 9/11 scripts for a while now, making this his 10th one. But he has found something really important to write about and left this project to me. All he wanted was to have one persons narrative, but I'm going to surprise him by having four people done. One person who lost her father in the explosions, a young girl who lost her father on the second plane, an older girl who was one the second plane and with the young girl during the explosion, and the person who drove the second plane into the tower.

I re-read the whole thing, fixing lots of grammatical things, thought touch ups, stuff like that. I finished, but felt strange, like it wasn't done yet. I didn't have much time to think about it since Suzy paid me a visit.

Suzy flew in the window and landed next to my desk. Her bird followed behind her, a strange bird that was a ghostly orange like a pretzel, and landed right next to my writing.

"Hey Rachel!" she yelled to me. "What 'cha doing?"

I sighed. "Shouldn't you be to bed by now? You need to be bright and bushy tailed in the morning."

She put on a pout face. "I wanted to see you. Is that so bad?"

I sighed again, knowing I wasn't going to win this battle. The bird, who I had named Prez, poked his beck at what I was writing. I explained what it was and read it to them.

"These traitors are not going to get away with this. I coated my fingers with ash and then brushed them under my eyes, like war makeup. I won't let them." I finished.

Suzy was frowning. "That doesn't seem right." Even Prez looked like he would frown if he could.

I closed my eyes and thought about it really hard. I couldn't get anything. Then I decided I could use a new power I discovered recently. I found out that I can put my eyes in certain birds minds, in the past, present, or future. It would be hard, but maybe I could find I bird that had seen 9/11.

I thought real hard. Suddenly I found one.

I was in a cage on the plane, inside Prez's body. A discarded pretzel was beside me, forgotten in what was happening. The pressure was increasing, so fast it was killing my little bird bones. I was watching my old master, Rachel, and my new master, Suzy, hug each other tight as the pressure made me pop…

My eyes flew open. I couldn't believe it. I had never known what my live was like before I died, and neither did Suzy. I had never even considered…

I looked down on Suzy. Her mouth was open, like she somehow reached the same conclusion. I watched as Suzy was bathed in a white light. I didn't know what it was. Suzy seemed to be away from herself, and soon she, and Prez-err, Twist had disappeared.

First thing I thought was worry. The second I thought wonder as the light surrounded me to, filling me with such emotion that I can't describe. I couldn't even fight against it, and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't if I could. It felt so blissful…

I was whisked away from myself, just like on the plane a long time ago, but it was in a good way, not a bad.

Finally, my story was coming to a conclusion.

Deep, mystical eyes watched into the blue screen as the ghost Rachel was whisked away by the white light to the heavens. Her past has been forgotten, and she has gone on to a wonderful future.

Other screens played, screens the age-shifting ghost watched attentively. One showed Suzy feeding Twist, one showed the fatherless girl decimating her kitchen and cutting herself, one showed the battle of the second plane, and so forth.

Clockwork, the Master of Time, surveyed all the screens one more before turning away. All the screens disappeared.

"All is as it should be."

A/N: I'm sorry if this confused you! It was sort of meant to. Please give me some feed-back!