Ghost

Broken

Danny was sitting in class, trying not to fall asleep. His mind wandered. It wandered to something dangerous. His ghost side. When he thought of it, the thoughts led to his death. They just thought that Danny had been close to death. No, Danny died. He died. He tried to come back, and he ended up possessing his own body. No escape, Danny went on with a life he could never handle.

A normal life was something he could never live. He couldn't age, he couldn't die, and he couldn't tell anyone. He felt pain. Oh he felt pain. He had been completely cut open before. He had scars. His bones had been hollowed out. Rearranged. No doubt, he was broken. No, he was shattered, beyond repair.

He set his head on his desk, tears in his eyes. "Fenton's crying!" Dash yelled. Danny didn't look at anyone. He put his head in his arms.

Mr. Lancer was flabbergasted. No one had ever seen the boy cry. Not even with all Dash did to him. He always held it together. "Is everything okay?" Asks one boy next to Danny.

"No." Danny says, his voice muffled by his arms. 

"Why not?" Asks the boy.

"I died." Danny mumbles. 

"What?" Dash asks.

Danny looked up, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Nothing ever will be. I can't go one day with out getting a scar." He says. 

"Why?" Dash asks.

"Why are you, and everyone else so. Darn. Stupid. One moment your cheering me on, not knowing the next moment your reopening my stitches. Some days I think, why don't I end it all? Then I realize. I can't die. I died, Dash. A long time ago. How long until someone realizes I'm not ageing, not changing, getting scars every time I leave." Danny says, waving his arms about. 

"What are you talking about, Fenton?" Mr. Lancer asks.

"Stop calling me that! I gave up that surname when they said I couldn't feel pain, as they dug their knives into my skin, my bones." Danny said, standing up. Two rings formed around his waist as he went ghost, flying right out of the room and to the ghost zone. 

Where his real family was.

Where the people would accept him, dead or alive.

They would accept him for who he was, what he was.