I've been searching for a good topic to write an Angst story about lately. I don't really know why I picked DP above everything else, but after going on a nostalgic binge a few days prior to writing this, I got the idea. This story is meant to be read slowly, for each word to be read over as slowly as possible so as to get the full emotion from it. I highly suggest avoiding this if you aren't in the mood for a downer or if you are feeling especially depressed, because my aim for this story is to pull a lot of emotion from the readers. I guess we shall see how well I do, as this is my first attempt at an Angst story.
Rain pattered against the window glass like tiny footsteps. A clock ticked in rhythm with the rain.
Tick, tock. Pat, pat. Tick, tock. Pat, pat.
A man, sunken-eyed and hollow, sat beside the window, hiding from the world beneath the shadow of the night.
Tick, tock. Pat, pat.
The man clasped his hands together, knuckles white as the strip of hair that sat upon his head. That hair. Once his greatest pride. Now his greatest regret.
Tick, tock. Pat, pat.
The anger. The frustration. Those feelings of uselessness. He wasn't wanted. He wasn't needed. Why should he bother? He wasn't needed anymore. One flash and it would be over.
Tick, tock. Pat, pat.
But it wasn't over. He was encased forever in this cycle of torment. No escape. No relief. Just one flash could end it all. Mortal or ghost, no one needed him. Not Sam. Tucker. Jazz. Amity. The world. No one needed him. With shaky hand but firm mind, he began to write, the sounds of the world fading into the recesses of his mind as he lost himself once more.
I loved you. I gave you everything. I kept you safe when the darkest corners of the world beyond grasped at your throat. I gave you everything. You did nothing for me. You lead me on. You lulled me into a fantasy. A wild goose chase. You toyed with me. Used me. Did I deserve that? Did some corner of your fucked up mind ever think that I didn't deserve it? That the boy who kept you safe deserved better than to be thrown to the ground and stomped upon like a fucking piece of trash? Is that what you thought I was? A piece of trash? Or did a part of your mind ever cling to compassion long enough to be grateful, if only for a second?
I told you. I told you I loved you. You walked away. Not me. Not me! I wasn't the one that fucked it all up. I didn't walk away. I didn't abandon you. I didn't move away and act as though nothing we went through mattered, like none of the feelings we ever may have had for each other meant anything to you.
I thought you would be proud. I thought they all would. I didn't give up. I looked to a new future. Did anyone ever stop for a moment to consider that? To consider that I had given up a life that could have gotten me killed? That I was safe now? No. You were all too busy shoving your noses further up your asses to pay any attention to me. Nobody cared. You didn't care. Tuck didn't care. Ha, look at me. Still using his pet name like I actually cared. No one in Amity gave a shit. Oh, look, the Blaster Masters vanquished another ghost! Don't they look so stylish today? Hey, Cynthia, there's Vlad! Oh, I bet he'll save us! The great mayor of Amity won't let us be crushed beneath the might of the Disasteroid!
And he didn't. He kept you safe. He destroyed the thing. And I offer up to him a slow clap of honor. Well done, Vlad, for finally putting aside your planet-sized attitude to help someone. You know, as I write this, I cannot help but laugh at myself. I don't think you quite understand how low you all have fallen on the totem pole. I actually believe Vlad is less arrogant than all of you combined. I actually do. Funny how times change, hm?
Vlad was never there for me when I was Danny Phantom. He wasn't there when I was Danny Fenton, either. But neither were you. You never cared. Tucker never cared. Even my own fucking family never cared. Did I tell you that they kicked me out to make room for Vlad after he destroyed the Disasteroid? Yeah. And you thought your parents were bad. Or was that a lie, too?
I'm done with this shit, Sam. Done with it. I've spent ten years. Ten long, depressing, shitty years holed up in this shithole of an apartment hoping something would happen. I was a fool, Sam. A fool for so many years. I could have ended it all. One decision could have changed everything. But I held away from it.
Until now.
I can't live like this anymore. I used to be everything. The world-renowned superhero Danny Phantom. Vanquisher of ghosts, protector of mortals. What am I now? What do I have now that I am no longer who I used to be? I do not know. I have never known. And has anyone ever been here for me? To help me with my problems? No. Everyone left me. Not just Amity. No, I could have lived with that. The whole world forgot me. Danny Phantom, hero of the world, became Danny Phantom, some kid on the street, faster than the Master Blasters' rides flew. I waited, like I said I would. Ten years to the day. It's over now, Sam. I have made my decision. I wish you the deepest guilt and regret. I'll watch it all with a smile on my face. Bet on that. And when it's all over...
I'll see you in hell.
Blind to the world, the man lifted the note and tacked it upon the wall, the point splintering the wood and sending spikes of wood shooting up the man's finger. He didn't care. Why should he? What was a little blood lost? He watched in sick satisfaction as the blood smeared over the note, turning the paper as crimson and stained as his broken heart.
Agonizingly slowly, the man stood. The broken floorboards creaked under his weight, matching the feeling of his weary bones. One step at a time, the man made his way to his imminent doom. Almost instinctively, his steps fell into rhythm with the ticking of the clock.
Tick, step. Tock, step.
Closer now. Passing the books of counseling that had never done anything but remind him of his shattered past and nonexistent future.
Tick, step. Tock, step.
Almost there. Passing the window, the rotting windowsill streaked with water from a forgotten closure.
Tick, step. Tock, step.
And he was there. A single box. His last thread of hope. The one thing he had so desperately clung to these past ten years. His source of freedom. His only friend. No longer shaking, he reached for it. Brought it into his embrace. As carefully as a child sneaks down the stairs at night, he opened the lid.
There it was.
Tears streaked his cheeks as he saw it. Dusty, yes. Old, yes. Desperate for a sign of light, yes. With a realization more satisfying than it should have been, the man realized that his little strand of hope had more in common with him than anyone else on the planet.
He picked it up. Rubbed it between his fingers. Stared at it until he could no more. He wasn't alone. He had this. He still wasn't needed or wanted. But this wanted him. It needed him. And he was going to satisfy its will. Once more, he was turning to the flash to bring about a new beginning. Except this time, it would work. He would welcome it in a tight embrace. Cheer. Smile. Laugh. He would feel again. Everything would be okay. Everything would be okay. Slowly, ever so slowly, he closed his eyes, and it came.
And then there was peace.