*Pre PP
A young teen boy sat quite still beside a large tombstone, his stark white hair barely whipping in the evening breeze. Most would think it was odd for anyone to hang around a graveyard, but this was a small graveyard in a small quaint town with a small percentage of dead people and graves, and so most would be almost no one, since the graveyard was seldom visited. If, however, there were to be someone there to lay flowers to a late loved one's resting place, they might question the boy's presence as well as his as appearance. His tanned skin was almost all concealed in a full-body jumpsuit, covering from neck to toe, the material white from forearm to hands, knees to feet, and a strip around the waist that seemed to serve no actual belt purposes, the rest being black save a designed letter "D" on the chest. Perhaps if they were to closer inspect this mysterious teen, they might or might not find that his whole body was outlined in a thin white color, giving him the appearance of faintly glowing. An angel? Sadly, wings proved to not be present. Some Godly entity? Hanging out in graveyard, I think not. But the answer seemed almost too easy.
The boy gazed down at his gloved hands, which faded in and out of view. He formed two fists and squeezed his eyes shut. Try as he might, he could not make sense of the jumbled memories clogging his mind. He had died, he knew that much, but who he had been he could not understand. The knowledge was there, just beyond his reach, teasing him so. The only thing that kept him rooted to this graveyard was the tombstone he now sat before. The boy felt it had something to do with him, but how, he could not be sure.
He opened his eyes again, revealing glowing green irises. His expression was determined as he concentrated on using newfound abilities. After a second, one which might be considered awkward if there had been anyone there to share that awkwardness, the boy disappeared, only to reappear moments later. He had finally controlled his power and turn invisible at his own will. His hands now seemed to just barely fade, making him more elated than he had been before.
The moment of self-composure was shattered by a painful headache of memories and feelings he did not know, leaving a grim reminder that he still didn't even have control over his own mind. Cradling his aching head in his hands, leaving his unnatural colored hair disheveled, the boy fell into an odd slumber, drowning out the pain.
He woke to the sun high in the sky the next day, the throbbing in his head now dulled to an occasional soft thumping. It had been the sound of nearing voices and footsteps that had awakened him, and as they drew closer, the boy felt the need to hide. Concentrating, he faded from sight just as two people came into view. They were making their way over to the grave he had been occupying, and, feeling more than exposed despite the cover of invisibility, as well as not being confident in his powers, he scurried behind the large headstone for extra cover. The voices of the two adults, a man and woman, were quiet with somber, the woman having been saying, "It's okay to cry, Jack. No one's here but me." She had tear streaked cheeks and a flushed, pale face. The man she had called Jack did not show any signs of crying, nor did it appear that he were to break down sobbing any time soon. He merely stood there, a depressed and yet expressionless man staring at the grave.
It had been weeks since the burial of the freshly dead person whose grave they were gathered around. Two teens had frequented the sight few times, a darkly dressed and expressioned girl and a boy who looked like he hadn't gotten out of bed since the last visit. At those times the boy would simply hide himself, such as he was doing now.
The man sunk to his knees in front of the headstone and still no tears came. The boy was peering around the stone as his power felt zapped at the sight of the couple. He recognized them somehow and his headache returned to full blast. He groaned in pain, grabbing his head, and stumbled from his hiding spot, now in full view.
The graveyard's two visitors had frozen on the spot. He fell to his hands and knees and forced himself to look up at them through bleary eyes. The man Jack finally came to his senses, as well as his feet, as he bellowed "You?! What are you doing at my son's grave?!"
"I-I don't know," the boy managed. The woman produced a small metallic gun and pointed it at his head. "Please," he pleaded weakly, "help me…"
"Why would we ever help some ectoplasmic scum?" she asked angrily, firing off a shot which the boy barely dodged, the blast sending his flying towards the headstone labeled "Daniel Fenton". He hit it with a thud, but his weakened state and pounding head made it felt like he had just been thrown a mile, though it was only a few feet.
He got up slowly, his muscles burned, and he lifted his hands to block the sunlight from his eyes as well as admit defeat. "Please," he said, "I don't remember who I am…who I was…"
"You're the ghost that's been plaguing our city!" Jack shouted. He too had a weapon now, a gun slightly larger than the woman's. Both guns were pointed at the boy; he didn't know what was going on or what to do, so he shielded his face with both arms and tried once more to reason with his attackers. He didn't know where the words had come from, they simply spilled from his mouth as he said in a strained voice, "Please, stop. I don't remember, Mom, Dad."