Hey guys!

So I kinda dropped my marching band story and made a new one based on my favorite show. Danny Phantom!

Anyone ever wonder what happened to Ember before she was put in the Ghost Portal?

~Lucid3762

Screams arose from the crowd, "Ember! Ember! Ember!" she could hear as they chanted her name over and over again. They loved her, who wouldn't she was fairly popular among the teens. Amber stepped out onto the stage - no, not Amber, Amber was the live she had lived as a loser. Now, she was Ember and she stepped onto the stage with pleasurable roars from the crowd.

"I love you Ember!" one cried

"Marry me Ember McLain!" another shouted. She merely chuckled with toned-down happiness, they did love her, that was obvious. With her newly teal dyed hair held in a ponytail at the top of her head with two locks of that hair framing her face in an sharp-angled M, and her stage clothes; a normal black one shoulder crop-top showing off her flat stomach and midriff, black leather pants with a silver belt, the single long black glove wrapping up her right arm, choker, silver skull boots and her traditional rocker makeup consisting of purple lipstick and eyeliner trailing down her eyes to make a curl on her left eye and a sharp angle like her hair on the right, Ember was ready to start the show of everyone's life.

The crowd roared as Embers purple and blue guitar was picked up and slung around her shoulders. She teasingly strummed her guitar

Beep, it went. Ember was confused, but the crowd loved it. She kept strumming and noise kept getting louder. Beep, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.

With a snap of her eyes, Amber was back to reality; her boring bedroom. The grey ceiling seemed to stare back at her as Amber realized, it was all just some stupid dream. Of course, she thought to herself, of course it would only be a dream. Her head lolled to one side as she stared at the alarm clock on her dirty wooden nightstand which was still going off. 7:00 it read, great, time to go to hell. Grudgingly, Amber swung her feet from their still position on her bed onto the cold hard wooden floor with one foot, and her black long sleeve shirt with the other. With a groan, she lifted her body up out of the bed with what seemed 100 pounds on her, pulling her back down.

"AMBER!" she heard her mother cry, "GET DOWN HERE AND MAKE ME BREAKFAST!". Amber sighed and knew she had to comply with her bitchy mothers orders. Do the dishes, clean the house, make me food. All these things made her feel like Cinderella, only she wasn't pretty enough to fall in love. Unfortunately she had to deal with her brown hair shaped just like her dream, and an ugly pair of muddy brown eyes and a narrow face.

Everyone called her pretty, but Amber never believed it; if she was as pretty as everyone said, then why didn't boys ogle at her like they did when a petite blond bimbo strutted into their path. Oh well, she thought as she shuffled downstairs, at least I'm who I want to be in my dreams.

Amber raced down the stairs and saw the same lowly sight she was always greeted with. The living room, cluttered with papers; newspapers, unpaid bills, warnings of evictions, month old and used napkins. You name it, it was there. The uncleaned floor showed the life of the house, the dirt dragged in the house by her and her brother, the uncleaned cocaine scattered on the floor, and the dirty dishes that sat around on tables or shelves with the occasional morsel of rotted food. The kitchen was the only place that looked nice compared the rest of the house.

Amber remembered when her mother first got the house, back before he came to live with us. It was so sparkling and clean; white tiles and spotless carpets. Now, the carpets had gaping holes where they tried to smuggle the cocaine given to them by him, yellow creeping up the walls and staining the once beautiful floral wallpaper.

Amber's mom sat on the couch, obviously recovering from the party she attended last night. She was still in her small black one-strapped cocktail dress with rips and cocaine spots varied on her dress. One pitch black high-heeled shoe remained on her foot and the other had a broken strap and snapped heel at the breast. Amber sighed, those were the shoes she remembered getting her mother for her celebration with her girlfriends on getting the new house. Her mom was splayed on the couch, one leg hanging off the cushions on the top and the other straight on the couch. Her once beautiful chocolate brown hair was distorted and sticking up in random places, her makeup was smeared on her face, and a trail of dried blood confirmed Ambers suspicions of her mothers activities while Amber kept up the house.

"Amber, go make me some eggs and those horrid drinks that get rid of my hangovers proto." she ordered. With a nod, Amber rushed to the kitchen and fired up the stove and grabbed her ingredients. Eggs, the pickle jar full of pickle juice, water, and some seasonings. Carefully, she made breakfast for herself and her mother and made the remedy for her mother's constant hangovers. She grabbed a tray and set the eggs on the only clean white glass plate they had and the sole clean glass for her drink on it. Amber praised herself on the presentation of "her majesties" breakfast, but knew that her praise would be the only one she'd ever get on the matter. In the living room, her mother laid waiting for her morning meal. Amber picked up some loose papers on the coffee table to make room for her mothers breakfast.

"Go." her mother dismissed her just as she picked up the pickle juice. Amber darted upstairs in the normal rut she seemed to be stuck in since he came and got ready for school. With her black long sleeve shirt and deep denim skinny jeans, Amber ran out the door with her grey backpack and rushed to the bus stop.