Now, I'm telling you all beforehand that... I DO NOT OWN DANNY PHANTOM!!! ENTIENDA?
Good, then commence the fic!
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It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting. -Paulo Coelho
A sunless dawn came as dark gray clouds hung over the dismal city, the navy blue clinging to the heavy water clusters. Night had just end, leaving another blood pool. Innocent blood. Blood that should never have been spilled. Yet there it was, trickling down the broken street.
Mourning. Sickening. Revenge. Emotions smothered the living. Sirens blaring were heard in the distance as the cries and sobs ensued. Mothers held their children, reminding them of their love. Some men stood waiting in the doorways of their homes.
Waiting for those policemen to mount on their property with questions. What did you hear? Were you home when this happened? Do you know anything that might have led up to this?
And they would answer with stoic expression. A pop-pop, like fire crackers and some screeching of tires. I was eating breakfast with my family. People are just angry when others try to get ahead.
Others stayed in their homes. Fearful that when they stepped outside that they would be meet with Death himself.
A burgundy brick house sat on the corner of Racken and Quinn. Its facade deplorable: white paint chips fell every time the front door was slammed—which was quite often. Inside this abode lives the pieces of a family. My family. Rather a group of people that I happened to be related to by blood and live in the same house.
The one thing that I knew I was still alive was the throbbing. The throbbing head that rested on the armrest of the living room couch. Wait, how did I get here? Why am I here?
Creaking of the stairs confirmed my suspicions. I was home. The last place I want to be right now.
That somber man was making his way down the wooden stairs, every step laying more despair on the planks. His graying black hair laid limp against his pale wrinkled face. Shoulders sagged, feet shuffled. Stress and worry snagged on him. I saw the overweight man approach the kitchen, his wife probably sitting elegantly at the table with two cups of coffee.
I only heard their voices, trying to be quiet.
"Thanks Maddie," a deep masculine voice said.
"Does she know?" it was a feminine voice this time. I guess he may have answered with a 'yes' because a deep sigh echoed. "Sleeping on the couch."
How long have I been here?
"He actually decided to come home this time? For a moment, I thought he was the kid." My temper began to rise.
"Little bro?" another voice whispered. I opened my eyes again to meet two turquoise eyes looking down at me.
"Hey Jazz," I muttered. Low voices transformed into shouting.
"A hooligan is what he is! We could be harboring a murderer in our house!"
"Our child wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone kill another," she paused with uncertainty.
"You keep believing that boy is still naive? But there is no innocence left in him!" I couldn't take it anymore. I wasn't a murderer; I've got my morals.
Despite my sister's persuasiveness to not go into the kitchen, I groaned as I lifted myself off of the couch. My breathing heavy due to my anger and throbbing head.
Both adults turned their attention me as stood in the doorway, Sis beside me. I had no sympathy towards them, blue eyes glaring at my so-called parents. I became tense as he took a step towards the pair at the kitchen table. That man began to stand, disgust twisted into his face.
"Is that what you think of me? A murderer!" I shouted, a slight tone of betrayal in my voice. This man calls himself my "father" but he degrades me into such a title! Does he know what I go through to even stay alive?
"Calm down," Jazz soothed, attempting to restrain me but futile. "They don't mean it." But the ire in my soul wasn't satisfied.
"What are we suppose to think?" the large man asked, yelling. "You're rarely home. You skip classes or just don't show up for school. And you're always hanging out with those hooligans!"
He was only a foot away from me and I could smell it. Even underneath the coffee Mom gave him, it lingered as if it were a terminal illness. It would always be there, no matter what you did.
"Your breath reeks of alcohol!"
"Don't change the subject. This is about you!"
"Don't lie in front of them. I'm dead to you, just like Matt!"
At this point, I guess his patience with me broke—if there was any to began with. "How dare you!"
The large man lunged at me just as I had broke free from Sis' hold. Sparks flew as punches from both sides were delivered. I hit Jack squarely in the nose, breaking it. With blood still flowing from it, the middle-aged man picked me by the neck and slammed me against the wall. The coppery taste in my mouth returned and my head was spinning.
"You ungrateful piece of crap! I do all these--"
"You don't do crap for me, Jazz, nor Mom!" I gasped through his strangulation hold. "You just get drunk!" It was true. Ever since Jack—he's not the dad I knew—Matt died, he would drink. But once he was laid off from Axiom Labs, there were a few times that he was sober. Because of this, my mom had to pick up the tab of being the breadwinner, but sometimes that wasn't enough.
I blocked Jack's next assault and kneed him in the stomach. Needless to say that Jack released me from his death grip as he crumbled to the floor.
"Stop it please," my mom breathed. I looked over to see her hands trembling; a tear flowed down her cheeks. Looking over to his wife, he rose from the floor, panting.
"Until you get some sense, you're not welcomed here anymore!"
"Good. 'Cuz I can't stand to live with a deadbeat dad!" I grabbed my backpack from the floor and threw open the back door. I didn't once look back, ignoring Jazz's pleading sapphire eyes.
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I just strolled nonchalantly down another broken street. The police cars pulling out of the alley where they found another dead kid.
Should have seen that coming...
There are two things I learned on these streets: keep your mouth shut and never act like you're going to be something. That's what you do if you want to die. I ain't trying to be in a box in the ground. My mom already lost my older bro to that. I'm not doing that to her again...
Matt was his name. He had Mom's violet eyes and Jack's black hair. He was eldest out of us three. Not only generous and confident, he was an A and B student. He could be a bit clumsy but I didn't care. He was going to be something, and as any younger sibling, I wanted to be like him.
Now he's gone.
I looked to see I was heading towards Ray's apartment. It was sort of automatic: get into a fight with Jack, go to Ray's. And it didn't matter it was a school day or not. His place was better than school. School only made things worse. To be in the same class as them just got me in trouble in the end.
Ray was my big bro's closest friend. He used to tell me that when Ray wasn't with the Quinn members, he would be just a normal teenager trying to make it in life. That's why he would always chill with him. But the rival gangs, especially Cobra, immediately associated him as a Quinn. That doomed him to his fate.
"What does that fat man do anyway?" I forced through my teeth bitterly. "I do what I got to do. I can't survive with a drunk like him, let alone go to college."
I smiled. College? Your future is these broken streets.
As I grumbled things that the audience would inappropriate to hear, I noticed a green Toyota—it had a decent paint job, I'll give them that—slowed down beside me, keeping up with my pace. I looked straight ahead but the sound of the power window rolling down didn't escape my ears.
"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" a male voice questioned from behind the window. I ignored him, hoping he would just go away. But relief ensued since it wasn't any of them or the police would have two homicides on their hands. Not in the mood of getting shot after that fight in that house.
"I know you can hear me," it said. Darn, this guy is persistent!
"Why not you go pester some other kid?" I snapped, beginning to say more unpleasant things when I saw he was a pastor! His gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail, with his blue eyes scrutinizing me.
Great. Just my luck to get stuck with a religious guy, a fruit loop at that. Probably wants me to join his youth group or something...
"Because you walking the opposite direction of Casper High," he stated in a matter-of-fact way. I grimaced. Of course I was walking away, does it look like I'm going to school?
"It's none of your business where I'm going. Now go preach on your stupid, meaningless pulpit about whatever you preach in church."
"How would your parents feel?" He wasn't letting this go?
"Don't give a care how they feel!" My temper was on a short fuse and I also wasn't in the mood for twenty questions. I was surprised to hear a chuckle. "What do you find so darn funny? I could knock out a few of those nice pretty white teeth of yours!"
"Oh nothing. Just that the boy found in the alley way said the same thing about his parents."
"Whatever old man." There was silence between us as I stuffed my hands in my pockets. My every step was followed by the roll of tires.
"Look, I'm just concerned for the youth of this neighborhood. If you ever want to talk, here's my card," a pale hand reached out of the window, a slip of paper between the index and the middle finger. I took the card as the hand retracted into the car.
Then he drove off, a newspaper blowing in his departure. I looked at the card and smirked.
"Vlad Masters, youth pastor at Hosanna Baptist Church." I tossed the stupid piece of paper in someone's yard while I continued onto my friend's house.
An angel trying to help the damned in Hell...
So what do you think? Flames or continuation? I wasn't sure about posting this story, thus why I labeled it an oneshot. If you like it and want me to continue, then PM or review.
And for those who actually read New Moon Rise--my first fanfiction--don't worry. That will be updated at the earliest, next Thursday, due to AP exams and other obligations.
So review, review, review! The more reviews I get, the more motivated I will be to continue or discard this story. :)