Hello again! It is two am, and as the notorious nocturnal person I am, that means it's time to put another chapter up (like you can really call that last thing a chapter). I know it's been a long time since I updated. I mean seriously? Two hours?! What's wrong with me?! So if you're willing to forgive me, and if the last chapter for some reason gave you enough incentive to read on, I present you with chapter two. Disclaimer: I still don't own this, and by this I mean Danny Phantom. I'm sorry to say I do own this piece of fanfiction. Enjoy! Or don't cause seriously you are your own person, and I have no power over whether or not you enjoy this. Feel free to feel something about this? Sure that works.

Chapter 2: Racing Rain Drops

Rain beat against his window. Each drop slapped the glass before sliding down. Danny loved to pretend that the drops were racing. Two drops would hit the window at the same time. Gravity pulled them down slowly until they reached another bit of water. The droplets would splice together and continue down as one, twice as fast as before. Then they would reach the next drop, and soon there was a snowball effect going on. Momentum building with every gathered splash of water. A dot to dot race to the finish. Danny's breath would fog up the glass as he stared, mesmerized by the competition. At times he would even narrate. He would do his best to make his voice sound like the announcer guys at the horse races Vlad would always watch on television.

"Ole Clear Drop and Bigger Drop are neck in neck in what seems to be the closest race in Rain Storm history." His pretend seriousness would always end in a fit of giggles. Each screech of laughter echoing off the Attic's musty walls. It made the forlorn space seem almost lively. His games of pretend cleverly concealed the fact that he was the only one playing. After over two years of playing alone, Danny could almost convince himself that he was used to it.

"Who needs friends when you have your imagination," Danny would often ask himself. It had become his life motto. He would often say it in times of extreme loneliness. Talking to himself helped to fill the void that was left in the wake of his family. No dad or sister was bad enough, but Vlad forced Maddie to ignore him as well. Danny was to remain unseen. He could live on that one condition.

Danny had gained the power of turning anything into a game. Any object could be his friend. A piece of lint could be his confidant. A pillow could be his dance partner. A blanket draped over a rafter could be home. Hours were passed in the company of inanimate objects. Danny would laugh and play and even read a little (despite Vlad's contempt, Maddie was allowed to hire a tutor to educate Danny). When it was time for lunch, a bell would ring. Suddenly Danny was a secret agent. He would slink down the stairs and around corners in utter silence. Whenever anyone passed him, he would jump behind the nearest piece of furniture. His breath would hitch, his heart beating at a mile a minute. Then the threat would pass and he would continue on his way down to the kitchen.

On sunny afternoons he would be permitted to play outside. The mansion sat on a massive space at the edge of Amity Park. While the walls surrounding the grounds effectively cut Danny off from the rest of society, they allowed more than enough room to explore. The great outdoors were a limitless expanse for his wild imagination. He often played games like "Pioneer", where he would travel through the woodsy area of the yard and occasionally stop to "colonize" a tree. Or maybe "War", where he would pretend he was a soldier on the run from the enemy (this particular one often ended with him saying his final words to an attentive fern). Sometimes he would dabble in somewhat traditional games like "hide and seek" or "tag". But these would always have the necessary twist of both someone playing by themselves and someone who was never actually taught how to properly play. So for instance in "hide and seek", Danny would close his eyes and throw a rock as far as he could. The rest of the afternoon would be spent searching for it.

At nightfall he would retreat to his bed in the attic, often without dinner. He'd lay under the covers and stare out his window. Even though he was only three when his family fell apart, Danny could still recall how every night they would all gather on the roof and stargaze. So as the dark suffocated him and no more games were left to cover up his loneliness, he would look for the stars. They were his only comfort. Their soft glow twinkled through the black, and kept him company until he fell asleep.

Danny always dreamed of flying. His dreams began with Vlad chasing him. He would run and run, his heart racing, until he reaches the attic. He would race to the window only to realize he was trapped. He'd turn back to see Vlad smirking from the doorway. He'd back up as Vlad approached until he was pressed up against the cool glass. Fear and panic define his mind as Vlad raises his hand. It glows red. Danny's back digs into the window until suddenly he phases through it. By all means he should be falling, or even still be in the attic, but this is a dream so instead he flies. He leaves Vlad, the mansion, and loneliness far behind, as he soars across the grounds and over the wall. He keeps flying until he lands on his old roof. He is greeted by his family. The family Vlad stole. He wakes up hugging his pillow, still pretending it's his Daddy. Tears slip down his cheeks, and remind him of racing rain drops.

I didn't last time, but I will now. This here is that end note thing that writers always leave, and I always skip. But, hey, when in Rome. So yeah. I don't actually have anything of substance to say here. It was just something I felt the need of experiencing. Oh! And by the way, I apologize for every timeI do something weird with the tenses (past/present/future). My Englishteachers hate it, I hate it, but it's something I have never been able to fix. Try to ignore it or mentally edit it or whatever helps you sleep at night. Or just pretends it's like an artistic choice. Like a signature or something. Yeah a signature sounds way better than just not knowing how to write. Lets go with that.