Here's another one. It's a lot shorter, and as I get the ball rolling I will probably re-do this one. But I just wanted to get it off the ground first.
Nothing Like You
Late nights are often a tough time for me.
If I'm not fighting ghosts, or attempting to catch up on homework, or hanging out with Sam and Tucker, I'm by myself.
I don't like being by myself.
I tend to think too much.
On not so pleasant topics. To say the very least.
It's been a couple of years since the incident with Pariah Dark, the Ghost King. He's still in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, and all is right with the city of Amity Park, for now.
But not all is right with me.
This is what I mean.
The whole Ghost King incident stirred so many emotions in me that I didn't know I could feel at all, much less at the same time. I felt anguish because I couldn't reveal my identity, which ultimately hindered my ability to fight. I felt terror for my city; my family and friends were placed in mortal danger all because of these stupid ghosts.
Regret. Sadness. Agony. Frustration. You name it, I felt it some time during those few days.
There is something that I felt, not for long, but the intensity I felt it with rivaled all my other emotions combined.
Anger.
No. Rage.
Complete, total, unrestrained rage.
That idiot psychopath is the blame for all of this.
Vlad.
I hate him.
Understatement.
When I replay the entire situation, my blood boils, my breathing becomes shallow and quick. I feel my ghost powers charging inside of me, waiting, desiring to take this aggression out on something, anything, anyone.
If I could just get my hands on him....
Vlad Masters. Vlad Plasmius.
He patronizes me, he taunts me, he just ridicules me.
Not to mention, he's after my mom.
That's enough to make anyone extremely upset. But that coupled with the whole Ghost King incident...
I just want to kill him.
I remember confronting him.
"You wanted to talk to me?"
I hate his stupid slimy voice.
I hate his stupid slimy sneer.
I hate his stupid slimy hair in that annoying ponytail.
"You're putting innocent people in danger. It stops, now."
"Really? You know what I'm up to? Your tiny teen mind has pieced together the rest of my plot?
"That you stole the ring, woke the Ghost King, gave it to Valerie to hide it, now you're waiting for your chance to steal it back?"
"That's pretty good. It's almost as though I barely consider you a threat."
Anger.
Rage.
Aggression.
"Oh there's a temper of yours again."
Patronizing ass.
But it's not even that conversation that makes me the most upset.
"Sneak attack, very good Daniel. You're getting more like me with every battle."
"I am nothing like you."
"Oh you're not? Using your powers to get back at people you don't like, throwing the first punch? You more like me than you know..."
The similarities are few and far between. We're both half-ghosts, we both know my family. We're both guys. I won't say men, because I'm only 16, and Vlad is not a man by any means.
He's a loathsome, antagonistic, evil manipulator.
And I hate him.
So, the rage is one thing that keeps me up at night. One thing that I don't like to think about, but if I don't have anything to distract my mind, I seem to stumble upon. And once I begin going down this road, I can't turn back. My mind won't let me.
Because the road begins with ruthless aggression, and then twists into some dark, scary, mental torture chamber, where I question every single thing that I say I stand for...
What if Vlad is right?
What if, over time, I do become more like him?
The memories of encountering as Sam likes to call him, " my jerky evil self", are fuzzy. But the emotions are there, and they are raw.
Ever since then, I've struggled even more to walk the moral higher ground. Who knows what little thing could turn the tide and make me become that vile, disgusting, destructive and amoral ghost that had Vlad looking like Mister Rogers by comparison.
When I think on the alternative version of myself ten years down the line, I see one infinitesimal glimmer of hope...
One day, more than likely, I'll be more powerful than him. Stronger. Faster. Better.
The time he's had to hone his ghost powers will no longer prove such an advantage.
And I will win. Not by chance, or coincidence, or maybe even an act of God.
But all on my own doing.
If given the chance, I think I will kill him.
A part of me relishes in that idea. The idea of his blood on my hands as the mark that I have eliminated someone so horrendously evil more than thrills me.
But once I calm down from my vengeful high, I think of how angry I get, and how delicious I find his future demise to be.
I am more like him than I know.
A chill courses down my spine. I shudder violently as I ponder on the possibility that maybe, just maybe...
He's right.
Hope you enjoyed it. And thanks to Skating_Queen for the beautiful review!