Fall of Fame
A chilly wind swept his ebony hair out of his blue eyes as he gazed up at the building before him. His light skin tone appeared even paler in contrast with the florescent lights leaking from the sign and windows. If he were to go to the top of this tall and sleek building the sidewalk and busy streets behind him would be twenty stories below him. Again, the thought occurred to him. Will I go through with it? The answer was unclear. Or so he thought.
He stepped forward once, legs unsteady, nearly shaking. The tall building was the Hammarskjöld (1) Hotel 3/4 of the way up. The rest held rooms of different sizes that could be rented out for private or social events. His intentions were to go to the very top, to the roof, and look. He might or might not go through with his plan.
Danny took another two steps forward and tripped on something. He hit the ground with a thud and grunt, pain flaring in his torso and chin when he didn't try to catch himself. Passing people gave him odd looks, but none offered to help him. Of course, he had tripped on thin air. They must think he was drunk. Or high.
Well, he was about to be.
He stood and gained control of his legs. The pain had subsided, and the only proof that he had fallen was the dirt and small rip that had been torn in his shirt. Half a foot long, but not wide.
A few more steps brought him to the double glass doors that led inside. Once in, he was greeted by the gaily lit hotel lobby. For the most part it was empty. In the middle of the lobby was a patch of grass, and in the middle of that, a pink rose (2). He could hear the sound of voices, singing voices. He guessed that upstairs someone must have a TV or radio on too load.
Forcing himself to walk away—the rose seemed to draw him in, to make him want to drop to his knees in front of it, to cry—he made a beeline for the elevators. There were three; Danny pressed the up button for the third one. After some time, it opened with a ping. A whole crowd of people exited it, and he walked in. No one else was in it. He turned around and stared at the delicate, pink, singing rose, fascinated and almost hypnotized. He didn't even realize that he knew it was singing.
"Please, hold the elevator!" cried a man in his mid-thirties as he ran to it. Danny was tempted to, not because it would be the kind thing to do, but because that damn rose continued to tempt him. His hand wandered out, prepared to hold the elevator, but instead moved to the side and pressed the button for the twentieth floor. The doors closed, cutting off his view of both rose and man. A kind of sad relief filled him.
Seconds later, as the elevator was between floor nineteen and twenty, he forgot all about the rose and the man. His mind closing it like a computer file and trashing it. The doors opened with a ping on the twentieth floor and he exited, heading for the stairs. He could have just flown to the top in his ghost mode, but he had decided that he should walk. More time to mull this over in his mind.
Employees Only, the sign declared in bold. Standing in front of the door that led to the final set of stairs in the hotel, the sign was promptly ignored. Up the stairs. Open and close another door. And he had reached it. The very top of the Hammarskjöld Hotel.
Pigeons roosting there took to the sky at his presence. They, like the sign, were ignored. Circling the rooftop was a tall, rusty chain link fence. Barbed wire adorned the top in pointy spirals that seemed to touch the night sky. He walked to it and stared down. He could see a quarter of Amity Park through the metal diamonds. It was the very center of this small city. If he walked to the other three sides of the building, he would see the other quarters. But that didn't interest him. For the moment, what interested him was the actual fence.
Its purpose was pretty clear. It stood guard, making sure angsty, depressed teens and adults didn't come up here to kick the bucket, sell the farm, or bight the big one. But he could see the flaw in it. If anyone really wanted to kill themselves, they could scale the fence, cut away the barbed wire with some pliers, and jump from there. Or they could climb it and just ignore the barbed wire. If you were really suicidal, a few cut before your body hit the ground would be nothing.
Or, if one were feeling really creative (or simply didn't want cuts of any kind or to climb that fence), one could use said pliers to cut a hole in the fence and go through, to the six inch ledge on the other side. Along the fence, there were visible signs that others before him had done exactly those things. They were places where the fence and wire had been crudely repaired, and didn't have the rust of the old fence. But, being who—or, rather, what—he was, Danny could do it the easy way. He went intangible and simply walked through to the other side.
Suddenly, Danny was swaying. He had stepped out too far, and almost fell off. Such an odd thing to worry about when that was his intention, but he wasn't ready. Not yet. He grabbed the fence and inched away until he couldn't. A good two inches of his foot still hung out over the edge.
Was he really going to do this? He was here, he was pretty prepared, but was this really what he wanted? Sam and Tucker both had lovers, and were too busy having sex to notice him, so would they miss him if he dropped off the face of the earth forever? Or, rather, into the earth's face? No, he didn't think so. And his family: So dysfunctional. Would they miss him? Jazz was in college, had made it into some Ivy League one, but she still cared. She sent a letter to him every week. His parents, however, barely even said hello to him anymore, so caught up in ghost hunting were they. Speaking of ghosts, they seemed to have stopped trying to kill him and stuff. All of his enemies, it seemed, had given up and disappeared. Even Vlad had stopped trying to get Danny to join him and kill his dad. And the school ignored him, for the most part. Except for Mr. Lancer, the jocks, and Paulina. Lancer still seemed to hate him more than anyone else; Paulina still teased him; Dash and the other's still beat him up and made fun of him. There was no hope when it came to Dash. The blonde jock would never even like him, let alone love him.
But hadn't he known that all along?
It didn't matter anymore, now, though. Perhaps there was one person who still liked him, but that was okay. They had never even met, and the only way they communicated was by instant messaging. But that was okay, too. Earlier, he had sent a message to the mysterious guy whose penname stated he was "CursedEagle" (CursedEagle said he was "cursed" with stunningly good looks and fast as an eagle). The message had been his suicide note. A different version of the one he held safely tucked away in his baggy pant's pocket.
In it, he had stated the time, day, and place of where his suicide would take place. Had even stated what his real name was (his penname was FallenPhantom (3)) And, this simple line:
No one cares anymore.
If his sister cared, she would have stayed. She had noticed the change happening around him, to him, yet still chose to abandon him. That may have seemed a selfish idea, but he couldn't help it. He was so lonely. Danny had become friends with him. And if CursedEagle cared, he would stop Danny (another selfish thought, but he was past the point of caring). The directions had been clear enough, so finding Hammarskjöld Hotel wouldn't be a problem. They both lived in Amity Park. Not too far away from each other, apparently. But they had never tried to meet in person, content to just chatting online and imagining what the other looked like.
But, that didn't matter either. He was going to jump. It was obvious no one would stop him. Why bother dwelling on the thought? A second ago he could have flown home and sent a message to CursedEagle saying that it was a joke, or he had changed his mind.
Now, though, as he spread his arms, he had made up his mind.
He had flown before in his ghost form. Had taken hundreds of falls, most of them from being tripped by the jocks—accompanied by jokes. Yet some by fighting with ghosts. He had found that flying, no matter what form it was disguised in (like falling), was always exhilarating.
This, however, was going to be a new.
Leaning forward, Danny felt his feet disconnect with the concrete ledge. He fell head first, the wind whistling, rushing past him and contorting his face slightly. It was cold. He found himself wishing for a jacket or hoodie. Too late now. The ground was speeding up to meet him. He could see that he wouldn't land on anyone. That put a small smile to his lips. At least when he died he could go with a relatively clear conscience. He had heard rumors that when you jumped from a high enough height, you pass out before you reach the ground. Was that true?
Sight suddenly darkening, Danny realized it was true. You did pass out (4). As he got closer to the ground; as his sight darkened; as everything in his life seemed to have been for nothing; he spotted a familiar face. He made a connection. He passed out. He hit the ground. He died. Too late now.
But that's okay. It didn't matter. He was past the point of caring.
Danny had no regrets.
The End?
(1): Hammarskjöld: I couldn't resist! This is a reference to a series called The Dark Tower by Stephen King. The hotel is actually a fictional plaza in The Dark Tower series. Go, read it now!
(2): Pink, singing rose: I'm sorry; this is another reference to The Dark Tower! Seriously, though, go read the series.
(3): FallenPhantom: Oh my god, I'm just full of references today, aren't I? This refers to my fanfic Fallen Phantom. It's a DashXDanny slash, so if you're interested, go read that, too!
(4): Passing out while falling: Like it said, it's a rumor. I heard about it a while back and can't remember where I heard it from. Don't believe me, 'cause it could prove to be false.
A/N: OMGWTFCHICKEN! Heheheh… Best read while listening to either Wasteland by 10 Years or Truth by Seether. Well, please review! I accept flames! I love to bitch at the flamers! Well, bye!