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I'm Bent, But I'll Never Be Broken
(ReWrite)
Chapter One
The Teaser Trailer
A/N:
(Update: Just warning you here, but this fic kinda sucks. So, proceed with caution!)
Heyu! This is an unofficial rewrite of BBNBB, BUT I may be replacing the original story. Butt don't fret, I will be keeping the same basic story plot - but I prefer this writing style and I think it will fit the fic better. Also, I'm after losing the document on which BBNBB was written - so I no longer have that file.
(So many buts)
Agent E will be in this, but she will be a very large antagonist - actively being a bit of a prick. When I was writing her character I was just thinking of that French redhead from "Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted". Feel free to do so as well, because I will be taking characteristics of her and intertwining her personality with Agent E.
(A fancy way of saying "Oh, well - I'm just nicking someone else's idea, mate")
So, basically, this is a small peek of what it's like inside of my head. By this I mean all of the thoughts that our favourite Ghost Boy, who's life we happen to love ruining.
This is told in the first person narrative of Danny, it is also in the present tense. I'm sorry if I momentarily switch between tenses, I'm just figuring it out.
Please, tell me what you think of this in the Neutral Zone! (Ha! I spelled that on the first go!)
Timeline:
12 years old - Danny's in the Ghost Portal Accident, he's half-ghost.
((He is Danny Phantom))
13 years old - Danny comes out as being gay.
((He is Danny Phantom))
14 years old - Danny gets captured by the G.I.W.
((He is Danny Phantom up to this point))
15 years old - Danny's still being "studied" and "examined" by the G.I.W
((WE ARE HERE))
Word Count: 1,137
'Thoughts'
"Dialogue"
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I don't have spell check, so this will have some spelling and grammar mistakes!
: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : !"£$%^&*(WARNING OVER)*&^%$£"! : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :
It hurts.
It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. Heck, it even hurts to blink.
I'm a mess. I can see the cuts and gashes that haven't healed yet - I have no energy to do so anyway.
One good thing - no, it isn't even a good thing, it's just something that doesn't suck that much overall - is that my cell isn't white, not anymore, at least. My blood had dried into the walls and floor long ago. But, back when I first got here, those white walls taunted me. They ate away at my sanity like vultures pecking at a rotting corpse. Ok, bad mental image. But you get what I'm saying, right?
I hate the colour white. I never realised before now just how frikkin' repulsing it truly was. So stale and plain. Nothing should ever stay white. It should fade to grey, or get stained, or get burned in the fiery depths of Tartarus.
I hear the stomp of combat boots coming my way. That could mean one of two things, that they've finally become merciful and have gained the power to turn back time and are going to bring back my mom and Jazz and Alex and Sam and Tucker and leave us alone forever - or they're here to shove a tube down my throat so I'll eat. I wish that it was the former, but that would never happen, that could never happen. The universe would never cut me that much slack, even now, after all I've been dragged by my hair through. I often think that my life reminds me of being shoved down the stair, and those stair are endless, and covered in broken glass, and needles - God I hate needles - , and six-inch rusty nails, and was set aflame by Satan themself (A/N: I can't be assuming the Devil's gender, now can I?)
Yeah, that describes my life pretty well, wouldn't you think? Wait, imaginary person I am talking to in my head, you wouldn't know about my life. Y'know, being imaginary, an' all. Gosh (A/N: #familyfriendlepgclean)
I guess I should be lucky that they're feeding me now, albeit forcefully. They didn't know about my super metabolism, and how I need to eat roughly every three to four hours or my insides will essentially start eating itself.
The door to my prison slammed open as she stepped in. I think of many, many words that my mom would've forbid me from using - too bad I learned them all from my dad when I was the ripe old age of four.
Agent E sneered at me. It took all of my willpower to not down right growl at 'her', does the devil-incarnate even have a gender? Eh, I sure as heck don't care. But I know that that is what she' wants. That...b-word would use any form of simple unconscious movement as a valid reason to use that danged electric-stick-thingy-ma-bobble. What? Being tortured really drains the creative juices out of a person. Am I even a person? I'm technically half-dead, aren't I? So does that mean I exist on a whole nother spectrum to the 'ordinary' people of this world? Or does is- Oh crud. She's been talking. I should probably start paying attention to her. She might-
"AAAAHHHRRRGGGHH!", I croak-yelled, my voice cracking from screaming so much and dehydration.
'She' cackled as I writhed on the ground, twitching randomly. She leans forward slightly and grabs my face, making me face her ugly mug.
"You should've listened", she spat, "You know what your punishment for not listening is, right?"
I weakly nodded, blood and spittle dripping out of the corner of my mouth as I nodded and struggled to not choke on the red liquid currently in my mouth.
She pulled me close to the side of her face, "What was that?"
I spat out the fluid, spraying it at her. She recoiled away, shoving my face away. I hit the back of my head on the concrete floor, and my vision began to blur - black dots dancing around.
Agent E stood up slowly, rubbing off my oddly coloured blood from her face with a handkerchief. She raised her electrified baton with both her hands, preparing to swing it down at me full force.
"Wrong answer, petite goule"
Then, all I saw was black.
A/N: So, what'd you think? This has been a little pert project of mine for a little bit, and I can't wait to know what I did wrong or kinda alright!
Well, toodlu!