I don't own dp.

This one has a backstory.

Today (the day I wrote the first draft of this) I was talking to myself (normal, I do it a lot) about a cup that I left at work and someone broke, and how I don't get attached to material possessions too much because I usually loose them anyway (I have the memory of a goldfish) and then that thought turned around and said 'what if you had to give a speech at your parents double funeral (neither are dead) and you used that cup experience to say you try not to have attachments to things because it's easier to move on when there's nothing to miss, and that your parents are your greatest attachment to Earth and God, and now you have to miss the materialistic things about them, fearful you'll realize you're slowly forgetting them.'

I, uh. I wrote out this never ending stream of thoughts. Enjoy, cause it helped me to get it out of my head. — discusses hell theology and death (possibly thoughts of death? But not really) The rating scale doesn't explain well to me for every single situation and story idea.

1013 words Rated K+ or very mild T

'With this in mind, at some point in your life you ask the following question:

"Do I have regrets?"

Now it's not a matter of God, or financial or social expectations. This should be a self actualization necessary for a long, happy life. Better yet, the question should not be "do I have regrets," nor the common "am I who I was meant to be" but rather:

'Did I live a life worth living?'

As an Amity Park citizen, that question could reasonably lead into 'did I live a life worthy of moving on?'

With proof of the supernatural— of an afterlife, where the citizens come back to roam Earth— does that tell us Earth is Hell itself, and moving on past the Infinite Realms to Heaven is the true indicator of a life well-lived? What does that say for the ghosts who never lived, in the sense that life on Earth does? Or for the ghosts who did live and pass on? Are their obsessions simply indicators of the sins carried in their previous lives? Do ghosts who fulfill their obsessions move on not because they're no longer tied to Earth, but because they have found their way out of whatever sin kept them chained in Hell— otherwise connected to Earth through the Ghost Zone? If these are sins from a life carried over, do they truly mean harm to humanity— or are they overwhelmed by something unseen, a fight in themselves to heal and move on?

Finally, what does this say about the ghosts who we see frequently? Phantom, for example, claims to be 'good' and fights the ghosts who attack and damage the planet and humanity. Is this his attempt to break free of his sin and pass on to Heaven? What sin would that be? The Fentons believe he died young and fighting other ghosts is his obsession because he can protect children from his fate [death]. But if he is the embodiment of a sin carried over from life, what could he— a child— have done to warrant such punishment as unattainable peace?

I offer this hypothesis: Hell is not a place of punishment for sins as a whole, but rather your own desire for self-actualization based on the guilt and/or regrets you died with. Phantom died young and in a hazmat suit; unusual for a child. This common knowledge led many to believe he was in a lab accident; did he do something he was told not to? Did the ghost boy make a mistake, and blame himself for it? Did a child get lost on Halloween, while pretending to be a superhero? Or was it a child dressing for the heroic act of giving their organs to help others? In any of these scenarios, how does he move on from his regret or guilt?

Does he even have any to begin with?

And now, as we know him, is he more accomplished as a ghostly superhero in his afterlife, than he was in his human life? These are all speculation, as theories and 'facts' in the paranormal field prove to be misleading, uninformed, and problematic at best.

Do we really know as much about ghosts as we think we do?'

—

William Lancer laid the paper back down and took of his glasses. He pinched the bridge of his nose, stretching his eyes in and out, blinking to relieve the headache forming along his brow bone. He dropped his hand to the table and looked at the clock hanging above the door of his classroom. The students continued with their silent reading, unaware of the existential crisis beginning to form in their teacher's mind.

Thoughts on the paper swirled through his head. This most recent assignment was designed to introduce the class to philosophy. While he allowed the students to pick their topics— and expected the majority to base it on the spirits in their town— he really didn't plan on this student diving into the material so deeply. The assignment wasn't even a full unit of study in his class— it was just a break for the students between the end of the last unit and the senior field trip, something easy to write about, but still engaging for their academic level. And yet, this teenager ends his essay with a final push of morals and ethics, a need for reflection, onto the reader. He looked up at Daniel Fenton and watched as the boy stared out the window. Was Mr. Fenton finished with his assignment already? Intrigued, he narrowed his eyes.

William spared a quick glance to the boy's best friends - one sitting to the side of him and the other in front; they continued reading and writing with various degrees of ease. Ms. Manson was studious, quietly reading her paper, but Mr. Foley groaned and mumbled, mumbling aloud to himself as he annotated the assigned scientific analysis. His gaze drifted back to the boy staring out the window whom sat with perfect, unmoving posture.

His face was the lightest William had seen in months, a wisp of a smile grazing his expression. It softened the bags under his eyes, and Mr. Lancer realized how unexpectedly young he looked; younger than his peers, even as he towered over them. The boy breathed in deeply, and exhaled, shaking with a sudden shiver. He frowned slightly and searched past the window for something. From his desk, William couldn't tell what he was looking for, though he sighed through his nose and began writing an excusal slip.

What do you carry, Mr. Fenton, William thought to himself. What weight is on your shoulders?

He began reading the paper again. He would read it twice more and put it to the side for last so he could read it a fourth time before he took it home and marked it there. Like eyes were windows, he believed words written down were also from the soul, and he needed time to think. Danny approached his desk, and Lancer handed the excuse to him, smiling softly at the teenager. For a moment, he looked at the slip of paper strangely.

Recognition crossed his face, and the teen smiled back. Lancer nodded towards the door, watching the boy leave. After looking over his class again he returned to the next paper waiting for his attention.

He would figure out what the boy carried; it was only a matter of words.