Here's the next set of drabbles. Thank you to everyone who has read and/or sent feedback. Your opinions are greatly apprecuated,

xxx

#1 Fabulate: to create fables or stories filled with fantasy.

"I'm serious Danny, you have to start being more careful. Those kids almost saw you transform today."

Danny didn't respond, he just crossed his arms and leaned back sullenly. Out of the corner of her eye, Jazz snuck a look at her brother. Returning her eyes to the road, Jazz let out an explosive breath. "Danny, please say something."

"I've already said something." Danny shot back. "About five times already. You're overreacting. There was nothing I could do about it, Technus threw me into a wall remember? And honestly?...If I had lost consciousness and transformed right there I would have had more to worry about than my secret, Technus was already swooping down to finish me off."

Jazz sighed. Turning into their driveway, she wondered when life or death fights had become normal. "I know. I just worry about you."

Danny opened the door and jumped out. "And I keep telling you that you don't have to. Look, I appreciate it...I do...but I can look after myself." He spun on his heel and made for the front door, not looking back to see if she followed.

Jazz leaned back against the door of her car and watched him walk away. He was holding himself kind of stiffly. He had probably hurt his back when he hit the wall.

It seemed so strange to her, so unreal that this kind of thing was her life now. She still couldn't quite get her head around it.

My brother is a teenage half-ghost superhero who got his powers in a lab accident. He can fly and walk through walls and shoot energy beams and he saves the town everyday while still trying to make his curfew.

It sounded like something out of a comic book. Watching her baby brother try to hide his newest injury, all Jazz could do was hope that someone up there decided that this story ended well.

#2 Facebar: wrestling hold in which a wrestler stretches the skin of their opponents face backwards.

As first meetings went, the one between Sam and Dash was particularly memorable.

"OW, OWOWOWOWOW. STOP IT!" Five year old Dash bucked, desperately trying to get the crazy girl off his back. "MOMMY!"

Sam tugged on his cheeks harder. She had somehow managed to pin the larger boy on the ground and was currently sitting on his back with all ten of her sharp little five-year old nails dug into his face.

"You take it back! You take it back you big bully! Take it BACK!"

"SAM!" Pamela Manson ran over and snatched her daughter off of the larger boy.

Sam's nails dug scratches as she was pulled away. Dash's mother was immediately by his side. "Dash darling, what happened?" She asked worriedly, shooting dark looks at the still thrashing girl in Pamela's arms.

Dash sniffled. "She hurt me mommy! She jump on me and scratch me!"

"You called Danny and Tucker freaks!" Sam shrieked from her mother's arms. "You said they were bad!"

"I can't even say how sorry I am about this." Sam's mother apologized, absolutely mortified. "We'll definitely be having a talk...won't we Sam?"

Sam just scowled.

"You apologize to Dash right now."

Sam crossed her arms and glared down at the ground.

"Sam! You say you're sorry."

"Can't" Sam mumbled. "M not s'pposed to lie."

#3 Facilitate

"Mr. Fenton, you will be working with Ms. Gray and Mr. Foley. Ms. Manson, with Ms. Sanchez and Mr. Baxter..."

"WHAT?" The exclamation came from all sides.

Mr. Lancer narrowed his eyes at his suddenly rebellious students. "It is not healthy for you to work in the same groups every day. Variety in your work groups will help you develop important interpersonal skills. You have your groups and I expect you to make the best of them."

Sam traded one helpless look with Danny and Tucker before moving over to the A-Listers, who were looking at her like she was something they might scrape off their shoe. There was no way that this was going to end well.

#4 Farsi-:the modern Iranian language of Iran and western Afghanistan, written in the Arabic alphabet; modern Persian.

(A/N: Furthermore...racism is bad. Let's stop judging people.)

Afrah had become accustomed to hostility, horrible as it may seem. She had become used to people staring at her hijab, to their mocking and insensitivity. She had even become used to people crossing the street as she approached.

It was simple ignorance, she knew...the mistaken belief that all Muslims were extremists. It was a stupid, naive, utterly racist view that all too many people seemed to hold. It was that ignorance which caused otherwise rational and pleasant people to become intolerant Neanderthals. All too often, it was perfectly innocent Muslims that paid the price for their fear.

But Afrah had become used to it...which is why she couldn't believe her eyes when a black haired boy sat beside her at lunch. A few moments later, his two friends joined them and her usually empty table felt comfortably full. Afrah glanced at them out of the corner of her eye, suspicious, but Danny smiled at her and was polite and kind.

When she finally got the nerve to ask why he was being so nice, he shrugged.

"I know what it is to be judged by what, and not who, you are."

#5 Feminist: (continuation of Facilitate)

Sam tried to think of any way her day could get any worse and came up empty. The assignment was to choose a significant figure in history and write a report on their impact on modern society. Unfortunately, she, Dash and Paulina had wildly different ideas of who constituted a 'significant figure'.

"We should, like, totally do Marilyn Monroe." Paulina argued for about the hundredth time. "Everyone knows Marilyn Monroe."

"She is also from this last century." Sam growled through gritted teeth. "We're supposed to avoid recent personalities. I say we should do Queen Elizabeth or Catherine the Great."

"Why do we have to do a girl?" Dash asked sullenly. "We should choose someone actually important."

There was a moment of absolute silence. The air temperature in the room dropped in a way that had nothing to do with ghosts.

"What..." Paulina said in a quiet, deadly voice. "...did you just say?"

"Repeat that last sentence!" Sam demanded.

Dash looked helplessly from one to the other. Sam and Paulina absolutely hated each other. Which was actually probably a good thing, Dash thought in the back of his mind, because the two of them united in a single cause was terrifying.

#6 Fell (adj: fierce, dreadful, cruel)

Dan was not a creature that second guessed himself. He was not conflicted and he was rarely indecisive. He also held no illusions. He was dark and evil and perfectly ok with that. Who needed humanity? He was stronger now, free of fear and weakness and all the things that had made him defeatable before. He was absolutely serene in his monstrosity.

If ever he thought about the time 'before', it was only with a faint sense of relief that it was over. The pain of losing everything, the constant burden of his hero complex...exhausting really. He was glad he didn't have to deal with it any more.

Yes, there was a definite sense of peace that came with knowing exactly who and what you were, even if that thing was terrible.

#7 Finite

"Think about it Daniel!" Plasmius leaned over the young halfa currently strapped to his lab table. His red eyes shone. "Anything you want! Anything you have ever wanted! Money...power...popularity. Everything that should be yours by right!"

Danny said nothing, didn't even turn his head to acknowledge Plasmius above him.

Coming around to the head of the table, Vlad crouched so that he was inches away from Danny's ear. "We are different from them little badger." He murmured softly. "We are so much better you and I. You, me, Danielle...we are the start of something brilliant and new. We can make a better world...a future for our own kind."

"And have everything we've ever wanted." Danny finished flatly.

Plasmius broke into a grin. "Yes!" He exclaimed, getting to his feet. "Yes that's it exactly!"

A small smirk crossed Danny's features. "Bought the Packers yet?" He asked, twisting his head to look at Vlad.

Vlad's grin shifted immediately into a scowl of rage. Danny just shrugged, his restraints digging painfully into his arms at.

"Then I guess we're done talking." He turned back to face the ceiling.

#8 Flexuous (having many curves, winding)

Danny's path was not a straight one. Oh, it started linearly enough, school, friends, family, everything that makes an average American childhood. He never really played any sports, but he had Sam and Tucker and his video games. His family loved him in their eccentric way and he did alright at school.

Then came freshmen year and his life took a strong left turn into the twilight zone.

Suddenly there were ghosts and fighting and secrets and his life was no longer so predictable. First came the superpowers, which were unbelievably cool even if he could do without the ghost fighting. He was trying to adapt to the fact that he could now walk through walls and learning to deal with a long stream of new enemies. Each ghost had its own weaknesses and strategies and he never knew what he would have to face anymore when he woke up in the morning.

Then, just as he was getting a grip on that, the whole Plasmius thing happened. And while he was glad not to be totally alone anymore, the fact that the only other of his kind was now his arch-enemy was a little disconcerting.

Then when all of that seemed to have settled down, Danny suddenly had to deal with the evil, jerky future version of himself. He had to stop himself from destroying his life and everyone he cared about. I mean...come on...future version of himself...really?

Nothing was normal. Throughout the years every new power, every new enemy or challenge, added another curve to what was already a messy existence. Ultimately, the only thing you could predict about Danny's life was that it was anything but predictable.

#9 Forfeit

"It's certainly an impressive transcript you have Ms. Fenton. Excellent grades, extracurricular activities...everything we're looking for in a new student." The head of the Harvard Psychology Department looked over at the young red head sitting across from his desk. "I simply have to ask however...your entrance essay on 'ghost envy' was a fascinating examination of the subconscious desire for the impossible, however did you think up the topic?"

"Well," Jazz started slowly. "I grew up in Amity Park..."

"Ah yes," the Head chuckled, sitting back in his chair. "Perhaps one of the most interesting instances of mass hallucination that I've heard of in recent years."

Jazz frowned. "Sir?"

"Well the whole 'ghost sightings' phenomena of course! Can you imagine?...Well of course you can, coming from Amity yourself. A whole town, sometimes whole streets of people claiming to have seen ghosts. I actually have a colleague writing a paper on the subject. He's debating the possibility of some sort of mass hysteria, perhaps brought on by some sort of environmental factor." He shook his head as if to clear it and smiled back at Jazz. "But I digress. There should be no problems with your application from where I stand." He held out his hand for Jazz to shake. "Welcome to the faculty of Psychology."

Jazz looked at the outstretched hand. It represented everything she had ever wanted, her whole future on a plate...and all she would have to do was betray her little brother. His struggles, the sacrifices he had to make, he deserved better than to be chucked out as one more urban myth. He deserved to be acknowledged, even if it was only to admit that he actually existed. Jazz steeled her eyes and got to her feet. "Thank you for your time," She said coolly. "But I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

# 10 Frantic

It happened so quickly. One minute Carla Higgins had been picking through ripe apples in the produce isle, the next she had looked down to see that her 3-yr old daughter had disappeared.

Carla's heart jumped into her throat.

"Maria!" She called anxiously, whipping her head around. The girl was nowhere in sight.

"Maria!"

Apples forgotten, Carla walked towards the middle of the isle, still scanning frantically for her missing daughter.

Nothing.

Over the next 10 minutes, Carla checked every place that a 3-yr old might possibly have been attracted to. She checked behind the fruit bins and the candy isle. She checked the seafood section with its tanks of live fish and the bakery and its display of fresh doughnuts. She checked the small flower and gift section and the magazine rack.

No Maria.

Carla asked store employees and random strangers. She got customer service to put a page over the intercom.

No Maria.

By this point, her panic had grown into a desperate, icy fear. Each moment that her daughter was not with her, that fear grew until she could barely think of anything else. The store was searched, the police were called. She must have answered the policeman's questions, but she couldn't remember what they had asked. Someone had gotten her a cup of coffee at some point, but she couldn't seem to recall who it had been. All she could focus on was the fact that her daughter was gone. Her hands began to shake as her composure crumbled. Putting the cup of coffee down, Carla buried her face in her hands and started to cry.

A small hand touched hers. "Mommy?"

Carla gasped and shot up like she had sat on an electric wire. "Maria!" She exclaimed.

Without a thought she threw her arms around her daughter, holding her close. A dry sob shuddered through her body. The door burst open as policemen and store employees were drawn to her shout.

"Hey, they found her..."

"...Thank God."

"...Where'd you think she went?"

Ignoring the chatter, Carla eventually pried herself away from her daughter. "Maria, baby," she said to the confused and somewhat frightened child. "Mommy was very worried. Where were you?"

"Was'a bad man." The little girl said succinctly.

"...A bad man." Carla's grip tightened ever so slightly.

"Uh huh."

One of the policemen cautiously approached, not wanting to scare the child further. "Why didn't you scream sweetie?"

The girl looked at the stranger nervously. "He make quiet...like this." She pantomimed putting a hand over her mouth. Carla made a wordless sound of distress.

"Baby," She said, carefully keeping her voice level. "How'd you get away?"

Maria suddenly became very animated, all fear forgotten. "A ghost! Mommy, I meet a ghost! An' he had green eyes an' he made everythin' cold...but he was nice. An' he held my hand an' my tummy went funny an' he grab me from the bad man. An' Mommy, I flew!" She held her arms out to either side to demonstrate. Her little eyes shone with excitement.

Carla felt the need to sit down again. "A...a ghost?" She asked weakly. "You were saved by a ghost sweetie?"

Maria nodded emphatically. "He my new friend." She suddenly pointed to the window. "See Mommy? New friend."

Everyone in the room turned. The Ghost Boy was floating cross-legged in front of the glass.

"Hi!" Maria greeted, waving happily.

All the adults seemed frozen, not entirely sure how to react to the town's most infamous denizen floating not five feet away. There was a long pause as Carla looked back from the ghost to her daughter, safely returned. She caught the ghost's eye. Thank you. .

A small smile graced the ghost's face. He nodded once, and then disappeared. In that moment, Carla Higgins swore that she would never think an unkind remark about the Ghost Boy ever again.

xxx

A/N: I'm bbbbaaaaacckk. I actually have an interesting question for you readers out there. This chapter had a lot of variation in length between one drabble and another. What are your thoughts on that? Do you think it would read better if the drabbles were more uniform in length, and if so, how long? Do you prefer the longer ones or the shorter ones?

Please let me know what you think. Let's call it a social experiment.