Phantom Blade

Trigger warning: self harm and severe depression, if these could set you off, please do not read 3 I love you all

Chapter 1: The Start of a Bad Habit

I sighed, staring out of the window of the GAV. We were going on a family vacation. Not that I minded, I really needed a vacation, but I had a feeling something bad was going to happen.

I snapped back in reality, "-if we find a ghost on this trip, I'll rip them apart, molecule by molecule!" My dad shouted. Well at least he was excited, every time I hear that, I feel even more depressed. Sure my parents didn't KNOW they were threatening their own son, but it only reminds me of how I lie to them. I felt a hand on my own, and turned to Jazz, she was giving me an apologetic smile, probably for having such weird parents. I have to lie to Jazz too, and that only darkens my mood more.

We pull into the campground, and start to unload. "Hey, you know you can talk to me about anything, right Danny?" Jazz asks, I contemplate telling her, but I know I can't, so I swallow the lump in my throat, and give her a fake smile, "Yeah of course, you're my sister." With every word, it gets harder and harder to keep my voice from cracking, and despite my best efforts, it cracks on the last word, 'sister'.

She's my sister; and I'm lying to her face. I don't know how much more of this I can take, especially without Sam or Tuck.

I finish putting up the tent Jazz and I will use, and tell my folks I'm going out in search of firewood. Another lie, and my mood sinks more.

I walk off, until I feel I am far enough away from the campsite that no one will hear me, and I cry. At first, it was easy to lie to my family, I had managed to convince myself that they were little white lies, no harm done, but as I continued, it got harder and harder.

I felt alone, completely and utterly alone, and that's when I saw it, a pocket knife, probably dropped by a hiker, and from the back of my mind, I feel the urge. That tiny voice saying, 'come on, do it!' And I reach my trembling arm out, picking up the knife.

I flip it open, and the clean, shining, silver calms my nerves, I welcome the coolness of the blade against my skin, the sharp sting that brings me out of my head. As I look at my wrist, the worst blow hits me, the sharp reminder that I am a freak, not human, and will never have a normal life. The ectoplasm in my blood, the slap in the face that told me that I did not belong with them. I was the halfa, I didn't belong with humans, or ghosts.