Canto I
In which dear Eddy learns a difficult lesson about life, and the beast within us all and within himself.
"For men are good in but one way, but bad in many." -Aristotle
"Bleeeech!" spat the boy as he was lifted out of
the bowl by his ankles. The soiled water dripped in small rivulets from the
brow of his mask. The eyes behind them were clenched tightly shut, as were the
buttocks and many other muscles of his body.
"Prince of the Netherworld!" sneered his captor,
who then laughed maniacally, lowered the boy into the bowl, and depressed the
lever with his foot. A fresh wave of toilet water and shame hit the boy, and
he tensed up even more in disgust.
Satisfied, Lars dragged Eddy out of the toilet,
and unceremoniously dropped him on the floor. The boy bounced slightly on his
back and landed face down at Lars' feet, his mask finally slipping free and
rolling some distance away. "Dork," the tormenter said.
Eddy struggled to his feet briefly, before his
knees gave out and he crumpled down to the linoleum again. Dizzy, disoriented,
and overpoweringly nauseous, the boy feel to his knees, pitched forward, and
retched all over the older boy's shoes.
"Oh, gross!" Lars immediately backed away, and
kicked at the floor to shake off the slimy, rancid mixture. A few undigested
pieces of corn slid down the side of his shoe but refused to fall off, instead
slipping underneath to be crushed firmly into the treads of the shoe. A
distinctly cheesy smell reached his nostrils and he was nearly ill himself.
"Nice going, lame-o. These shoes were supposed to last all year." He elected
to go in stockinged feet and kicked the ruined shoes off into the corner, then
stalked out of the bathroom in search of fresher prey.
Eddy shuffled back from the reeking effluvium,
slumping against the wall and letting his head dangle between his knees.
Allowing gravity to do some of the work, blood returned to his head and his
vision cleared. He sat in this position for some time, letting events sink in.
Gradually his body recovered from the ordeal, and he dozed lightly.
"Psst." A voice aroused the boy.
"Huh?" His head shot up and he looked around,
looking for the source.
"Over here." Unmistakably it was coming from the
direction of the mask, a deep, raspy growl of a voice. Still slightly unstable
and heavy with sleep, Eddy crawled around the puddles of vomit and over to the
mask. "What do you think you're doing?"
"What...?" The mask lay face up, motionless, its
empty eyes staring up at the ceiling.
"Is this any way for the Prince of the
Netherworld to act?"
"What do you mean?"
"Pick yourself up. Make yourself decent. You're
embarrassing us." Eddy picked up the mask and rose to his feet. The mask
continued, "You are the successor to the throne. It's time you started acting
like it. It's time you proved your worth to us."
"I understand. What should I do?"
"Do? What would Eddy, King of the Netherworld
do?"
"King..."
"Yes."
"King Eddy."
"Yes."
"I know what I have to do."
"Good. Make us proud, my lord."
Eddy slipped the mask into its rightful place,
put his hood back up, and pulled his gloves tighter onto his hands. He reached
back and shook the dust and dirt off his cape, allowing it to flutter
majestically back into place.
"King Eddy."