Disclaimer; HER, "Poor sad Double D…can I keep him and hold him and love
him and make him all better?"
Cartoon Network, "No, you can't. He's ours."
HER, "Well…how about Ed…can I at least keep him?"
Cartoon Network, "No"
"Not even Rolf?"
"Nope."
This pretty much means that no part of "Ed, Edd, N Eddy" is mine. It all belongs to Cartoon Network and its creators. I just borrowed them for this fic…I promise to put them back.
He didn't know how long he had sat there. He didn't really care. Maybe it didn't matter anyway. Nobody except the Eds would miss him. He doubted that his parents would even notice. No, that was a lie. They would notice. They would notice when their sticky notes were no longer answered. When the house grew filthy from their own pig-like ways.
Double D suddenly realized what he was thinking about. Suicide. He had always been taught that suicide was not the answer. That it was wrong and that if he just waited it out, the situation would get better. Well waiting wouldn't make James come back. If it would, Double D would gladly wait until the end of time, just to see his brother alive and happy once more…just to talk to him again…to be with him. Double D sat there, slowly moving his hand in circles, watching as the blood and the glass glinted in the light. It didn't hurt that much. He could probably deal with the pain. Heck, he knew that he could deal with the pain. It would just be a quick little cut up the arm, the long way, not across, the blood could clot then.
The idea wasn't such a bad thing. But could he really do it? Could he really take his own life? He wasn't afraid of the pain. He wasn't afraid of death. He was afraid of the consequences of getting caught. What would "Father" do then? Probably the same thing he always did when Double D did something he didn't like. Double D pulled his feet up under himself as he thought of the bamboo stick. He wasn't sure where it came from or why it was in the house in the first place, though he was pretty sure that it had been brought for the soul purpose of discipline, he just knew that his stepfather could swing it hard, and that there wasn't much fat in his feet to cushion the blows.
Double D thought again about the idea. Why did he even care what his stepfather would do? He would probably be dead for hours before anybody noticed. Double D thought again of James, that was, after all, who this was all about. He missed James already. Maybe if he did kill himself he would be with his brother again. Maybe he wouldn't have to deal with the pain of never being good enough. He wouldn't have to deal with the pain of his mother and father not caring for him. Double D thought about the way he had constantly disappointed everybody who he cared about. None of his inventions ever worked the way that he wanted them to. Ed and Eddy never got what they wanted from those trinkets that Double D was always making. His grades were never good enough. "So you got an A," his stepfather would say, "Well it isn't an +A is it? You could never be as good as your brother Tim."
A sneer spread across his face, thinking back on those words. "You could never be as good as your brother Tim." How many times had he heard those words? How many times had he hated his stepfather for telling them to him, or his mother for agreeing? How many times had he hated Tim for being better than he was? Double D knew that that was ridiculous. Tim had never been better than he was in school or any other aspect of life. Tim wasn't even his brother. Tim was his stepbrother, who had moved out of the house just before they moved to the cul-de-sac. Double D hardly believed that he had moved out. He probably sold everything that he had to buy more crack and ODed on some street corner somewhere.
The tears streamed down Double D's face once more as he thought of how much his mother had loved Tim. It seemed that all she ever cared about was if Tim was happy. He wasn't even her child and she cared more for him than she ever had for Double D or James. They had never been good enough for her. Everything that either he or James had done only worked to make her angry with them. Why did he even try? Double D pondered this question for a long time before he could answer it. Because he loved her. He hated her more than he could stand sometimes, but she was his mother and he loved her like a son always does. She was always berating him. Sometimes he wondered if she felt any love at all in her heart for his brother and him.
Maybe he should just give up. Maybe it wasn't really worth the effort at all. The idea was really beginning to appeal to the youth as he sat watching the glittering of glass and blood. The floor was a mosaic of his blood and tears. Double D thought of how he had kept the façade of joy up, every day in the cul-de-sac. Sometimes he wondered if he would be able to do it for much longer, then the day would end and he could lie in bed and think about how happy he could have been in a different life. Sometimes he wondered what kind of a god would let this happen to someone who tried as hard as he did to be good. He never did anything wrong. Why did this happen to him?
Double D realized that he was wallowing in his own self pity, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. His hand was beginning to hurt from the glass that still glittered in it. Carefully picking the glass from his hand, Double D thought of how long he had until his parents arrived home. It would be hours…four or five hours at least. He would be long gone by then. He wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore if he would just do this one thing. Then why was he stalling?
Sighing, Double D thought of his friends. Most of the kids in the cul-de-sac wouldn't really care, he was sure, but Ed and Eddy…What would become of them? Double D didn't have an answer to that. He wished that he could just say that they would get on with life and that it wouldn't really matter, but he knew he couldn't. He wasn't sure if this would crush them or make them stronger.
"Stop thinking of that!" Double D scolded himself. They would be fine. "Get on with it," he pushed.
Slowly picking up a larger piece of mirror, Double D took in a deep breath. This was going to hurt.
Cartoon Network, "No, you can't. He's ours."
HER, "Well…how about Ed…can I at least keep him?"
Cartoon Network, "No"
"Not even Rolf?"
"Nope."
This pretty much means that no part of "Ed, Edd, N Eddy" is mine. It all belongs to Cartoon Network and its creators. I just borrowed them for this fic…I promise to put them back.
He didn't know how long he had sat there. He didn't really care. Maybe it didn't matter anyway. Nobody except the Eds would miss him. He doubted that his parents would even notice. No, that was a lie. They would notice. They would notice when their sticky notes were no longer answered. When the house grew filthy from their own pig-like ways.
Double D suddenly realized what he was thinking about. Suicide. He had always been taught that suicide was not the answer. That it was wrong and that if he just waited it out, the situation would get better. Well waiting wouldn't make James come back. If it would, Double D would gladly wait until the end of time, just to see his brother alive and happy once more…just to talk to him again…to be with him. Double D sat there, slowly moving his hand in circles, watching as the blood and the glass glinted in the light. It didn't hurt that much. He could probably deal with the pain. Heck, he knew that he could deal with the pain. It would just be a quick little cut up the arm, the long way, not across, the blood could clot then.
The idea wasn't such a bad thing. But could he really do it? Could he really take his own life? He wasn't afraid of the pain. He wasn't afraid of death. He was afraid of the consequences of getting caught. What would "Father" do then? Probably the same thing he always did when Double D did something he didn't like. Double D pulled his feet up under himself as he thought of the bamboo stick. He wasn't sure where it came from or why it was in the house in the first place, though he was pretty sure that it had been brought for the soul purpose of discipline, he just knew that his stepfather could swing it hard, and that there wasn't much fat in his feet to cushion the blows.
Double D thought again about the idea. Why did he even care what his stepfather would do? He would probably be dead for hours before anybody noticed. Double D thought again of James, that was, after all, who this was all about. He missed James already. Maybe if he did kill himself he would be with his brother again. Maybe he wouldn't have to deal with the pain of never being good enough. He wouldn't have to deal with the pain of his mother and father not caring for him. Double D thought about the way he had constantly disappointed everybody who he cared about. None of his inventions ever worked the way that he wanted them to. Ed and Eddy never got what they wanted from those trinkets that Double D was always making. His grades were never good enough. "So you got an A," his stepfather would say, "Well it isn't an +A is it? You could never be as good as your brother Tim."
A sneer spread across his face, thinking back on those words. "You could never be as good as your brother Tim." How many times had he heard those words? How many times had he hated his stepfather for telling them to him, or his mother for agreeing? How many times had he hated Tim for being better than he was? Double D knew that that was ridiculous. Tim had never been better than he was in school or any other aspect of life. Tim wasn't even his brother. Tim was his stepbrother, who had moved out of the house just before they moved to the cul-de-sac. Double D hardly believed that he had moved out. He probably sold everything that he had to buy more crack and ODed on some street corner somewhere.
The tears streamed down Double D's face once more as he thought of how much his mother had loved Tim. It seemed that all she ever cared about was if Tim was happy. He wasn't even her child and she cared more for him than she ever had for Double D or James. They had never been good enough for her. Everything that either he or James had done only worked to make her angry with them. Why did he even try? Double D pondered this question for a long time before he could answer it. Because he loved her. He hated her more than he could stand sometimes, but she was his mother and he loved her like a son always does. She was always berating him. Sometimes he wondered if she felt any love at all in her heart for his brother and him.
Maybe he should just give up. Maybe it wasn't really worth the effort at all. The idea was really beginning to appeal to the youth as he sat watching the glittering of glass and blood. The floor was a mosaic of his blood and tears. Double D thought of how he had kept the façade of joy up, every day in the cul-de-sac. Sometimes he wondered if he would be able to do it for much longer, then the day would end and he could lie in bed and think about how happy he could have been in a different life. Sometimes he wondered what kind of a god would let this happen to someone who tried as hard as he did to be good. He never did anything wrong. Why did this happen to him?
Double D realized that he was wallowing in his own self pity, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. His hand was beginning to hurt from the glass that still glittered in it. Carefully picking the glass from his hand, Double D thought of how long he had until his parents arrived home. It would be hours…four or five hours at least. He would be long gone by then. He wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore if he would just do this one thing. Then why was he stalling?
Sighing, Double D thought of his friends. Most of the kids in the cul-de-sac wouldn't really care, he was sure, but Ed and Eddy…What would become of them? Double D didn't have an answer to that. He wished that he could just say that they would get on with life and that it wouldn't really matter, but he knew he couldn't. He wasn't sure if this would crush them or make them stronger.
"Stop thinking of that!" Double D scolded himself. They would be fine. "Get on with it," he pushed.
Slowly picking up a larger piece of mirror, Double D took in a deep breath. This was going to hurt.