Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! does not belong to me, and chances are, probably never will. I'm just a poor pathetic sap with a dream…
Author's Note: I'm not leaving you w/ an introduction. I don't completely know what this is about myself. But it's turning out alright so far, so I think I'll continue it. Sorry that I started this w/out finishing BR and CP, but I needed to take my mind off of poetry and The Loser Chronicles, and I came up w/ this. I'm trying to add more to those two stories, but I've only got like a paragraph or two more than before, and I'm still not sure if I'm gonna keep that. *Sigh* okay on w/ the story…
Desolation
Chapter One

I lay here in bed and cry myself to sleep. No, not to sleep. I can't sleep, so I just cry.
I can't remember ever crying before. I shed my tears from within, never do I let it show. I care too much about my reputation to let things get to me. But no, it was more than just my reputation now, wasn't it?
In some confusing way, I'm comfortable. The way things are seem just fine with me. As long as no changes are made, as long as everything stays exactly as it is, I'm secure.
Oh, how I hate change. Very rarely is change a good thing.
As my tears began to dry, I stared up at the ceiling. Maybe if I focus hard enough, I can forget everything. Maybe then the memories will fade and I'll be free of this new torment.
Emotions. Too many, they take control of me. It's almost ironic, really, that so many feelings consume me. Nothing at all what the kids at school would suspect. But then again, why should they?
I wanted to call Phoebe, to let her know I was alright. To reassure her that things would be fine, even if she knew it was a lie. But I just couldn't do it. I couldn't dare myself to pick up the phone and dial that seven digit number I knew so well.
Ah, yes, Phoebe. My best friend in the world. I don't understand why that girl puts up with me. Why anyone does. Heck, I almost half-expected Arnold to have retaliated by now.
Although I suppose he has done that already. At one point in time, my beloved had spilt paint on me. I deserved it, and I knew I did. It's just so hard to show my true colors when there are so many other spectators. There's too much at risk.
So, alas, I fear I will spend the rest of my miserable life behind this mask of hatred. Wait, mask? No, it had grown to be so much more than a mask now. Although it had started out that way, my cover soon became a part of me. This anger has mended itself onto me, become an unpleasant component to my very essence.
If only I hadn't been so cruel throughout my imprudent youth. Perhaps then the circumstances wouldn't be so harsh. Maybe then I would have a greater chance with Arnold.
Why did I have to love him? It made no sense, really. I'm a bully, or at least I used to be. I mean, I have a shrine of him for crying out loud. I devote my life to him, though I'd die if he knew that.
I always used to think I wanted to tell Arnold. To confess my undying love for him, to pour my heart out to him and hope that those feelings would be returned. And yet I had several opportunities to do it. Many of them potentially humiliating, of course, but they were opportunities just the same.
Maybe the reason why I never told him despite these occasions was because I knew, deep down, that he didn't like me. That he probably never would.
I pounded my pillow in rage. Why, why, why? Why must I be the way I am? Why do I treat him like dirt when all I want to do is give him my heart? Why is he so blind to see that?
I gritted my teeth, answering my own questions.
Why am I the way I am? This is who I've always been, or at least, who I've turned out to become. I treat him like dirt to hide my feelings, to protect myself from pain and embarrassment. Why is he so blind to see? I guess I do a good job of hiding it.
I held my pillow now, imagining Arnold in my arms.
"Oh, Arnold. How I am torn between these forces! My heart yearns for your touch; and yet, my stomach churns just as much! Can't you see that I worship the ground on which you tread ? Do you feel the very tears I shed?" I sighed tenderly to inaudibly declare my love for him.
Such a gentle soul, my love. You possess a heart of gold. How I wish I could acquire such charm and grace. You could never understand me, Arnold. I wouldn't want you to.
I could never measure up to your eminence. I tremble in your presence, though you can never know. I'm near to tears, yet I express only anger.
Do you hate me, Arnold? Have I been that much of a nuisance? What can I do now? Where do I go from here? My existence is so useless, it's pathetic.
Slowly, I fall apart. Shattering into tiny pieces, one by one. So gradual, so unnoticeable, it is hardly taken into account. I'm losing myself, and I never had the chance to find out who I was to begin with.
Faintly, I got up out of bed. "It's time to face your fears," I mumbled to myself, heading towards that dreadful destination.
I stood, wearily, before my own reflection. Possibly my greatest enemy.
"Do you see what I see now? Is this who I am inside?" I spoke aloud, my voice unfamiliar.
I glanced around the room, trying to take my eyes off of the hideous figure before me. Finding nothing interesting enough to apply any real concentration, I gave in and returned my gaze.
"Well, this is what you're stuck with, Helga; take it or leave it. This is your life and you're just gonna have to accept it. Just deal with it."
Was I talking to myself in third person? This just proves my insanity.
"Miriam! Get the girl, I'm starving here!" my father's voice bellowed below.
My already low spirit sank more, as I dragged myself to my bedroom door. I heard my mother holler as well, too lazy to come get me.
"Helga, dear! You're supper's getting cold!"
I suppose there's one thing to be grateful for. They did care about me. I think.

Another Author's Note: It appears that Helga is older, if you didn't catch onto that. She seems to be amidst a depression of some sort, but she isn't devoid of hope, and she still loves Arnold. I don't know what's to come, or what experiences she or any other characters have had since the 4th grade, but I guess we'll all find out, won't we? *sweat drop* Hope I update soon…Please R&R. Oh, BTW, in Helga's "poem" above, did you notice that her style has slightly changed? I'm guessing she's getting into rhyming now, cuz the last few sentences rhymed. Now I shall ponder my existence and drift into dreamland…