HI! I'm back. I don't own anything and i'm not taking any profit (dammit) from this, kay?
I don't know about you, but i've been noticing; hasn't ed got it hard? I mean, he has hardly any clothes, he's in a basement with no carpet or flooring, theres pipes everywhere, he's terrified of his parents and they take away his stairs when he's grounded! I thought he would have been an abused child so i wrote this.
Genre: Angst, tradegy
age: PG 13 (i hate the new rating thing)
Summary: Ed has always had it hard, and sarah always had it easy. Why?
"This hurts me more than it hurts you, you… stupid… piece… of crap!"
These were the usual sounds coming from our house.
"What kind of son are you? Can't even read a… fucking… book… properly!"
"Wait till your father gets home! Then he'll sort you out proper!"
He'd cry a bit, a little snuffle, then he'd stagger out the door to the front room, wait till I was out of sight and everyone was gone, (usually in his basement) and then he'd really let rip. He once howled for an hour.
Then mom would put the belt away in the cupboard, because she knew dad didn't need it to "sort him out".
It's strange; they never laid a finger on me. I suppose I was daddies little princess, and the little girl mom always wanted. I once heard mom and dad talking, saying stuff like my brother being retarded and a complete lost cause, and how they wished he hadn't been born because it was "his fault" they had been disowned from each other's families since mom had given birth when she was sixteen, and me being perfect, and pretty, and smart, and how I'd inherited mom's eyes and dad's strength.
But if you ask me, my brother had inherited every ounce of strength from both sides of the blood. Not just muscle, but mental strength.
Any other kid would have killed themselves in a week. No, a day. But he ploughed on, being his usual annoyingly happy self.
In a way, I kinda admired the idiot.
Then when dad came home, that was when all hell was let loose. Up until I was four, mom said that my brothers cries and screams coming from the basement was in fact a monster and I should never go down there until dad and my brother scared it off.
I wanted to see the monster. And I wasn't disappointed.
When I was five, I looked through the crack in his door, and watched dad clout him around the head until he fell down. I would hear the whacks and insults echoing in my head at night, when I was lying in bed.
"Prat! What did you do this time?"
"No- nothing, dad…"
"But dad, I swear…"
"Stop lying to me son,"
"Dad, honest and for truly…"
That was then I ran upstairs and hid in my room.
So that's what his punishment was for stealing my dollies. That was then I could see a whole world of doors opening up for me. From that day on, without really realising what I was doing, I would blackmail him with mom and dad to get what I want. Not that he wouldn't have given me anything I ever wanted anyway.
I suppose me hitting him all the time was inherited too.
Eddy and double Dee didn't know. Well, no one knew apart from me. They'd notice a black eye every now and then, and a belt mark across the backside once when he was taking a whiz in the woods (oblivious that the entire cul de sac could see him) but only double Dee really asked, only to get "Gravy" Or "A Martian zapped me," off of him, so he stopped asking him.
The abuse carried on though. While I grew into a healthy 10 year old, all ready to enter fifth grade, my 14-year-old brother was late for taking me to school. I had stayed at Jimmy's that night, and I waited outside with Jimmy, and Edd n eddy, but he didn't come. It was a warm autumn's morning, and the four of us were either watching clocks, snuffling with colds, or pacing on our lawn. I was, however, seething.
"ED!" I screeched.
"ED! GET OUT HERE!" I screamed, and made my way into the house.
"Mom? Where's my brother?" I asked my mother. She shrugged and resumed the washing up. Everyone had followed me in the house, so I carried on, hoping to embarrass my brother by catching him naked in front of his friends. (Not that it would have made much difference).
"Ed?" I growled, and kicked the door in, causing several of his posters to fall down.
"Ed? MOM'S GONNA BE SO MAD!" I bellowed, before I felt someone's hand on my shoulder, and a few screams, and a torrent of obscenities from Eddy's mouth.
"What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED IN HERE?"
"What?" I opened my eyes and really looked at the room. It was even more of a mess than before.
His couch was ripped and knocked over.
His T.V had been smashed.
His bedside lamp was shattered across the floor.
His tub of gravy was tipped over, flooding the floor with brown lumps.
And in the corner, tangled and wrapped tightly in his bedsheets, was the shape of my brother, curled into a foetal position.
"Ed?" I whispered, genuinely afraid for him.
He didn't stir. I put my hand on his bedside cabinet, and realised the corner was caked in blood, and noticed it was splattered erratically on the bedsheets.
"Oh, my god…" I gasped, only to be pushed out of the way by Eddy.
"Ed? ED! C'mon, Lumpy, you're scaring me… Ed?" He cradled Ed's head in his hands. You could see two large bloody lumps on his forehead, several cuts in his cheeks, and there was an enormous gash on the back of his head.
Edd raced over and gently untangled him from the sheets, until his hands where free. Edd gripped one, and we watched the blood drain from his face as he said those three small words that scarred me for life.
"He's cold Eddy…"
Funny how three little words can change a kids life so quickly.
It turned out in court that Ed had finally had enough of dad hitting him. After a thrashing, Ed had had a strange lapse of sanity, and swung his fist, busting our dad's nose. He pleaded for forgiveness, for mercy, that he'll never do it again and how he loves his dad, but hey, dad just isn't that kind of guy. He booted Ed across the room, punching and swinging, knocking into everything, putting his foot in the telly, (that explained the smashed in TV) and Ed hid in his bedsheets, desperate for shelter. Dad then started to hit the bed, till he fell out, tangled up, smashing his head on the corner of his bedside table.
The autopsies say he shattered his skull.
His last memories had been of a punishment. That's not right. It should have been with his wife on his chicken farm, I know, I read his little book of dreams.
I wish I knew exactly what I was really dealing with all those years of using mom and dad. I never told, just used them.
Dad was jailed for child abuse and manslaughter.
Mom was jailed for child abuse.
I was shoved into a home.
Eddy was inconsolable, He shut himself away for a year, not speaking, ignoring everyone except double Dee. Edd was heart broken and was even more grief stricken than Eddy.
We're all older now.
Eddy hit the big time, winning the lottery, lucky sod.
Edd became a surgeon.
Jimmy was a designer, making it big in New York.
Johnny ironically became a psychologist.
Rolf went back to the Old Country.
Nazz became a model, and actually became famous in England.
Kevin became one of the Hells Angels.
The Kankers were married off on a tacky Las Vegas drive thru wedding.
I became a cashier in a local Mega Mart.
Some of us got it lucky and went far. Some, especially me and the Kankers, weren't so lucky, but I know that Ed is somewhere out there, laughing his "Hur Hur Hur" laugh in some gravy ridden and chicken populated heaven, being proud of us all, lucky and not so lucky.
I can't wait to see my big brother again.
I can't wait to say something that I never did when he was alive. Maybe if I write it, it'll find it's way to him, somehow. Maybe they have computers in heaven.
I love you, Ed, I'm proud to be your little sister, and I'm sorry.