*cricket chirps*

heeey...? so, i've developed the strangest obsession with Hey Arnold! recently...hehe

and i absolutely adore arnold, a.k.a football head :3

so...this is my first fic for this fandom...i hope you enjoy :)

forgive me if anyone's ooc, i will try my best to fit the characterization

note: this take places during the patakis, so arnold and co. are all around 14-15 years old :)

enjoy!

Dear Football head,

So how are things in the jungle?

I mean, it must be wonderful. You're finally complete. You met your parents, you got to live with them, get the parental love that's left a hole in your heart...the love anyone would be lucky to have...

I'm sorry. I'm making this about me. But don't think I want your pity, Bucko, that's the last thing I'd ever want from you.

How long has it been? Four, five years since you let? To me, it feels like an eternity...

Things have changed since you've left.

Pheebs and tall-hair boy got together. Of course I threatened to knock his head flat if he hurt her. Stinky's taken some interest in Lila. You remember her? Ms. Perfect? The girl you fancied? Yeah, they're dating now. Pretty weird couple, if you ask me. Curly's not much of a creep anymore, and he's finally starting to catch Rhonda's eye. Harold's lost some weight. He's on the football team. That's about it.

Me? I'm just peachy, Arnoldo.

It's funny how things change. It's funny when change comes, and how little time has passed, or so it seems.

Truth is, I'm not peachy...I...

Screw it. I'm not gonna sugar coat it anymore, football head.

Miriam's in the hospital for overdose. It was the day I came home after the first day of 9th grade, I found her passed out behind the couch, laying in a pile of vomit, a bottle of pills laying spilled next to her.

Acute alcohol intoxication. Funny, I always figured if there were a way for my mother to die, it would be because of those damn drugs. She's been in a coma for almost a month. Doctors say there's a chance she may never wake up.

Sad thing is, I really don't even care.

Bob hit me again.

I didn't even feel it.

Ya know something, hair boy? You don't have to feel the pain, and for me, shutting it out is easy. Once you get used to it. Besides, I have my very own special way of coping.

I know what you're thinking. 'Helga, you shouldn't hurt yourself, You shouldn't do this, yadda, yadda yadda.'

Easy for you to say, football face, you haven't had to go through what I did.

You never had a father who didn't remember your name. You never had a father who wouldn't look at you, if you weren't doing anything to make him look good. You never had a mother who was so oblivious to everything around her, oblivious to her child's pain. Don't even get me started on siblings.

I may have wrote this letter to you on purpose. Don't be angry. I have boxes and boxes filled with the letters you've sent to me, but you never got one in return. I have the intent of making you feel guilty. Regretful of leaving me behind.

I remember the day after you left, I didn't come out of my room for nearly 3 weeks. It took Bob to tare down the door, to get me out. I didn't sleep. I didn't eat. I didn't feel. For when you left me, Arnold, you took every fragment of what's left of my heart as well. The gang misses you. Your board house family misses you. I miss you.

I guess I should sum it all up, why I'm truly writing this letter.

I wanted to say goodbye.

Not the 'I'll see you later' bye, or the 'until we meet again' goodbye. But goodbye.

The only thing that's ever kept me going was seeing that perfectly shaped football-head of yours every day. Seeing those beautiful cerulean irises of yours, seeing that sweet, soft smile that would melt more than what a thousand suns could. But now that you're gone...

I have nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Don't blame yourself. Don't blame my 'family.' This has been coming for a long time. Don't be angry. Don't be sad. You can't feel the emotions I do, bucko. You always look on the bright side of things. 'Someone has to...'

What a laugh this would me. The great Helga G. Pataki, a weak and pathetic coward. So call it my pride, or vanity, but after the life I've led, I will not simply drift off into the sunset. No one will even notice I'm gone anyways.

Goodbye, Arnold. I love you, football head.

Love,

Helga G. Pataki.

She tied her pink ribbon along with the letter when she sent it. She figured he at least deserved a memento.

It wasn't hard finding something to do it with. She stole some of her mother's sleeping pills, along with a tall glass of vodka mixed with bleach.

She sits on her bed.

The pills are getting moist by the sweat on her hand. Her hand that holds the bottle is shaking.

Just one sip. And swallow. Then sip. And swallow. Another sip. Another swallow, until the world turned darker for her.

Swallow. The first sip she chokes. How can her mother like this vile stuff? Well, she's been doing it for years, she's used to it.

Swallow. The second sip she winces. Her throat wants to choke it back up.

Swallow. The third sip wasn't so bad.

Swallow. The fourth sip the vodka is burning.

Swallow. The fifth sip her vision is blurring.

Swallow. The sixth, her body is shaking. She can feel it.

Swallow. The seventh, her heart slows down.

She doesn't make it to the next one, as her body gives in to the drugs and she falls over, pills flying out and vodka spilling everywhere.

there is the prologue!

i hope you all enjoyed, forgive me for grammar errors :) i'm new to the hey arnold world of fanfiction

this will probably be rated t, for mature themes...probably no sex, i'm sorry i just can't imagine helga and arnold...doing it...hehe

please please please review!

(will be edited soon)