Been getting back into my childhood lately and this just suddenly came up.

DISCLAIMER: Ed Edd n Eddy, of course, does not belong to me, but to the brilliant Danny Antonucci. I'm just a fanfic writer who writes for the sake of it

Reincarnat-ED

Prologue

A new life doesn't always mean a new chance. Cause if you want that, you have to prepare a way to die, lavishly or quietly, depends on the person. Then you have to pray for a holy hand to come and choose by lotto the souls that get to be reincarnated. Then insert the probability and statistics and there's a million to one chance in grasping a new life, one where you're actually human and one where you enjoy the life you get. If it deals a bad hand, unlike the lotto, there're no do overs, well, unless you die again, but who willingly wants to go through a gambling loop like that. Hell no, not me.

Then I got struck with an E and like a participant in Wheel of Fortune floundering and scaling their brain for a word puzzle, I wondered if that was my call. Also, I wondered the shit ton of things that started with the letter 'E'. Why else would they give me the letter, I'd thought.

The letter could be suggestion among names. Eric? Ethan? Eli? Evan? Eugene? Those names weren't bad, but I knew they didn't fit me, not my size and not my quality.

Swaying from the pile of sore loser souls, floating (after a while, I thought of it as dragging) among the other souls heading toward a nothing sky, I knew it was set. I'd definitely got a winning deck, but, at first, the prize wasn't reincarnation just yet. What if I got reincarnated into an animal, I'd thought. Animals that start with letter 'E': Eagle. Hey, that wouldn't be so bad, I'd thought. Being part of a respected specie, hailed as America's national bird, pecking and decking animals and people because I'd be an upper echelon in the animal kingdom and a protected species. People and animals couldn't and wouldn't mess with me.

What if I became the Earth itself? I know, a dumbass thought. The holy hand should've slapped my soul into another dimension. Or, I guess it kinda've did.

No, no, listen, this shit threw me for a loop, a dunk against a basketball hoop and splat on the blacktop. It couldn't be what my mind made up, unless it made up all the other souls flying with me giving me dabs and fists bumps about being reincarnated.

But, oh fuck, this had me tripping.

See, I know reincarnation is a surreal concept within itself, but who knew it was powerful enough to break the laws of physics, spread and habitat souls in places that aren't supposed to be there, or even real.

I was reliving my childhood.

No, it wasn't some Doctor Who type stuff, but I was reliving my childhood, or still am.

When I say, 'reliving my childhood', it's an overused term that people in my old, faraway, generation usually said when they're re-watching an old cartoon or catch drift of a cartoon reboot.

What kept my childhood alive was one of the best cartoons in all of loony history: Ed Edd n Eddy. That show was my drug; after homework sessions marathoning those three unlucky stooges surviving their neighborhood from assholish kids and three sluts in training. I recently got back into it and yup, it had me laughing my kidney dead like it a did a decade ago.

I was relieving my childhood in front of a t.v. screen and it was fucking funny.

But somehow, the holy hand pointed a sharp fingernail to the t.v. screen, smashed it and stuffed my soul right in the idiot box. I remember while I was being twisted right into cartoon land, my mind kept repeating: 'That was what the 'E' was for.

Well damn.

But come on, you must've it got it by now? Even if you did, I'm still gonna clear it up for ya.

I was—I am reliving my childhood, but the circumstances flipped. I was behind the t.v. screen.

My favorite cartoon be damned, I was in the entertaining world of Ed Edd n Eddy, and it wasn't fucking funny.

And favorite character be damned, being reborn into a bubblegum skin, three-haired chubby jerkass wasn't fucking funny.

E for Eddy, huh. The universe is such a smartass.

BEING A DAMN BABY wasn't half bad.

My sight sucked though, but science dictates that babies' eyes are underdeveloped and can't recognize color and patterns with their shriveled brains (applicable fact to my rebirth, Professor Aso). I wasn't scared by that, I just didn't know what was happening. It took me a long time to figure out what happened. My stupid ass didn't even try to recall how the hell I ended up a soul in the first place. What certain style of death I committed to throw me in a purgatory roulette.

The only thing I could remember was a gunshot. Wasn't too helpful.

What I do remember, well not really remember, but felt was warm and tightness. And with me, the one thing I knew that was warm and tight was a girl and her "special parts that gave special effects—if you know what you're doing that is (Trying to keep it a little under TV-14 here)" (Keeping it While my reality sunk and refused to say what I knew it could be, I kept my answer firm and sound, resisting the tug of reality's sunken place. So, when a pumping force threw me right out of the warm and tightness, I finally got to yell my answer.

'VAGINA!' "WAAAAHHHHH!"

That's how I found out I was a baby.

Like I said, being a baby wasn't half bad. Play. Poop. Cry. Chill in a crib and sleep. It was all a baby could do, and I wasn't complaining. Carpe diem, anyone? In all seriousness, the annoying thing was that I struggled for the first few months trying to remember a few drops of my life let alone my death done by gunshot apparently.

At first, even though coming out of a random woman's vagina was a huge wakeup call, I still tried to be skeptical about it. I was lifted and carried; I've always been on the short and slim side, but that couldn't explain how I was easily carried. I seemed smaller compared to everything else, but that still had me saying maybe/maybe not. Shapes hazy, color erased, I still had no ways and fuck me's.

But then something that felt like a hard nipple popped into my mouth and it tasted like a nipple too. I knew I wasn't having sex, so there was my top, full, complete evidence (and it came in a wonderful price.)

Still, it was weird that I, a 22-year-old man, would respond in the ways of baby. To be true, I hated babies back then (Oooh! Yeah, I remembered that shit about a week ago), and I guess that traveled over here too. I hated myself for crying like a scalded cat, but if a man baby is hungry, he's hungry.

Getting used to being a baby, I forgot that this was technically not my life. I wasn't reincarnated as something new. I took on the shape of a fictional character created in a mind of a hard-chained smoker (Nothing but love for you, Antonucci). Was I in Danny Antonucci's mind? Was I a twinkle in his eye? No, did he know that Eddy actually exists; that Peach Creek exists? Is this life that I'm invading being used for pure shits and giggle?

This shit wasn't supposed to be real, but everything just spelled reality.

They, it—whoever or whatever gave me life, gave me Eddy, and I didn't know what the hell to do with the kid.

Eddy's mom was thick.

For some reason, I shook from her touching me, like I had some latent fear of her from before Eddy's time. But I was silent about it. I didn't cry and boom everybody's ears out. I just squirmed a little then I was good to go.

Back on track: Thickness. From the shapes that this baby bullseye could pinpoint, I saw curly hair, wideness around the chest, small in the middle and a heart shape below that. So, you know that I was happy every time I had to eat. My baby eyes were as bad as a person high on drugs swimming underwater, but I could tell a woman's shape if I focused, really use that squint as if my genetics were Asian. She was good material. Kudos to Eddy's pops.

I was still confused at my own reaction when cuddled in her arms. After a day or two of wondering why, I actually remembered and the pacifier I had sucked dropped out my mouth onto the cushioned flat lay of the crib.

Those Donkey Kong arms!

I couldn't remember the name and or plot, but I know in one of the episodes, the viewers saw Eddy's mom's arm. Christ, those hammy arms! Unfortunately, the more I thought about it, the more I squirmed in her arms when it was time to eat.

But I got used to it more and more until those muscle sacked arms felt like multi pillows on a Serta mattress. She was hot from what I could tell, so why fuss.

It seemed I was a good baby because Eddy's mom always wanted me near her, always cooed and hugged me every chance she got. She was determined in keeping the crib in the master bedroom, which Eddy's dad, I could tell, was pissy about it. I tried my best to keep my mouth shut as much as possible because I knew if I had a baby that cried 24/7, I'd turn into the Hulk, and by his shadow, he already had the makings to be the Hulk's understudy.

Breast feeding was the best. So, imagine how I felt when they weaned me from the good melons to the smashed baby food melons; from breastmilk to Enfamil. I seriously cried over that shit. As a man baby, I could clearly tell the difference. Eddy's mother would cave and give me some, but soon she followed the regimen the meathead of a nutritionist strictly ordered to pull me away from it. I had half a mind to fight for it, but my vow to not be an annoying little shit overrode my protest for titties.

I'd let it slide. I stuck with the Enfamil, stuck with the mashed garbage named baby food, puked sometimes on purpose just to say, 'take that!' I used to swish it around in my mouth before swallowing as a method to withstand the puddle food; it dulled the after taste a little.

Eddy's dad was a hard rock boulder, but on the inside, he was a tamed, caring bear. He'd hop out of bed to go to work around seven a.m. The mother would make his breakfast the night before, right after dinner, for an easier routine. The big oaf would wake me up with all his grumbling and his loud, clanky ass feet, but I still watched him walk in and out the room at a comfortable pace. He knew I was watching. Every time he picked out his clothes after his morning shower, he'd take a peek at the crib, spying me to see if I was up. Usually, I'd keep one eye his way and have the other closed to the point my eyelid felt like someone zippered it.

But one day, I decided to look at him straight in the face, both eyes dead on him. He arrived from the bathroom and flinched at the look I was giving—I didn't even know what kind of look it was, but it must've been a badass one to make someone like him take a step back.

We had a stare down, man baby and man man.

Then, he checked his watch and had some sort of screwed up face because we both knew we were sucking each other's time away. I had my baby duties and he had his bread duties.

When I used these robotic baby limbs to wave a goodbye and laid back down, I swore I heard him whoosh out, "Cheeky ass baby."

That night, while Eddy's mom was cooking dinner, Eddy's dad put me on his lap and let me chill with him and we watched some t.v. I could tell it was a comedy, a sitcom most likely because of his deep laughter and quick bounces I felt while on his lap.

And I laughed—giggled because, y'know, baby. Not at the sitcom because my sight was still sort of shitty, but laughed because it felt familiar, and I really wanted to know why. But at that moment, I just settled the familiarity and used this as a stand in. It was this anyway that dug up the sentiment. It was a moment where I felt this life was really mine alone.

(I did see a certain brat's eyes glaring my way, but I'll get to that asshat later.)

When I saw baby Eddy in the mirror, I stood too still.

I dumped crawling and was already walking now, no help from the parental department. I stood up by myself, walked a few steps by myself, expertly fell on my ass or face by myself, and overall practiced by myself. And the rents were happy about that, especially since it only took me probably a week or more, I don't know, but I know it was a small amount of time. Walking was my flow.

I finally had sight, which had to mean I was near the end of the newborn baby era. I looked at everyone (important) to see their definitive image.

I was spot on about Mom. She was a beauty even with those yeti arms. She had a bombastic chest, small waist and bursting hips. Whoa. When I say 'Whoa' I mean Whoa! Her hair was short, blonde and wavy—all in all, the woman looked great.

Unlike the normal three strands of hair, Dad had six on his head. His was big, not anything new, and had those yeti arms too, a little bit hairier. He had a couple of strands on his chin which served as a mini goatee. He was a normal looking guy.

While my baby senses tingled and pushed me to do dumb shit, I became a pro in chasing it away. So, Mom trusted me to be alone because she knew I wouldn't do common bad baby behavior. She did find it weird (A baby that didn't pull at people's nerves, rarely cried, and sort of had a presence of mind. What kind of luck happened here…?) but easy baby meant less stress.

I had a gang of toys around me, and I chose Mr. Potato Head to waste an already boring day. This toy is a damn choking hazard for babies, even toddlers, but it was sitting in my arsenal like it needed to be there. Never knew her trust was that high.

I saw a handheld mirror on the floor and thought that Mom must've dropped it. Lucky for her ass, it was on the rug in front of the master bed, so the mirror avoided death somehow. I wasn't really thinking, but I know it wasn't my dumb dumb baby side looking for a curious fix. I walked towards it and grabbed it in strange quickness. I brought it to my face.

And there it was: Little pink baby Eddy staring right at me. A balanced mixture of his dad and mom (maybe tilting a little more on the mom side.) Baby fat all over and I really noticed the small chubby baby limbs, pink limbs. A short sleeve blue onesie with a happy duck right in the middle; blue eyes. The pointed upper lip barely forming and the iconic three strands of hair, curled.

That's when I released everything; The hold on the mirror, the hold on my body, and the hold on my mind. I felt the baby side leap into action.

Soon enough, Eddy's mom came into the room.

"Eddy, sweetie, you broke Mommy's mirror! I'm sure it was an accident, right sweetheart?"

The only thing that slipped out was babble.

Author's note: There it is folks. An Ed Edd n Eddy fanfic. I was thinking about this story idea for a little while. At random, I started writing. I. Couldn't. Stop. I really enjoyed writing this. It kinda killed my writer's block, a remedy to keep going for this and The Finer Things in Life, which I've been slacking on. Man, sometimes I feel like one of those mangakas who are always on hiatus man.

I had two story ideas in mind for Ed Edd n Eddy. A reincarnation fic or an OC fic. The OC fic is about a girl from Venezuela who's adopted by an American family and moves to Peach Creek. Because of her internal issues, she's a little unsettled in the mind. She interacts with all the kids from the cul-de-sac, but takes a particular interest in Eddy. She falls madly in love with him and vows to protect him from the other kids in the cul-de-sac. The other kids have no idea what she's capable of.

I went with the reincarnation one.

This is the first time I ever wrote in a male's P.O.V. It's hard. I tried so hard not to sound girly or whatever. I hope I did well because I'm sweating bullets over here.

Thanks for reading and drop a review if you can. I really want to know if I captured writing from a male's perspective well.