Of course, he would take the contents of the box under his bed. Though few, they all were of great value to him. The video where he and his brother actually got along in. So was the picture. Back then, he would've never thought he'd be estranged from him the way he is now. The snow globe, which was the only happy thing he really owned, was there too. He had never been that happy of a person, but he supposed that's why his name was Strong Sad instead of Strong Glad or something like that.
Then there was the card. The card was extra special. It was from his seventh birthday, and it was from Strong Bad, of course. Strong Mad wasn't very literate, so his wasn't very sensical, much less legible. But Strong Bad has a fairly good vocabulary, as far as the three of them go. Of course, there were several misspelling, and it had its share of insults, including a threat of being punch later, which he remembers grimly. Strong Bad couldn't hit as hard when he was a kid than he can know, at least. His favorite part of the letter was that his mom had made Strong Bad write it. Man, he missed his mom so much. Even when his brother were mean to him, she was always there for him. Unfortunately, she had died later that year, so he held onto the letter to remember her.
His brothers and him were never the same after that. Strong Mad had become more sensitive than before, and, although he likes to put up a tough, angry exterior, he falls to pieces very quickly when faced with the possibility of being left behind again. Like the time they couldn't find The Cheat because he was under the grill. Strong Mad had broken down right then. Strong Bad began to push away everyone, especially Strong Sad.
Strong Bad doesn't really have any close relationships with anyone anymore, except maybe with The Cheat. His brother became quite obsessed with being the best, too. Perhaps it was compensation, in his mind; a secret yearning for people to like him, to the point of mock narcissism. He copied anyone he found cool, and found that people seemed really cool when they bashed things that were even remotely related to geek culture. So, Strong Sad found that not only had his brother alienated him, but Strong Bad also put up a facade of hate around Strong Sad that he fed into so much that the hate began to manifest into his mind, and the fauslity of the hateful thoughts faded into reality. So Strong Sad grew into the unloved, whiney little brother that he was now.
And even now, with the medication, and the pill, and the occasional therapy session, Strong Sad still could not seem to get any better. Perhaps he now hated the prospect of being happy after everything, or maybe it was the fact that the methods he took wouldn't actually uproot the problem of his older brother's hatred-turned-abuse. Not that he really cared what happened to him anymore. Nobody cared, and he knew that, and he simply decided that they were right. It would not be such a constant in the opinions of his so-called friends if it wasn't true. So it must have been true. So he would take his prescribed medicines of antidepressants and something he used for anxiety, and would also down a painkiller for good measure, before he started his day. Of course he noticed that a painkiller soon became just a few painkillers, and then grew to "some-but-not-a-lot" of painkillers. And now, as he sat quietly on his bed that he lies to playfully, yet woefully refer to as his "Deathbed," he was on so many that he could hardly feel at all. He hoped he was dying, yet he was almost certain that with his luck, he would continue to do this day after day until he finally did die, which he was sure would end up being a long time from now, just so life could gloat about it to his face for as long as it could.
It must have been the foggy haze he was in that prompted the thoughts first. If it's so bad here, why don't you find some place better? He had wondered on it greatly since the moment it popped into his mind. A provocative little voice in his head created different scenarios in his head until Strong Sad had decided on the certainty that he would listen to the voice. He now had the box in his bag he had, which held on to the only things that Strong Sad really owned, besides the CD player, which was too big to bring, to his dismay, and the furniture, which honestly he only had because Marzipan pitied him enough to not let him sleep on the floor anymore. Strong Bad would never get him furniture, of course. Strong bad would also steal large amount of Strong Sad's money, so he only ever had enough for small things, such as his safety packed away Sloshy poster, his Sloshy t-shirt, a gray shirt, a white shirt, a couple pairs of gray pants, two books, and some earphones that he took very careful care of.
A swirling feeling of excitement and nervousness rose in him. He had began silently packing around the few moments of light left right before sunset turns over into twilight, and by the time the light blue and violet hues had gradianted into a dark blue and black blended skyline, he was done. He carefully gauged time on his alarm clock, which also would not be making the trip. Hours crawled on, resentfully leaving behind small dashes of hesitation and extra time to have second thoughts in its wake. What second thoughts could he really justify, he didn't know. He needed to get out, and it sure wasn't going to be that time would set him free without him taking action. Finally, the analog clock read 11:45. He knew that Strong Bad would be asleep by now, between the dull television programs that aired at this hour he would undoubtedly be forced to watch or do nothing, and the many beers his brother would have.
Silently he slipped down the stairs. He was wary not to wake his brother who slept in the basement below as he crossed the living room. He had encountered drunk Strong Bad many times before, but now was not a good time for a run-in with his already irrational older brother. He made his way to the kitchen area. He took a moment to grab a cereal box. He probably would need it. He risked giving it a gentle shake. It sounded only half-way full. Oh well. He quietly maneuvered it into his bag as quietly as possible. He hoped to whatever God may be out there that his brothers would get more food once they realised he wasn't there to do it for them. He wasn't sure why their well-being meant so much to him after everything they put him through (Strong Bad especially), but he supposed that family will always be family, and that love is unconditional. Unconditional to the point that even years of abuse could not usurp it.
He slipped out the front door. He was amazed that he actually managed to escape the hell hole of a house unscathed. The stars sprinkled the night sky, each seemed like a possibility that hope was here. So far away, but still visible. Not that he was one to reach a hand out for hope. He was more of the type that inched towards it, and if it didn't lash out, he would gently cradle it in the palm of his hand and keep it at an arm's distance, full of fear and wonder. The crickets resounding all around him sang a song to his new found freedom. The grass bent under his toes as he walked, cool and comforting. He did not know where he was going, nor did he care. He didn't even care if he was just find a place to die in the end. As long as he was out of that God-forsaken house, he was okay with living through a thousand slow and painful deaths.