Eddsworld Drabbles n Oneshots

Room 64

He was sick of it, he was sick of it all.
White walls and white floors.
He wasn't even sure if the room had a door, as the colour white was all he could see (apart from the other people in this horrid room with him).
The only exit he knew of was the big hole where the ceiling was supposed to be. He was dropped into the room from that hole.
He'd thought of trying to escape many times. Maybe if he and the others just stacked on top of one another they could reach the exit, but none of the people with him seemed to be social at all. He didn't even really know their names, except for one. The rest of them he referred to as random things.
Everyone stuck to their own little corners in the  room, and kept to themselves.
First, there was the man in the left corner of the room. He always sat with his back pressed against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. He had bright red hair, one pitch black eye and one grey-brown eye.
He wore a red and blue hoodie under a green and purple overcoat. The pattern of his pants were equally as strange, with one side brown and one side blue, and his shoes didn't match.
The man always sat there with eyes wide open, looking afraid of everything and everyone. Sometimes he swore he saw the red head's lips moving as if he were talking to himself, but he never got close enough to hear what he was saying.
He liked to call that one 'Clusterfuck'. Even though it was a mean name, the guy looked like an amalgamate of different people he used to know.
Next there was the guy in the right corner, who looked a bit familiar to him. He wore a lavender hoodie with a green overcoat, and had fluffy red hair and blue eyes. The only thing that was really out of the ordinary with him is that his face was so...defined.
He had strong cheek bones, a prominent jaw line and a striking nose.
It wasn't bad, it was just...a lot to take in at once, that's a way to say it politely.
He actually knew this one's name; he referred to him as Realistic Matt, but was also pretty sure that the man preferred just 'Matt'.
Parallel to the man in the right corner, there was the one with the attitude. He would greet anyone who ever even dared to look at him with a disappointed scowl, and he always looked mad. He could kind of understand though, since he looked like a mix of two people who he knew didn't get along.
The man had spiky brown hair, black eyes, and a red and blue sweater.
He called this one 'Torm', since he looked like a fusion of Tom and Tord.
Lastly, there was a person that wasn't exactly easy to describe. He looked...messy.
That was probably the best way to describe him.
His navy blue hoodie was scruffy and ramfled, and his brown hair was out of place.
Every morning he swear the little guy looked different, as if his body had somehow reset itself.
And he didn't even look like a man yet, he was short, like a child. He always stood there in his corner, black eyes unmoving, with a silly little grin on his face. Sometimes he would just laugh to himself randomly, then act like it never happened.
He called the strange little gremlin 'Scribble', since he took a liking to the colouring utensils that were sometimes dropped into the room from above.
And then there was him.
Who was he?
Well, he felt like Tom. He had the same personality as him. He had the same memories as him.
He looked like Tom. He had the blue hoodie, the spiky brown hair, the stunning black eyes.
He sounded like Tom.  He didn't speak to the people here in this room, but he's heard his own voice before.
The text on one of the white walls of the room that read; "REJECTS ROOM 64" in bold grey letters told him otherwise, though.
The room told him he wasn't Tom.
He wasn't Tom.
He's Not Tom.
He wasn't sure what he did to land himself in this room, but he remembered the event like it was yesterday.

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((flaaaAaAAsh BAAAAAAACK))
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An uproar of laughter echoed through the cinema as the character in the movie told a joke. Everyone was laughing except for him.
"Wait, how is that funny?" Not Tom asked out loud.
Suddenly there was a loud buzzing sound, and a giant metal claw descended from the ceiling and picked Not Tom up. He yelped as he was carried out of the movie theatre and his feet dangled over the edge of a gaping hole. He prayed to whatever superior being there was in the sky that the claw would be merciful, and wouldn't drop him into the pit, but he was a little too late.
Not Tom felt the claw loosen its grip, and he plummeted into the opening, hitting the hard ground soon after. The wind was knocked out of him, and he let out a groan of pain.
The brit rolled over onto his side, and opened his eyes only to see a blurry silhouette of a person standing over him.
He blinked and his eyes adjusted. The person looked like Matt, and he was relieved for a second, but then he took a closer look.
The stranger's face was down-right uncanny. He looked like he had been carved out of wax, or like he was a Ken doll that came to life.
"Hello there," the defined stranger said with a small smile.
Not Tom just stared in shock for a bit before clearing his throat and speaking.
"Wh-where am I?? He asked in a panicked voice.
"You're in 64," the man answered, offering hand to help Not Tom up.
He reluctantly took it, shakily getting onto his feet.
"64?" The brunette repeated. He looked around, seeing 3 other people in the room. One looked like a little version of him, one looked like a fusion of he and Tord, and one was just a clusterfuck of somewhat familiar features.
The clusterfuck just pointed to the grey letters on the wall.
REJECTS ROOM 64
"Rejects?! No, there must be some sort of mistake!!" Not Tom exclaimed, "What did I do?? I'm not a reject!!"
"Well clearly if you're here, you must be a reject," the fusion-looking one spoke in a bitter tone.
"But I didn't do anything wrong?! I don't want to be here!!" He yelled.
"Just shut up alright! None of us want to be here!" The fusion retorted.
"You don't look like a reject.." the wax man stated.
"hE LOOK LIKE ME!!!" The tiny version of Tom yelled as he skipped over to observe Not Tom.
"All I know is that I didn't laugh at a joke and then suddenly I got dropped into this room by a massive claw!!" Not Tom explained.
"Hmm. The cloning machine probably messed up in your brain somehow, not with your looks," the wax man said.
"Cloning machine?!? What?!?!"
"We're clones, Tom. How haven't you noticed?"
Tom frowned.  This Matt was a lot more serious and realistic than the Matt he knew.
"How do you know that??"
"Well, I was the first reject," Realistic Matt started, "Our creators, Christopher Bingbong and his assistant Larry made a cloning machine to make copies of Edd, Tord, Tom and Matt. Since I was the first one that came out wrong, they didn't have a purpose for me, so they stuck me in this room. The cloning machine keeps messing up apparently, or else I would be the only one in here," he said.
Not Tom stood in awe and shock. This had to be just a big joke. He wanted it to be a joke very badly, but all evidence pointed to Realistic Matt's statement being true.
"Whats going to happen to us??" Not Tom asked.
"I have no idea," Realistic Matt answered.
"wE? BAd PEOPLe???" The tiny version of Tom asked in a grammatically incorrect fortissimo.
Realistic Matt just shrugged.

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Unfortunately he didn't have a watch or his phone with him, so he couldn't tell the time or date, but he had sort of memorized the schedule.
By the time he usually woke up the lights were on. He would have to wait a few hours to get food. It was always plain porridge, which was delivered by a man in an eyepatch, which he assumed was either Bing or Larry.
He climbed down into the room from a ladder, handed them the food and went back up, taking the ladder with him.
Thinking about it, all of them could easily gang up on the man, but no one ever tried.
Next it was boring hours again. They didn't eat again until a long while. It was always mashed potatoes with water.
Then it was long boring hours again, and then it was lights out.
This schedule had happened about 16 times, so he assumed they were there for about two weeks.
The brit hated the schedule. The most exciting thing that happened is when they would drop some board games or some crayons and paper into the room. No one really ever tried to play board games with him, and he didn't really draw, so that was useless to him.
It was all so mundane compared to the things he used to do with his friends.
Were they even his friends if he was just a clone?
Wouldn't they come to rescue him if they were really his friends?
The more days passed by, the lonelier Not Tom became.
No one in the room really talked to him aside from Scribble or Realistic Matt, but it was on rare occasions that they ever talked to him, and he just found Scribble very annoying.
By the time the schedule was repeated 17 times, and the light turned off in the horrid white room, the brunette decided to face the facts.
He was never going to get out of here. No one would come looking for him. No one cared about him. He would have to spend the rest of his sad clone life hidden away behind white walls.
All because something in his mind prevented him from finding things funny.
Not Tom scolded himself for ever saying anything on that day. He should have kept his stupid trap shut, then he wouldn't be in this mess.
A wave of sadness washed over him, and he felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He just broke down crying, trying his best to keep quiet before someone heard.
Suddenly, he heard someone call out in the darkness. His breathing hitched and he stopped crying.
Damn this room. It was so dark he couldn't even see who was calling him.
"Who's...who's crying..?" The voice asked.
This was a voice he hadn't heard before.  It didn't sound like Realistic Matt, or the harsh tone of Torm, or the annoying screech of Scribble.
Not Tom didn't answer the voice.
"It's o-okay...everyone's asleep...I-I won't tell anyone..." the voice said again.
It seemed to be getting closer, and upon listening again, he realized that the voice sounded sort of mixed. Like two people talking at the same time.
"I-I'm fine...I'm not crying.." Not Tom finally answered, wiping his tears. He knew that this person would know it was a lie, but he didn't really care.
Trying to convince them that he wasn't crying was better than admitting to crying.
"I-Its okay to cry.." the voice was right in front of him now, and he could sense the presence of another person.
In the darkness he could make out the shape of the silent man. (It was better to call him that than it was to call him 'Clusterfuck' all the time).
"Wh-why are you...crying..?" The silent man asked quietly. He sounded like he was struggling to talk.
"Why do you care?" Not Tom replied.
"I-I.." the other's voice faltered. "I c-couldnt just pretend i-it wasn't happening...y-you clearly need someone to t-talk to.."
Not Tom was silent. That was true. He longed for someone to talk to.
"So what's wrong?" The man asked again.
"I..I don't like it here.." Not Tom said.  "I hate it here, I hate being a reject, I just- I just miss my friends and I want to go home..." tears started to spill out of his eyes. "But I don't have a home. I never had one. Because I'm a stupid clone...!" He pulled at his hair.
The silent man frowned in the darkness.
"W-We know how you feel.."
"We?" Not Tom asked.
The silent man didn't adress the little question. "We...I know you f-feel alone, and like there's no h-hope of getting out of here...b-but you d-dont have to feel alone anymore...I'm here,"
Not Tom took what the man said to heart.
"You really mean it..?" He asked. "You're willing to be there for me..? To talk to me..?"
"Y-Yeah...! I mean, as long as we're t-trapped....trapped here, W-We might as well g-get along.."
"Thanks.." said Not Tom.
Much to his surprise, the man wrapped his arms around Not Tom.  He snuggled into the warmth of the much taller man and sighed softly.
"Hey, uh, I know this is sort of awkward, but what should I call you?" Not Tom asked suddenly.
There was silence for a bit, and then the other man answered.
"T-To-om...mm...matt..t-tor..edd"
"What..? Tomattoredd?" Asked Not Tom.
"Yeah, T-Tomattoredd...th-that sounds okay,"
"Alright.." Not Tom said. "Tomattoredd.." he repeated under his breath.