Part I: Running
Chapter I: Run Pip, Run
The clock ticked at the painfully slow speed as it almost always did towards the end of the day. The smallest hand of it moved sluggishly and as a result, the other hands moved even slower.
He sat on the edge of his seat, glancing from both the teacher to clock, and could feel the sweat gather on the back of his neck.
His bag was packed; packed long before his neurotic clock watching occurred. All that was needed now was the bell and a clear path to the door.
The sweat on his neck froze suddenly as a breeze went over it.
The blonde turned his head slightly and glanced at the obese boy sitting behind him.
The fatter one sneered at him and mouthed a threat that seemed to resemble, "I'm going to get you,"
He quickly turned back around and glanced at the clock sharply. He bit his tongue as the minute hand clicked into its place. Before his mind could explain, his thoughts went into a wild tangent of worry over the missing bell.
The boy behind him just scared the living daylights out of him; he was too anxious to even understand that the bell didn't ring right on the spot.
But finally it did and he bolted out of his seat and out the door before the other boy could get to him.
Pip ran as fast as his legs would allow. This would have been quite a feat in itself if it weren't for the fact that he was running for his very life.
Well, not really. But it was the thought that counted.
That wasn't really true either…
But either way, he ran and ran at almost track star speeds, all in the efforts to get away from the three thugs running after him.
As he ran down the main route of South Park, three of Eric Cartman's closest goons chased after him in an attempt to catch him and "torture" him.
Eric long figured out that he was not suited for running.
In fact, Pip was statistically better off (eighty percent) at getting away when Cartman was in the chasing party. But, with him out of it, Pip's statistics lowered exponentially. Down all the way to just a mere eighteen percent.
Those three boys were rather fast for their muscular body types.
As he hurried down the street, too preoccupied by the thoughts of his day's beating by the boys, he didn't seem to notice the trashcan that was placed right on the sidewalk ready for the garbage truck.
He crashed with a bang and clanking of other cans and collapsed onto the ground. His breath was quick and his throat seared with both dryness and heat. He could feel his muscles ache from the overexertion.
"Hurry! Get him before he gets up!" One of the boys bellowed to his buddies as they rushed him.
The two other boys yanked Pip off the ground by his arms and dragged him off to Cartman's house.
Eric's mother greeted them with a strangely happy tone and told them that Eric was within his room.
Pip was dragged up the stairs and into the Neo-Nazi's room. He was pushed onto the floor and at Cartman's feet.
The room was dark with an exception for the single overhead light fixture that swung back and forth idly. It seemed that Cartman was trying to copy a stereotypical interrogation room.
It certainly intimidated Pip.
"Welcome Pip," Eric greeted, standing above him with a great air of intimidation.
"Hello," he greeted back faintly.
The other boys pulled him to his feet and the fat one stepped forward. With amusement plastered all over his face, Eric ordered the third by to lift up the blonde's shirt.
He did.
He gripped the boy's nipple and gave it a good ninety degree twist.
The third member of Eric's group dropped Pip's shirt (for it was no longer needed up, for Cartman's grip was steel solid) and walked around to his back. He gripped the elastic of his under pants and hefted them up with such force that Pip's eyes watered.
He gave a loud cry out, mouth quickly covered by a hand from one of guys holding onto his arms. He struggled even more as he muffled into the hand, "Please stop!"
Cartman spat in his face, "You know you like it, Frenchie!"
"I'm not French!" He screamed sourly into the boy's hand and struggled further.
"Sure you ain't," the boy who was giving him a wedgie snapped with amusement. He pulled up further with a sudden jolt.
Cartman switched to the other nipple.
Pip's day was becoming even worse.
The next day, Pip did his usual job of running away from Cartman's crew.
He always wondered why Cartman was the only one out of the old group (Kyle, Stan, and Kenny) who still felt the need to bother him and pick on him.
Wait…
What was he thinking?
Cartman was an arse! Of course he wouldn't have stopped making fun of him!
So, Pip ran, and hoped with all his might that today would be his lucky day.
He ran down the main street of South Park and headed towards his apartment. Once he was there, he'd be safe.
He was so close, so close when someone stepped out from between the alley. He ran into the person and feel backwards onto the concrete.
This was just not his week…
The British boy shot back onto his feet and apologized to the person with his eyes pointed to the ground. He started off running again before his bullies could catch him again.
Maybe today was his lucky day…
As Pip hurried up the steps of his apartment complex; he could feel his heart soar.
He had made it!
And, with an air of confidence, he pulled out his keys before his pocket and unlocked the door. He swaggered in happily—
Only to see a very flamboyant Satan and his supposed ex-boyfriend Saddam sitting at his kitchen counter drinking tea from his good china.
He closed the door, every good feeling within his body sinking almost suddenly, and quietly stepped into the kitchen.
"Hello Philip!" Satan greeted with a bright smile.
He gapped, ears pounding.
His front door swung open and Damien stepped in.
"Long time no see!" He greeted with a smile that equaled his father's.
The Brit's breath caught in his chest and his heart rate doubled. He glanced from Satan and Damien to Saddam, his eyes wide and sweat poured out of him. He tapped his teeth together and continued his worried glancing.
Saddam took a long sip from his cup before he placed the cup dangerously close to the edge of his counter.
Pip pulled forward and grabbed the cup before it could slip off the counter.
"Please be careful with my china." He requested.
"Yeah Saddam!" Satan added.
Damien rolled his eyes and finished his cigarette before he tossed it into Saddam's cup.
The Iraqi/Canadian sent the Anti-Christ a death glare.
Pip stared at the group from hell with a silent demeanor. Questions gnawed at his stomach lining. "Excuse me, but, why are you in my home?" He asked.
"Oh, right," Damien muttered and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a hat.
Pip noticed it right away.
"My hat!" He gasped with surprise and patted the top of his head to make sure. He was missing it, for sure. The fact that he hadn't noticed this seemed to numb the other strange occurrences that were happening.
The darker-haired boy handed it to him and slid his hands back into his pockets.
"Thank you!" Pip said with a bright smile. He placed his cap back on and felt whole once more.
He smiled still, looking up at Damien… Who seemed to be taller than him for some reason… His smile faded.
"I don't mean to be rude," Pip imposed again, "but why are you in my home?"
"So sorry Philip," –How did Satan know his name? – "We just stopped by because Damien-kins said he wanted to visit an old friend!"
Pip's heart was smashed into a million little pieces and reassembled soon after. He looked at the Devil's son and felt his lips quiver.
"Friend?"
"Ah, dude, don't get all gay on me." Damien groaned.
"Oh- Oh yes!" Pip recovered quickly, "Right-o!"
"Yeah," he said, attention forwarded to the young Brit, "Sorry 'bout blowing you up… And stuff."
The two stood awkwardly for a quick moment.
Satan cleared his throat, "Excuse us," he said politely and pulled Saddam by the hand and out of the room quickly.
Pip fiddled with his tie, "Thank you," he said.
Damien gave him a questioning look.
"For saying that you're my friend." The words were chocked out as Pip's happiness overwhelmed him.
"Don't go creaming yourself over me, Pip," Damien said roughly. He patted him on the shoulder.
Pip laughed weakly.
Today was a good day.