I do not own South Park.
I looked in the mirror… I hated everything I saw. The boring brown eyes that were once filled with such laughter and passion.. Even anger would be better then lifeless eyes, that contained no emotion except pure exhaustion with the world and the life I was thrust upon. My hair, boring brown, waving and falling just under my ears. I smiled in the mirror, and tears fell down my face. You'd think this fake smile, this one that I had fabricated over the last year, when their was no longer anything to smile about, would become apparent to my group of so called "friends." But no, they haven't seen a change in me, they still see the cocky self-rightous nazi bastard. The only change they can see is the physical one. I grabbed my stomach, if you could even call it that. No, what was once the aftermath of many bags of cheesy poofs and the nickname fatass, was now a bad of bones. Fatass. It had been stitched into my being, a part of me. Not that I could blame my friends, with how I treated them. Hippie. Poor piece of crap. Jew. Yes, they all had nicknames, too. They simply brushed theirs off, cause they had self-respect. I did not however. That had been taken away by my crack whore mother, who in the company of others seemed like an angel. But behind closed doors, she called me more names the any mother should ever call her child. She stuck me over and over, beating the words into me. She said that if I ever told-… My stomach growled, shaking me from my thoughts. And then pain hit me –the starving. It was really getting to me. I often missed school, I couldn't sleep and I barely dragged myself out of bed. My friends asked me- I told them I skipped. The only person who seemed to care- Butter's, told me to tell people about my problem. He didn't know about my mom. Fuck, the only reason he even knew, is because he walked in on me with my finger down my throat and the contents of my lunch in the toilet. I made him promise not to tell- I told him I didn't want anyone to know how low I'd hit. Everyone thought I was healthy- even though it was quiet the opposite. I was still called fatass, but it was more out of habit. I guess I couldn't really blame my friends. They did care to some extent, and I had covered my tracks.
"Fuck this. I need to be put out of my misery." I ran down the stairs and ran into my mom. She had on ratty clothes, messed up make-up on her face, and a cig in her mouth.
"Where the fuck do you think your going tubby. Oh no, its pukey, now isn't it?" she said smirking. I brushed past her, tears in my eyes.
"Im going to kill myself," I said under my breath.
"Bout time. Leave me outta the suicide note, ey? It's the least you could do for me, yah piece of crap." She started up the stairs, stopping halfway. I stopped, my breath catching. Tears flowed down my face, thudding against the carpet. "Don't forget your jacket, poopsie-kins," she said, mocking me. I ran out the door, collapsing on the steps, balling my eyes out. I stumbled across the lawn, staggering as my vision overflowed with tears. I heard a car, and I jumped out into the street, looking at it dead on. A car honked, and a strange peace overflowed me. Yes… It's finally over…
The car screeched to a halt. No! I thought to myself. I sank to the ground, shaking. I heard a car door open, and someone stepped on the pavement. They grabbed my shoulder's and screamed, "DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? ARE YOU BRAIN DAMAGED?"
I snickered and kept my focus on the ground. "Can't a guy kill himself in piece?" I looked up at the guy and time stopped. Kyle. Fuck.
"Ca-arrt-man? D-id I just hear that w-wrong." Kyle said, tears falling down his face, his hand over his mouth.
"FUCK! " I shouted, getting up, pacing.
"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL YOURSELF YOU IDIOT?" Kyle shouted, tears falling down his face.
"Why do you care?" I said, staring into his eyes. Kyle Broflofski. Red curls, that hung under his ears, frizz no longer an issue. His frame slender, but fit. His eyes- perfect. Which were no overflowing with tears, thanks to me. Im such an asshole. Why can't I do anything right? My perfect jew…
Shock filled his face. "Believe it or not, but I fucking care about you! We may fight, but your still my fucking friend! How could you try to kill yourself? You have so much to live for. Your smart, you have friends, a mom who loves you and are STRONG- STRONGER THAN THIS! He shouted. The Eric Cartman I knew would never take his own life! And another thing-" He stopped. Tears were falling down my face, and I started balling.
"That's because I'm not the Eric Cartman you know! Im weak, and I hate it! I hate myself, just like the rest of you! My mom- she practically begged me to jump in front of the car. I've been living a lie for the past year! Look!" I lift up my shirt crying.
I hear kyle gasp, and he shakily touches one of my rib bones. I jumped away, acting as if his finger were a branding iron. I collapse and ball my eyes out.
"C-cartman, I-I had no idea," Kyle says, taking my hand. "We all thought… You were working out or went on a diet- Oh-my-god. Fatass. T-this is my fault." He sank to the ground, his eyes taking a clouded look.
I desperately grabbed his hands. The light that was always in his eyes- was now gone, almost as if his innocence had been shattered. "Kyle! No, you didn't know! I caused this, I always called you a Jew remember? I'm the asshole nazi-sympathist?" I grabbed his chin, forcing him to look me in the eyes. Tears fell down his face, and he grabbed me, surrounding me with warmth, a welcomed thing in the brisk Colorado air.
"You were hiding behind a tough exterior, when in reality, you were hurting- badly." He snifled into my shoulder, breaking my heart in too.
"Hey, look, Jew's using big words," I say laughing, the pain obvious in my voice.
Kyle laughed, sniffling, and looking my determined, in the eyes. "I'm-m g-going to h-help y-you get-t better," he says sobbing.
"Thank you."
And on that cold Colorado street in the town of South Park, was where my life truly began.