A/N- I started this story a really long time ago, and I decided to try to edit and continue it. Let me know what you think.


This is ridiculous. This is fucking ridiculous. I got sent to detention for fighting with Craig. But where's that bastard? He's at home, probably either fucking Wendy or watching TV. But I don't get let off easy. Why? Because I'm me.

I'm Kenny fucking McCormicK. I get pushed around my whole life, kicked when I'm down. Hell, I'm the person people go to when they need to punch something. I'm nothing more than the town punching bag. Because hurting me doesn't have consequences. Since when have my feelings, my emotions, and my thoughts ever mattered?

My parents, my brother, my friends, my teachers... They don't give a damn what happens to me. It takes way too much effort to care about me anyway. Don't waste your energy, right? I die every day anyway. It's not like my life is worth a dime. Not even to me.

I grabbed my backpack and started to leave the room.

"Sit back down, Mr. McCormick!" the cranky old teacher snapped. Her multiple chins waggles angrily. She might even have more chins that Cartman. She shoved her ugly glasses up her hooked nose and glared at me with those beady vulture-like eyes. "I will not tolerate this disrespect."

I almost laughed. "You think that I should respect you?"

"I'm your teacher!" she replied in utter disbelief.

"Like I give a shit," I replied.

"I'm your elder," she said, clearly trying to maintain composure.

"So you're an old bitch. Congratulations on your sagging tits."

She just stared at me, in shock, I guess. Why she was surprised, I had no idea. In any case, I took this as an invitation to leave.

I didn't want to go home, since I'd just be yelled at by my mom while my dad drank until he passed out. So I just walked to Stark's Pond.

I lay down on the bench and closed my eyes. It's my hiding place, I guess.

Throughout elementary school an middle school, I used to come here at all hours of the night, for various reasons. It was either that I wanted to cry by myself after my dad hit me, or after my mom called me useless, or after a fight with my brother or friends.

No one seemed to ever come to Stark's Pond any more but me. We used to always come here when we were young, just to hang out. Up until sixth grade, all of the kids would constantly be here. And then up until ninth grade, all of us would come here if we were sad. I don't know what happened, but now it's just me. Maybe they have better things to do. I guess if Kyle or Stan have anything going wrong in their lives, they'd rather just go over to each other's houses, instead of here. They've just gotten closer over the years. And Cartman- if he ever has anything more than a petty problem, that is- would probably jut suck it up for fear of getting laughed at if he was caught. After all, it's not like anyone would give him sympathy.

Or maybe I just never grew out of something that we were supposed to let go of. It is senior year, after all.

Not like that means anything to me. Time. I hardly blink an eye and a month passes, or a day feels like years. My life is kind of like sitting in an empty white room with no windows and no door. You lose track of time, you lose track of people, and you lose track of yourself and your thoughts.

I'm not sure when I fell asleep on the bench, but by the time I woke up, it was pitch black. There weren't even any stars I could see. I guess it had gotten cloudy.

Four thirty in the morning. I sighed and walked home slowly, pulling a cigarette and my old black lighter out of my back pocket. I blew the smoke in front of my face and watched it slowly disappear.

My house was dark when I got home, of course. All the lights were out. I highly doubt my parents even noticed I wasn't there. Maybe they thought I had died again or something. I dropped my cigarette on the porch and slid my heel over it before going to my room and collapsing on the bed.