Ignorance is bliss.

The asshole who came up with that saying sure knew what he was talking about. I have been living in a state of peaceful happiness for the past few months, shoving the perturbing knowledge that this day, this exact moment, was sure to roll around the corner sooner or later.

April 2nd: a day which will live in infamy. The day that Eric Cartman was accepted into the University of Colorado for a business major. He was the third, or rather, the last of my friends to be accepted into the college of his dreams. Stan is heading to the same college, alongside Cartman, for an English major. Kyle, being slightly more intelligent than the others, decided upon going to the University of Denver in order to be as close as possible to his buddies, without it taking a toll on his education too much. It was amusing that April 2nd was the date chosen by the higher powers to be the worst day of my life. For if it had been a day earlier, I might have been able to hold on to the slight thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, it was some sort of sick April Fool's joke. But alas, no, today was the day when the laughter stopped. They all claim to have chosen schools in Colorado so that we could still try to maintain the classic quartet, but I know that they'll soon forget about me. They're all moving on, and will continue to do so. I'll never even get the chance to start.

I lean back in my chair and take a swig of the warm beer in my hand, staring at the wall. I don't drink because I want to feel like a bad ass, or even because I like it, but probably because it's the only thing to drink in this house. And maybe to improve my mood a little. Hell, you can't even drink the water here in this shithole. I really don't think I should be drinking it, though. I know I shouldn't be drinking it. Because I share a room with four little siblings and even though I'm alone now, who knows when one will randomly pop up behind you unexpectedly. This is probably going to be one of the worst things ever said, but they probably shouldn't even be on this planet right now. My parents are the type of people who just keep.. reproducing even though it's obvious they shouldn't. They don't have the time. They don't have the parenting skills. And they sure as hell don't have the money to make this an even tolerable, sane place to live.

If I had been brought up differently, I would be a better person instead of the waste I am today. When I was younger, around third grade or so, Kyle came to my house to sleepover. The next day his mother called my house and demanded to speak with one my my parents. I mostly just remember my dad screaming at her through the telephone, his face growing crimson in color. He ended up slamming the phone to the ground. My mom asked him what the problem was, and he told her that Kyle's mom had requested that I live at their house instead of my parents' house. They were both furious and enraged, and me being so naïve, I was naturally enraged alongside them. But now if I had the choice to go back in time and live with Kyle's family, I would have packed my bags in a heartbeat.

I get up from my chair quickly and head over to my closet, ripping an orange t-shirt from one of the hangers. I stick my head through it and each arm indistinctly goes through the short sleeves. I go walk over to the mirror and look at the person staring back. Instantly, the dark purple bags under my eyes causes one word to flash through my mind in bright neon letters: Tired. Tired of being used. Tired of being the one who's always left out. Tired of being a loser. My blond hair is shaggy and slightly choppy due to the fact that I have to cut it myself. I run my fingers through it and it looks a little neater. Finally, I lick my finger and wipe a smudge of dirt off from my chin. This is normally how I look everyday; the best I can do with the limited tools I have. I don't plan today to be any different. Before I know it, I'm heading over to my closet again. I reach for my black hoodie, all the way in the back of the closet, hidden so that my little brothers and sisters can't find it. After sliding it over my head, my hands rest in the pockets. I begin walking and soon I'm in the driver's side of my father's scummy pickup truck. I never planned on going anywhere today, but something tells me I'll soon find out where I'm supposed to be.

Today, as of April 2nd, I officially hate my life. From day one, I was told that "the plan" was to finish elementary school, middle school, and possibly high school. And straight after graduation day, if I could ever make it that far, I was to look for any type of job that I could get my hands on to help my parents' situation. Now I can't even comprehend how fucking blind I was to ever agree to that disgusting proposal my parents so selfishly planned. Maybe if someone had believed in me in the first place I would have applied myself in high school. I could be going off to college with all of my other friends, instead of being doomed to rot in this one-horse town, slaved to the two people who made me into the fuckup I am now.

I realize that I've been driving awhile. My tires glide across the thick, slippery ice. My mind hadn't even processed that I had even spent more than a few minutes driving, let alone the fact that I was about 10 minutes away from exiting the town of South Park altogether. A few people notice me driving and offer friendly salutations by waving. I eagerly comply, for in this town I'm actually quite popular; the guy who all the girls want to be with and all the guys want to be. But everyone knows that those types of guys always get a brutal wakeup call after high school. They realize that the real world is far, far different from the mediocrity of high school. They are unable to move on, so they spend the rest of their live reliving their prime years in their hometown. However, unlike the most of my type, I am aware of this future abrupt change. And I plan on doing something about it.

My right hand slips from the driving wheel unexpectedly and my car swerves. Nobody is on the roads with me to see this. Strangely, I feel a rush of adrenaline speed through my veins. Thank God that didn't happen a few moments into the future. There's a sharp turn coming up that if goes unnoticed, ends in your car falling off a huge, steep hill. And that ends in something even more horrific. Word on the street is that when I was in about fourth grade, some guy driving a bunch of aborted fetuses to a stem cell research lab fell off and died.

I don't know where I'm driving to, but somewhere along the way, the reality of my life sets in.

My name is Kenny McCormick.

I am eighteen years old.

I have two choices.

I can rot in South Park for the rest of my life and die a slow painful death..

or I can end it all right now.

My left hand soon slips from the wheel as well, following the example my right hand set. My car no longer has a navigator. My mind is somewhere else! My mind is thinking about.. Back to the Future. I snort. If only I could go back to the future.

"Where we're going we don't need roads!" I yell, imitating the famous line from said movie.

Then, my mind suddenly goes blank except for the scene played out in front of me. The curve has come and if I don't do anything within the next few seconds, I'm a goner. But.. I realize that I don't want to. And I don't.

The car slips off the curve and soon beings to flip over and over, my heart skipping multiple beats. Images of my family flash my mind, how they betrayed me the moment of my conception. But I realize even they wouldn't want this for me. Stan, Kyle, and Cartman are next. When they hear about this, they'll be devastated for sure. But there's no turning back, my car is spinning downwards and at this point I'm not even sure if my car is on fire or not.

And then everything stops.

April 2nd: a day which will live in infamy.