We broke into dreamland.
It seemed like a perfect idea. To have a theme park all to ourselves, like when Cartman owned his own but without all that cost bullshit. This was ours, even if everyone had long forgotten about the joy it brought to families, couples and everyone who entered.
We didn't care if it smelt like rotting wood and death. We didn't care if we could get in serious trouble if we got caught even near this area. We didn't care if this was looking Death right in his ugly ass face. Because this was
ours. And nothing was going to take that dream away from me.
Our surroundings were like those from a Hollywood horror film. Flog blanketed the ground and clouded the air, making you feel like you could choke with any passing breath. The air was slightly chilled, but we had lived with worse throughout our childhood. The smell of gasoline or some sort of toxic fumes lingered in the air before we had even so much as entered the park. The only thing stopping us from reviving this roller-coaster graveyard was one simple, rusted gate. You think they would have more, well, security for something that used to house family and friends. But this is South Park, and not much makes enough sense for many questions to be answered.
"Did you bring lock cutters?" asked the chubby brunette to my left. I let my dull cyan eyes drift in his direction.
Cartman had grown up since we were kids, or at least appearance wise he has. He lost some of his kiddy fat, but he still had his famous body type. His brunette hair had been exposed little from under his iconic poof ball hat, which made those beautiful orbs known as eyes brighter along with his complexion. The red jacket that once decorated his 4th grade shoulder and stomach had been discarded for a rebellious leather-like jacket, but we both knew it was fake. Whenever we went on adventures like these, he would wear a pair of old denim jeans that hugged his hips in all the right places. To finish off, scruffy-ish red trainers held inside his feet and socks, which I bet you had the Snacky Smores bear on them. Don't get me wrong, he still is the biggest asshole going, but he wasn't the same kid who everyone hated through school. He was more rebellious but in less of an annoying way like he was before.
As for me? Well I'm still just plain old McCormick stereotype. I wouldn't say I changed too much, I kept my style the same partly. I wore a once orange, but now the colour had gotten murky due to dirt and probably staining as I never washed it, parka. I still kept the hood up, liking the feel of the fur against my cheeks, but it didn't cling to my face or muffle my voice as it had used to. My blonde, shaggy hair had grown a little bit longer though it was usually concealed by under the hood but the front had become a little fringe that had to be pushed back every now and again. I let a pair of baggy, partly ripped (but not for the fashion, I could never get the hang of sewing enough to be able to fix them) jeans hang from my waist. Plus some pathetic trainers I must have had since I was 14, so they were more ripped then my jeans. But I was still McCormick. Plain old, pervy, poor and accidental prone Kenny everyone knew.
"Uh...no?" I replied. Of course I didn't bring some fucking lock cutters.
"For fuck sakes Kinny! Why didn't you bring them?!" the shorter one whined before letting out a sigh, "and don't even pull that 'I'm poor' excuse cause we both know you steal like a motherfucker." His voice was firm, and I loved it.
I simply rolled my eyes, kneel, and take a hold of the lock. Even without having to properly analyse, I knew it wouldn't take much effort to break it open. If there's one thing I've picked up from living 'in the ghetto' (as Cartman would say), it was how to pick any lock.
I let my pale hand slip into my jean pocket, where I usual kept some shaped paper clips along with various other things. Once I had fished it out, I got quickly on with my work.
"Hurry up you poor bastard!" Cartman groaned in annoyance, "Can't your filthy hands work any faster?"
"Calm down babe" I snigger slightly, knowing exactly how to push his buttons. I tried to focus on breaking this lock. I don't think he knew how much this meant to me.
From behind me I heard him huff if to end that conversation. He hated the name babe, especially when it was referring to his self, main due to him loving to be dominate one over everything. That came out more sexually then I previously had wanted it to.
I heard a 'clunk' on the floor, acknowledging the deed was done. I return to a standing position.
This is it. We are actually doing this. I feel a slight flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach. 'What if one of us gets hurt? What if the rides didn't work anymore and we have committed a felony for no good reason? What if there is some sort of murderous clown hiding behind something waiting to slit our throa-'
"Are you coming McWhoremick?" Cartman mocked me.
I was yanked out my thoughts by his voice. He walked up the entrance, passing the gates like it meant nothing to him. 'Well fuck me we're doing this!'
Seeing the actual entrance was more haunting then I would have guessed. Remember how I said I looked like a Hollywood slasher? Picture that but ten times more pant-shitting.
The colours of everything were washed of all happiness by a lifetime of abandonment, it seemed as cheerful as much as a dead puppy. The cheery pastel letters that used to spell 'Dreamland', spelt 'Dr_a_nd' which was very fitting. The remaining letters and the child who was meant to hanging over the sign were now rotting and disintegrating. The child's face leaking with despair, the rain had moistened the eyes making the child appear to be crying. The ticket booth looked completely rundown, mould sitting on the roof and the glass window smacked. The turnstile barriers that once stood proud and protecting, now looked beaten and broken. Not forgetting the ground. The pathed flooring was dotted with litter, broken wood and other building materials, also not leaving out the fallen letters. Part of my mind wondered if we were the first ones here, the other part was curious if we had made a wrong turn into an old movie set.
We just stood there for a little, having the broken glass crusted under our body weight, taking in the view. I guessed it wasn't also what Cartman was expecting either.
"What are we gonna do? Just stand here like brain dead idiots or are we going to get this show on the road?" Cartman spoke, obviously growing impatient. He started to make his was to the barriers, not looking back at me once. I quickly followed behind, not really wanting to be left.
The turnstiles were bent in off ways, which made me wonder how someone could even do that. The ticket slots had been rammed with litter and other junk, making anyone unable to reactivate them. That didn't stop Cartman from trying to squeeze his chunky body thought them, while I took the simple root of jumping over them. I made always been more athletic than him, mainly due to his body size, but I still wasn't exactly fit. My feet it hit ground, hearing the glass chunk under them. Turning to see how he was doing getting his body though the mangled turnstiles, I see he'd actually managed it. I had to admit it was impressive, which seems a bit mean.
'Here we are' my mind spoke up, 'finally in Dreamland.'