A/N: This is really all over the place and just BAD in general. I don't like it. I just made it 'cause I was feeling down and out and decided to post it. Don't kill me, please. Hehe. I don't own the characters, etc. just the writing itself. Or whatever. Yeah. Enjoy. Or not.
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Eric Cartman felt the need to control everything.
His lunch, his cat, his friends, his life, his friends' lives… everything.
He kept everything from being destroyed.
He was a hero.
He was always there to keep things the way they ought to be: no change, no consequence.
Everything was perfect.
People grow up, even Cartman did.
He grew up and over.
He was bigger than everyone else. "Obviously" one might say, and he would smirk. He was misunderstood. He was bigger than everyone else in a much more grand way than girth.
He was God.
He knew it and so did everyone else, he figured.
God rules all.
God is God.
Cartman is God.
God is Cartman.
Cartman is Cartman.
I could laugh.
Yes, he was certain that he ruled life and beyond; but he never could prove it.
He also ruled death.
This he could prove. And he did.
"No one can tell me how to live," he said to me once, "and no one can tell me how to die. I do what I want when I want, and how I want it."
I never bothered to argue. It didn't seem important.
Fear.
He was run by fear and power, always. But mostly fear.
He feared Kyle's strength.
He feared Stan's common sense.
He feared Butters would gain enough self-confidence to beat him.
He feared his mother would stop loving and caring for him.
He feared death.
People say you should face your fears. I never thought he would.
He worked to keep people restrained, always. It was his way.
He realized he needed to restrain himself.
When he was found the next day, a note was found with him, bloodstained but readable.
It spoke of fear and hate and realization.
He had never feared Kyle's strength.
He had never feared Stan's common sense.
He had never feared Butters would gain enough self-confidence to beat him.
He had never feared his mother would stop loving and caring for him.
He had never even feared death.
His only fear was himself.
Because inside of him was nothing.
Nothing but a creeping darkness that inhabited his every pore and deliberated his every move.
He feared himself.
As always, he ran.
He ran far, far away.