Cynic
The sky was painted a somber grey, suggesting an upcoming snowstorm or maybe even cold September rain. Either way, it seemed to cast a shadow over the mountains, the same way it had done yesterday and the day before that. Could even be the day before that, too; Stan couldn't quite remember. How many times will he say 'yesterday'?
Every day felt more or less identical to the last, to the point where they would blur together and obscure his memory. It was a strange and somewhat foreign feeling.
That morning, Stan appeared at the bus stop before his friends. Not too long after, Kyle and Cartman showed up, bickering about the same things they bickered about yesterday. As Kenny arrived minutes later, their arguing faded into the background as white noise. He had grown quite accustomed to tuning out his surroundings, but in doing so, was left alone with his thoughts.
Stan stared straight ahead. Did the day, the month, the week, the year really matter? Did it really? Tomorrow, today will blend in with all the other days, and he'll forget it just like the others. None of what he does will matter in one hundred years. Hell, time will just keep moving. Despite knowing this, Stan wonders why it feels like it's stopped.
So that begs the question, why did he get up that morning?
He finds himself asking this question more and more frequently, as each day grows increasingly monotonous and life becomes progressively stagnant. And, to be honest, he hasn't been able to answer it.
Of course, he gets up because he has to. He has to go to school, but why? Why not just spend the day in bed? At least it deviates from the routine tedium.
Suddenly, Stan realizes that among the passage of time, he'd forgotten something important; things hadn't always been this way. He and his friends would go on adventures, and the town would always be in some sort of peril. But this memory was distant and bitter, as he wondered if it would ever be regained.
He wasn't a child anymore, he was grown up. Ten years old. Perhaps the happiness from two, three years ago would never be felt again. Maybe this constant static would never end, maybe this is what life will be for him.
The slow and steady falling of snowflakes crashed his train of thought. Stan watched as the flurry piled onto the blanket that already covered the landscape. He reminded himself that the past likely wasn't always as great as he remembered, and that bad things were easily forgotten for him.
Still, despite knowing this, the disheartening gloom on his shoulders was hard to shake off. Maybe soon, something exciting will happen in South Park; something to paint the world with color. He placed all of his sentiment and hope into this thought, though feeling apprehensive and a bit nihilistic about it.
No, no. Something has to happen, then he'll feel fine. He can forget about this quiet existentialism soon, once something happens. Time is always moving, and nothing lasts forever. He cursed his hypocrisy.
Stan Marsh stood at the bus stop, tuning himself back into reality. He heard Kyle end the discussion with a curt insult as the school bus slowed to a halt in front of them.