Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or Eric Cartman, Matt and Trey and Comedy Central do. Also, Sunday Morning, Yellow Sky is a song by October Project, specific copyright to Emil and Julie Flanders. It is a song of a prisoner, trapped inside himself and running from his imagination - or at least that's how I look at it. I thought it would be perfect as a title to this fanfic.
Author's Note: For some time now, I have longed to delve deep into the mind of Eric Cartman. He is certainly the most expressive character on South Park. His appearence changes more than any other character, and he is probably one of the most intelligent, although evil, characters. I haven't decided how this story will play out at all, so I'm guessing you'll be waiting a long time for an update. And when I say a long time, I really do mean a long time. I have a vacation coming up on July 17, where I might get some inspiration. So don't expect anything until August.
Prologue
I never realized how the sky played through all the different emotions through the course of the night. I have always seen the sky during the day – white, light blue, blue, pure blue, gray. All the variety that somehow seemed the same. But the night was different, somehow. The sky never got to be completely black. You would think that at a time like midnight, the sky would be a dark pitch black. But it never was. The sky was really only dark around 10 or so. That's as dark as it was going to get. At midnight, the sky was light. It wasn't so light that it would show through the windows, or anything. But it was light enough to make everything look peaceful. Ha. Peace. I snort with apparent laughter as my mind replays the word. Nothing is peaceful. You look at the world and think that it's all going to be okay someday, but it's all a lie. There is no such thing as peace.
Now it's 3 in the morning, and maybe I should be thinking about finally getting some sleep. But the sky is mesmerizing, and I don't really want to take my eyes off it. I always imagined that at 3, the sky would have dimmed to some faded midnight blue, like the color of old blue jeans. I had thought that at 3, it's rather like the point of no return. You survived through the night, and you can make it to morning, but you're stuck in a limbo because you can't remember when the light changed and when it'll change again. Instead, the sky is red. Not the fiery red of passion, but the thick red of blood. Almost like the sky is an open wound, screaming out its agony to any that will listen. And maybe that's what the rain is for. Maybe when it rains it's washing away the blood that's yet to come. But it isn't really blood. It's just the sunlight, washing you in guilt. Ha. I allow myself to laugh again at the thought of guilt, an emotion that plagues many people. Because it never plagues me. Never before have I felt the touches of guilt consume me. No, I have played off other people's guilt so many times I believe I have an understanding of it. But I have never experienced it. And so I laugh at the rising sun, for thinking it has fooled me.
My name is Eric Theodore Cartman, and I enjoy looking at the sky at night. For the sky at night reveals so many true emotions. Why, sometimes I think I can make my entire study of people just by stargazing, and paying close attention to the light. And sometimes, I go off daydreaming of the future while staring at the sky. Because someday, that sky will be mine. Mine to know and understand, mine to own. But for now, the sky is something to be admired, for it is one thing in the world that is greater than myself. And on a Sunday morning such as this, I admire the sky. For it is morning, now, and the sun has risen to greet the dawn, bathing the red which once was with first an orange, and now a yellow, glow.
Sunday morning, yellow sky.
Author's Note: These are actually a few thoughts I had, although laughing at the words is an invention just for the character. I happened to not be able to sleep one night and took some notes of the night sky, and I noticed these patterns. Originally, these thoughts would have gone to my other story, A Pure Beginning. However, none of the characters that I was focusing on really needed it. Eric did. So that is why this story was born. I hope you like it, and if you have any idea what I should do with it then please review, email, something. I need your help on this one.
