Author Note: Yes, yes, this is my first Fanfic, so go easy. It is very short; I didn't want to go for a 10 chapter book on my first try. I got a little inspiration from the song "Clocks" by Coldplay, hence the name, and it also happened to be playing when I was thinking of something to write. Stan is pondering his old life, remembering a few incidents along the way. Will he sink further into his cynicism, or will there be a somewhat little kind of light at the end of his long tunnel?

I do not own or take credit from Matt and Trey's South Park.

Clocks

Stan sighed and looked up from the swing set he'd resting on and gazed up at the sky. The sun was beginning to set on the first day in his new home after his parents split up. He looked at what he knew should be the sun, but instead saw shit. He groaned and face-palmed a few times, but nothing changed.

'I-I just wish I could go back in time or something...' he thought, 'just go back and warn myself about this.'

He chuckled quietly to himself- not like anyone else was around. He remembered back to the time when Cartman had gone all out on a hate spew against the Jews in a presentation during class. Even though he was the mediator, he couldn't help but laugh at the day-by-day arguments between his super best friend and "Fatass" Cartman. Cartman could be an ass sometimes, sure, but he knew get under Kyle's skin.

He thought back to the time he and his friends went into the dreams of their guidance counselor, Mr. Mackey, to find that his hoarding obsession contributed to the fact that he was molested by an owl as a child. Under normal circumstances, Stan would have thought he was high to accept something so strange as an everyday occurrence.

'It must be a South Park thing.'

He was reminded of the unpleasant times when he learned that Kyle was originally from New Jersey, when he uttered a similar phrase, and when Cartman was almost raped by Snookie from Jersey Shore.

'Ugh, cynical or not, that show is shit,' he concluded.

He sighed. He missed it all, from his weird and troubled friends, to his stupid parents, and even the sarcastic Mr. Garrison, there was something about all these people that he came to love.

'Ugh…no! Just- Jesus Christ!' Stan thought; he felt a stinging sensation in his eyes, which is normally accompanied by tears.

He couldn't face it any longer. He wanted his life to return to normal, what it was before all this- the daily grind of waking up, going to school, coming home, and repeating.

'At least then…at least my friends didn't think I was an asshole' Stan told himself, 'even my super best friend doesn't like me anymore!'

He thought of a song by the band Coldplay. He didn't really listen to them, but he heard his dad listen to it every now and then. He specifically remembered the song "Clocks", which was really the only one he liked namely because that was their only song that he knew.

'Home, home, where I wanted to go…home, home, where I wanted to go…'

Stan remembered those last few verses of the song, along with the trademark piano crescendo and the sudden loss of acoustics and drums when only the piano echoed into the end of the song. He was surprised that he could slightly relate to it; apparently his cynicism had spread its cancerous tendrils through the good music part of his brain.

'Maybe…maybe things will return to normal' Stan concluded. He thought…maybe…just maybe he saw a little raw of sun light which quickly returned to a slightly brown tinged color in the sky. He must have been seeing things, or that was his small little ray of hope.

He thought the little pieces of shit parading around, spewing more shit; those ones from the movie trailer, and his face screwed up into a sort-of wince.

"Egh!" he exclaimed, shaking his head, walking back toward his new home.

"Home, home…where I wanted to go….home, home, where I wanted to go….."

So, that's it! I didn't think it was too bad for my first try, but I'll leave that up to you to decide. We won't get our confirmed results until October 5th, when South Park resumes, so mark the date. I did –not- think I'd ever be saying this, but…

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Flamers are personae non grata.

I take Latin.