Rated M for suggestive language and violent themes. Suitable for 14/15+

/Hey guys. I've never done a fan fiction before, but this should be a start. If you can, tell me what I can improve on to make my stories more readable. Thanks. I'll be updating each chapter once or twice every day or so. If writing is delayed over a week, email me at nikkoscott24./

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park, nor do I contribute to the show in any way.

Warning: Explicit dialogue and negative content. No sexual material included - [Appropriate for 14/15+]

PROLOGUE

"Kenny!" A shout awakened me from my dreams. My heavy eyelids slowly lifted, as my subconscious faded to reality. I released a moan, muffled through my thick parka.

My vision grasped the sight of Mr. Garrison, angrily standing in front of my desk, with his hands holding his hips. I must have fallen asleep in class again. His face started to stir. I scanned the classroom, observing everybody's reactions. Stan had his mouth slightly parted. Kyle slipped a glance at the commotion. I turned to Wendy Testaburger. She looked at me with a concerned face.

My name is Kenny McCormick.

I've once again found myself, stuck in hell-hole 6th grade. Mr. Garrison was forced to teach us 6th grade, even though he was our 4th grade teacher too, for an uninformed reason. He was our math teacher.

"Young man, you do not fall asleep in my class!" He lectured.

Mr. Garrison shuffled back to the chalkboard, before proceeding his teaching. "Anyway children, if G = 27/3, C..." He rambled on, and my ears stirred back into my imagination, while maintaining to stay awake.

Before Mr. Garrison could finish his algebra lesson, the bell rung, like riding chopsticks across of a high-pitched xylophone. We all picked up the backpacks near our desk in unison, before heading out the door. Mr. Garrison rushed to conclude his math problem.

"Uh! If C = G6, C = 48!" He urged, as we left the classroom in immediate commotion.

Wendy confronted me.

"You're going back to your house, right?" She said. Wendy was my best friend. The only person I would call my friend besides Butters is Wendy. We were closer than me an Butters, though. I was her friend to support her when she needed it. She was my friend to support me when I needed it. I was her shoulder to cry on. She was my shoulder to cry on.

"I don't know..." I replied, unassured of what I would do. "Probably hang out at Stark's Pond. As usual. All that happens at my house is drunken arguing." I said. Wendy already knows it. I've told her several times, and she's witnessed it first-handed. I exhaling a timid laugh to mask my sadness that had struck me. Wendy, being the analytic pundit, she saw past my mask.

"You can come over to mine, if it's okay with your parents." she sympathetically offered, concerned.

"My parent's won't care. Even if they're not drunk. I just need to unload my shit first." I responded. I then departed to the front door, taking off.

I felt like running.

And so I ran.

I don't know why. I just wanted to run home. I just wanted to run. I was in no hurry. I would be welcomed home to a war zone of yelling, drinking, and hitting. My parents didn't really care about me. In fact, it's fair to say they hate me. Go ahead and call me a apathetic pussy, but imagine having to live in a decrepit house, where you have to prey it doesn't collapse on you, in the center of a toxic wasteland area, having to come home to this;

Opening the door, a two-liter glass empty bottle of whiskey flew across the room, shattering against the wall adjacent to me. The glass shards and drops of whiskey shot in separate directions, mostly near me. I shielded my face with my arms.

"Jesus!" I exclaimed. I shouldn't have been surprised. But I was.

chapter in progress