I take a look at myself in the mirror. Pulling up my shirt, I sigh in disgust. My stomach caves in, it's sunken in so much that you can count all of my ribs. My boxer-clad legs look like they're nothing more than bone, and my arms look the same. My pale blue veins are clearly visible through my nearly transparent skin. Bearing my teeth to the mirror, I see that they are beginning to turn yellow. The bags under my eyes are so dark it looks as if I haven't slept in years, I also feel like I haven't. In a desperate attempt to hide my grotesque body, I pull my old, tattered parka over my body. I pull the hood up over my dirty mass of blonde hair. My shoes are worn to the point that they have holes in them and they don't fit - at least without leaving bloody sores and blisters on my feet. I'm used to it by now, so I disregard the painful feeling of rubbing raw skin and tie the mangled shoes tightly. I take a swig of mouthwash. I'm not one for hygene, not that I have a choice, but I do enjoy having my teeth. With one more glance at the mirror, I notice that I look almost like a normal teenaged boy, minus the dirt on my clothes and the bags beneath my eyes.

Slowly and carefully, I creep my way to the back door of my family's barely-standing home and sneak out. My mother is insistant that I eat my breakfast; but the way I see it, the less I eat, the more Karen does.

I get to the bus stop where I stand with my so-called friends. They barely notice me, let alone talk to me. They think that I'm fine, they assume that I'm just quiet because it's in my nature. They didn't even notice that I had resumed wearing the old orange parka.

They probably didn't even realize my dad left my family, and I know they don't know how much worse things have gotten since. They haven't noticed that my mom is an alcoholic who barely takes the time to notice her kids, they don't know that my brother Kevin is locked up in some prison for trying to help my family. They can't see that I'm hungry, and they can't see that their poor jokes actually do hurt me. They just don't know anything about me anymore.

You see, my father left my family approximately six months ago. He said he couldn't put up with my mother anymore. About a year before he moved out, he stopped drinking and got a job. It shocked everyone. Somewhere along the lines, my mother got worse. None of us know what happened or why it did, but she began drinking more than I've ever seen a person drink. With my father gone and my mother in a constant drunken state, Kevin took up the responsibility of providing for Karen and I. However, he did it in the wrong ways. He shoplifted all of the food we ate and stole from the people that trusted him. But Kevin had a drug addiction, and when he was high, he just didn't think. He was reckless, he didn't seem to think he could get caught. But that's exactly what happened, he got caught for shoplifting and being under the influence of drugs.

So that left me, Karen, and my deadbeat mother. I was left alone to care for a maniac depressive, alcoholic woman and a young child at the age of fifteen.

Now you can ask anyone at my school, I used to have some potential. I could have been something. Up until the time I was fifteen, I was on the football team and I got good grades. I was even in an advanced English class. However, when I was left as the man of the household, things changed drastically. I couldn't make it to football practice anymore, and my mother's constant needs kept me up almost all night. I would fall asleep in class, and I never had time for my homework. I became less and less social as the days went on. My friends began to give up hope and stopped communicating with me for the most part.

At school, I get very few concerned looks. Either I'm putting on a good front, or I'm invisible. I'm pretty sure that it's the latter. I think there are a few people that see it though, well honestly, I'm positive there's at least one person: Craig Tucker. He doesn't know I know what he's doing. Don't get me wrong, I fucking hate charity. I hate getting people's pity and free things just because I'm poor. As much as they think it'll make me feel better, I'm more ashamed than anything else. But, I mean, if someone is going to leave a bag full of food in my gym locker, I'm not going to throw it away. Hell no. I take one or two of the snacks from the bag, and save the rest for my little sister at home.

You're probably wondering why I don't just go get a job. You see, being a McKormick, it isn't that easy. My family is known for alcoholism, drug use, domestic abuse, stealing, and being dirty. And in a small town like South Park, everyone knows everyone elses reputations and families. Needless to say, I won't be getting a job anywhere around here. Ever.

I walk home from school alone, no matter the weather. I can feel my feet bleeding, and I'm so exhausted that I just want to lie down on the snowy sidewalk and sleep for days.

I think of college once again. It's always been my dream to get into college. Almost every person in my class at South Park High School would be going to college. There are people like Kyle and Wendy that are extremely smart, and could probably get accepted into any college in America. There are people such as Stan, Craig, and Clyde: the jocks that are good enough that they get a free four year stay at Denver University. Token's and Bebe's parents have enough money to send five children to college. Kevin is going into some special effects company, Tweek is going to a fancy culinary school, and Butters is going to South Park Community College. They all have promising futures.

And then there are people like me. I blew it. I don't get another chance.

All they ever do is sit and complain about relationships, parents being unfair, getting grounded, and whatever other petty drama they're involved in. All I ever do is sit and daydream that I'm one of them. I know that will never happen.

I can feel myself growing weaker by the day. I'm completely overwhelmed with exhaustion, but I can no longer sleep. Standing up has become a challenge for me, as well as walking to and from school. I can't focus on anything. My body fat, as well as my muscle, is almost completely gone. It seems as if I'm always in a vertigo. The room spins as I stand and disappears as I sit. Not literally, it's just that as soon as I sit down, I'm spacing out. I haven't heard a single word a teacher has spoken in nearly two weeks. I feel like I'm a zombie, walking around in a swarm of people that don't know, too distant and too far gone to care. The dark circles under my eyes are a sickening mixture of purple with black; they give the impression that someone beat me senseless. In a way, I'm becoming numb. It seems as if I'm no longer hungry, as if I'm no longer physically inable.

I'm sitting by myself, once again, staring down at the table as if it's the most interesting thing I'd ever seen. I didn't even notice the noirette sit down, and I hadn't noticed him speaking to me. "-enny? Kenny? Are you okay?" I nod my head weakly, sad smile on my face. "Listen, Kenny. I know what's going on with you. If you need anything, you can come to me."

I can hardly manage words, but finally I speak, "I'm fine, really, Craig." Another sad smile, not at all convincing.

"Alright, I'm sorry for trying to help you, Kenny. But I've always been concerned about you. I'm sorry if you don't want my help, but the offer's still up. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Ken. Try to sleep well, you look sick."

"Thanks, Craig. I will, I promise." I manage a real smile. With this, the black-haired boy stands and walks away. This is the first time I've seen the 'bad-ass' Craig Tucker phased by anything.

It's another long, sleepless night for me. I lie awake and count the yellowed tiles on my ceiling. There is no sound, with the exception of my not-so-steady breathing and the menacing growls of my stomach. I've never felt pain like this before. I have to use all of my strength to double over and clutch my stomach. The feeling is indescribable, I can hardly hear my thoughts over the roar of my stomach. I'm sorry, Craig, I can't keep your promise. I can barely move, and I can't make a sound. I'm frozen. Then suddenly, I'm numb. I'm completely pain-free for the first time in years. Is this what death feels like? My consciousness begins to fade, flickering in and out. I try to fight it, I want to live. Please, please let Karen be okay when I'm gone. I'm giving up the fight. This is a war I just can't win. I finally stop breathing, and the rhythmic beating of my heart stops, never to beat again.

God, I'm coming home.