Erase, White-Out, Rewrite

A South Park Songfic

Cartman's POV, Kyle-Cartman Friendship Fic

Song: Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the story. All characters belong to Matt and Trey and the song belongs to TDG

This is the first Kyle-Cartman friendship fic I've ever written. Some of the things you just kinda have to piece together, and some things are just there. I hope you like it!


I hate myself.

Everyone in South Park hates me and I can't say I blame them. I just never thought I'd sink this low. Everyone knows Eric Cartman as the boy who thinks of only himself. So how would I end up hating myself?

Maybe I'm having a change of heart. I'm having it far too late. I dug my hole so deep that I can't reach the shovel. I'm stuck. No matter how nicely I treat people, they'll always remember that it was me who laughed at their pain and ignored their politeness. Treat others the way you want to be treated. I'm feeling that pain all right.

My best friends are gone. Even though I hated those guys, they were my friends. I pushed them too far and hurt them too much. If only I'd realized how much I'd need them now.

Stan Marsh went off to hang with his jock friends. He's going strong with Wendy Testaburger and is the star quarterback of the South Park High football team. After becoming immensely popular, he left his other two friends in the dust.

Kenny McCormick is popular too, but not for the same reasons. Girls are obsessed with the guy. Who can blame them? He's freaking gorgeous. Not in the gay way, but he liked it. He can't be found without a girl on each arm.

That leaves Kyle Broflovski. He's the only one that still talks to me. The kid has no friends because he's too obsessed with school to have any. He's the last to be picked for partners along with me. So we end up working together a lot.

I'm all alone. The truth is that I shouldn't be complaining. I brought this on myself. It's not anyone's fault but mine. Even that discovery doesn't make the pain go away.

I can't escape this hell
So many times I've tried
But I'm still caged inside

Sitting on my fat rear isn't going to cure any of this. I need a boost so that I can get to my shovel. At my state, I probably need a little more than a boost.

The worst place to be trapped is inside of your own mind. You can't escape your thoughts. You can't escape the things that shred your heart into tiny pieces. Every thought is vulnerable and every wish is crushed. The enemy is the same as the good guy. It really just depends on how you look at it.

There's only one person who can help me look at things differently.

Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can't control myself

"Cartman?"

Yes, I'm here. I'm cold, I'm shivering and I'm here. Are you happy? He lets me in with a concerned face and I gratefully step into the warmth.

"Dude, are you okay?" he asks.

I sigh and look around his crappy apartment. My eyes take in the peeling paint, the cracking walls, the broken window, the dripping ceiling and the smashed TV. This is my fault.

"No, I'm not," I reply finally, taking a seat on the lumpy old couch.

His worried look deepens and I feel guilt stab at my heart. "What's wrong, Cartman?"

Me. That's what's wrong. That's the simple answer. I'm wrong. However, I need to know something first. "Do you hate me?"

His face turns from worry to surprise. That's right, surprise. "What? No! Of course I don't hate you!"

Why are his eyes so genuine? Why doesn't he hate me? Look what I did to him! "But… but… I ruined your life."

"You didn't ruin anything," he says, "I'm sixteen and I have my own place! How neat is that?"

"It's a crappy place, Kyle," I say sadly, "You should be with your parents. You should be with someone who loves you."

He laughs bitterly and I'm a bit disconcerted. "Come on, Cartman. I hated my parents. You just helped me out, really. But this isn't about me," he says quickly, "It's about you."

"It's always been about me…" I mutter.

"Maybe it is," he agrees, "But right now it needs to be about you. Just tell me what's wrong."

Here it is, the boy I haven't talked to that much in about six years is automatically as concerned about me as a best friend would be. "I… don't know. I guess I'm tired of being me."

"You're tired of being a racist butthole?" he asks jokingly, but I'm too busy being surprised at how he caught on so quickly. "Okay, sorry," he adds, "What, is there a girl you like or something? Is she into sensitive guys?"

I sigh and shake my head. "No, it's not a girl. I want to change. I hate being me. I hate being a racist manipulative lazy fat jerk. I just wish I could become a new person without such a bad record. It's just bothering me that I'm such a terrible person."

"You're not a terrible person," he says quickly, "I don't think there's such a thing as a terrible person. I think everyone just makes mistakes. Some people make more mistakes than others."

I ponder that for a moment. That was pretty deep considering the fact that the guy never even talks at all in public. "You can erase mistakes," I say carefully, "But I've written this one in pen."

"There's always a way to fix it," he says, "You can use the white-out to get rid of the ink. It's thicker and harder to use just like the solution to your problem. A mistake in pencil can be erased and easily forgotten. A mistake in pen takes a bit of effort to correct, but in the end you'll have a perfect paper."

So what if you can see
The dark inside of me
No one will ever change this animal I have become

Going to Kyle was the right choice. He's killing me with all this work, but I want a perfect paper. He says that we need to first list out all the mistakes I need to find and fix. The list takes up six pages in Kyle's really small print. Most of my mistakes involve Kyle, and he surprised me by scratching all of those out. He said that I was already forgiven in his eyes.

After we were done listing out all of my errors, I thought I would just have to apologize for it. Then he asked me a strange question:

"Apologizing would just be erasing the mistake. You want to rewrite over it, right?"

I guess I did. It made me think of a number line. When I'd been mean to someone, my relationship with them was at… let's say negative six. Apologizing would bring me up to zero. Zero was neutral. It really wasn't much of a change, because I technically didn't exist. I needed to get back up to positive six.

Kyle said that the way to do that was to do something really nice for the people who I'd hurt in my life. After checking through my list, I saw that Kenny was the most ridiculed after Kyle. Most of my teasing had been about his money situation. Kyle said that my rewrite should be related to my mistake. Kenny has a lot of money now. How could I help him with the money situation?

I decide that I will pay Kenny a dollar for every poor joke I made at him. Kyle says that the gesture will be enough to bring me up to positive six.

When I arrive at Kenny's house, he's in the middle of an interesting activity with two girls at once. I hand him the money and tell him what it's about. He looks incredibly surprised and thanks me. I just nod and apologize. Kenny and me are at positive six. It's better than I've ever been with anybody except Kyle.

All of the sudden, this is beginning to seem possible.

Help me believe
It's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal

Next I have to cross zero with Stan. I mostly made fun of him for being a hippie and for being with Wendy. I can't think of any way to take the hippie stuff back, so I just call my great aunt at her farm. Apparently Stan and Wendy are having relationship troubles and my aunt says that these rare flowers cure any tension in love. I give the flowers to Stan and tell him that it will help him fix things with Wendy. I also apologize and get to positive six with him.

Although I seem to be whiting these things out, I can still see the faded ink through the white cover. My mind is still reeling with all the bad things I've done and the doubt that I've truly fixed them. The white out is really just covering it up, isn't it?

I can't escape myself
So many times I've lied
But there's still rage inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can't control myself

I tell Kyle about these feelings I'm having. He says that it really isn't possible to truly erase a mistake. He says it happened, and it will always be there; sort of like a tattoo. When I begin to feel glum, he adds more. He says that even though a mistake can never truly be erased, it can be forgotten.

I tell him to stop talking in damn metaphors.

He's saying that things can be fixed, even if they're not truly gone. When there's a crack in the neck of your guitar, you can put a bit of sealing stuff in it, and the crack looks mended. Although the faint outline is still there, you play the guitar like it's good as new. He says it's the same situation here.

Help me believe
It's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal

The story of my life was originally written in pencil. Then my behavior helped me trace all of the letters in ink. Now I'm here with an eraser and a white-out tool. The paper my story is written on is pretty screwed up, but I'm hoping that the final will turn out much better than the multiple rough drafts.

Maybe I'm just trying to justify this feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's like a balloon with pressure on the inside, but it just feels so light on the outside.

Kyle says it's called happiness.


There. It's done.

I liked this story, and I think it's one of my favorites out of all the ones I've written. This is only because it was the first time I'd really played around with similies and metaphors. I don't know if the actual plot is very good, or if it flows very well, but it was really just a test.

It's supposed to be kinda short. The only parts that are kind of long are the very first part and the part where Cartman and Kyle first talk to each other. The only reason I'm saying this is so that you know I'm aware that the paragraph lengths are a bit choppy. Sorry about that.

I really hope y'all liked this, and please review! I love to hear y'all's opinions on this crap.

PS- if you are a Fight Fear With Fire reader, sorry about the long wait. I have a C in my advanced math class, and the few times I've had to write have been devoid of inspiration for F.F.W.F. Hope this holds y'all over.