Slowly, his eyes flickered and he could feel his consciousness returning to the cold, unforgiving world. Reality.

He tried to cling on to the last fragments of the dream, but it just slipped away, like water through his fingers. A rambling, incoherent mess.

He was really awake now, lying on a soft surface, his cheek pressed against it. His mouth tasted terrible, like something had died in his throat. But the only thing he cared about was the pain.

It felt like someone was beating on the inside of his head with an anvil. He'd gotten hungover before. This was so much worse. He pressed his fingers to two points in his head, just behind his eyebrows, and closed his eyes. At that moment, it all came back.

His name was Eric Theodore Cartman. He was 18 years old and lived with his mother. With no job, no education and no formal training.

How did he get into this state? His memories chased each other around his mind. Vaguely, he remembered taking electronic products in high school. And scribbling on walls, damaging his teachers' cars, and viciously bullying his classmates.

Maybe he thought there would be do consequences. All his life, he was used to people letting him get away with things. When they finally kicked him out of high school, he had felt overjoyed. He hated school. He hated those people, who called themselves his friends but didn't actually know him.

But things changed. Now that he could really stay in and do nothing all day, the fun very quickly wore off. He was a purposeless, lost, drifting through his life and wasting his time. Wasting himself.

Since his mother was drinking, to wash away her misery and depression, he borrowed some of her alcohol. He also knew that she took cough medicine as a drug to get her high, so he started using that too. And once he turned eighteen, he started on cigarettes. At that point he didn't care what happened to his health.

There were people who did, though. His friends. His past friends.

When was the last time he'd seen them? Weeks or months ago, he couldn't remember, the three of them paid him the last visit. Stan, Kyle and Kenny. He had raged and screamed at them and wallowed in his anger and self-pity...

He pressed on his head even harder. squeezing his eyes shut, trying to clear his head. He couldn't think about it. About them. The pain was becoming unbearable.

"Mom," he called out.

No response.

"Mom!"

Still nothing. Eric swallowed his anger and frustration and tried to get himself out of the bed. He missed the floor and crashed to the ground in a flailing heap. The world spun around him. He was too disoriented to get up.

After a few moments lying on the cold ground, he grabbed the door handle and pulled himself up. His legs had a hard time supporting his weight, but at least he could still fit through the door. He was overweight, mostly because his mother often bought him fast food. That, and her inability to refuse him.

He lumbered off, found himself an aspirin and put it in his mouth, gagging it down his throat with water. He then made his way back into his room and collapsed on the bed. He really didn't feel like getting out of the room today. Maybe he could-

When he woke up, it was 1:42 in the afternoon. His head felt slightly better, but was still sore.

Going on his phone, the first thing Eric found was a text from his mom. She was out working, and would be back for dinner. Of course. She was now a cook at a tiny fast food joint on the other side of town, since she had gotten kicked out of her past job. She was too old and frumpy for that job.

She had left him money for food. He was ravenously hungry and famished. He needed to eat.

Eric really didn't feel like getting out, so he called for a pizza delivery and lazed around, waiting.

After going online to kill a little time, the doorbell rang. He let them wait for a minute, then got up and lumbered down to the door. The delivery man stood outside, a tall young man with blond hair. Eric accepted the pizza and paid up before slamming the door. Through the doorhole, he saw the man scowl as he turned and left.

He didn't know what happened next. One moment he was opening the pizza box, the next it was 7:00 pm and he was lying stoned in a chair. What did he even do to pass the time? He vaguely remembered gaming and watching television, while getting high. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day...

He knew what the problem was. He just didn't like to admit it. Back in high school, he had never been happy either. He was always angry, at his friends, his mom or something. That was the only way he ever used his intellect - for devising elaborate revenge plans to get back at the people who hurt him. He had a way with words and was manipulative. Somehow, the people who picked on him ended up hurt, or worse.

When he dropped from school, he had been glad. Finally, he no longer needed to sit in a hard chair for 10 hours a day, listening to an old man ramble on about things he never wanted to know, and would never need to. The feeling of freedom and liberty only lasted a week or two before he came to hate it too.

And now, he couldn't even take out his anger on other people. This time, the only enemy was himself.

He heard a faint, unmistakable sound. The door slamming against the doorstop. Footsteps. His mom. Then she was next to him.

"I'm back, sweetie," his mom said, tapping on his shoulder. "I brought you food. How was your day?"

"It was terrible," Cartman said flatly. "I hated it. Now give me the food."

Liane Cartman hugged him briefly before putting a plastic bag full of junk food on the table. "I got you your favourite food, honey. Chicken, fries and a soda. With gravy, the way you like it."

With a grunt, he grabbed the paper box and ripped it open, while his mom sat across him, eating the same meal. They ate in silence. Cartman wasn't that hungry, but he stuffed his face full of food, forcing it down his throat and swallowing with gulps of soda. Which wasn't sweet, but was sharp against the roof of his mouth.

"Eric, did you think about it?" his mom asked, breaking the silence.

"No, Mom. Never."

"But-"

"Damn it Mom. How hard is it for you to understand? I didn't apply for it. And I don't need or want it."

"All right, Eric. But if you change your mind, our place could always hire you. The pay is decent, but at least you get free food."

Eric ignored her and continued eating, waving away his mom's efforts at conversation. After polishing the bones with his teeth, he got up from the chair. "Bathroom," he grunted, leaving his mom to herself.

A minute later, he slammed down the toilet seat and got down on it. The hinge groaned under his weight and he forced soft brown gunk out into the bowl. After a few moments of pushing, the pain in his stomach subsided.

His vision went blurry, and the world spun around him. He felt dizzy, lightheaded, and just burned out. Spots flashed in his eyes. He needed a rest. Just a quick break -