I rolled out of bed, blocking out the screams from my drunk, white trash, worthless parents. I don't mean to seem like a brat, but I'm pretty sure an orphan home could have raised me better than they have. I rubbed my hair out of my eyes and stared into the mirror. Nothing to be ashamed of, but my matted down hair and dirt ridden face masked it all together. But, after all, who was I trying to impress? I had DIED last night. Not that anyone cared. I pulled on my orange parka, grabbed my bookbag, and jumped through the window. A short walk to the bus stop, and I was greeted by the three people who I've spent my entire life with. Stan Marsh, a dark haired, skinny, activist. Kyle Brofloski, red haired, tall, athletic extrodinare. And finally, Eric Cartman, a fat, sarcastic asshole. I was greeted by their usual ,"hey Kenny's", and an insult from Cartman. I shuffled my feet beside them, and waited for the bus to South Park lunch time, I followed the guys around to the back of the school. "I'm telling you Kyle, you are going to hell.""Cartman, I swear to fucking god, say one more thing about me being Jewish and I'm ripping your eyes out.""You can't swear to god, youre Jewish",Cartman said between bites of samwhich.I blocked out the protests of Kyle, and lit a cigarette out of my pocket. An unheathly addiction, I know, but it's not like i'm going to die from it anyway. It's always good to escape the world once in a while, or in my case, a pack a day. I slid down the side of the school, and pressed my hand into the cold snow. The numbness travelled up from my fingers, up into my hand, and before I knew it Stan was shaking me, a concerned look on his face. "Kenny!" he shouted "I said, are you okay!" "No", I mumbled back. Apparently it must of sounded like a yes, because he turned around and continued his conversation with Cartman about the latest Modern Warfare game. I sunk back into my state of semi-conciseness, only to be disturbed by the dismissal bell.I walked home through the snow, and looked up into the pale, cloudy sky. That's all my life seemed like anymore. Pale. Who was even there to stop me from harming myself in any way, if I did? Sure, Stan and Kyle would feel bad, but theyd go on with their lives. Cartman wouldn't even stop to think for a second, and my parents would be happy, at least. It's not like I could commit sucide anyway, so it was pointless to think about. I walked up my front steps, and opened up the beaten up door, only to find Karen, crouched aginst the wall, being cornered by my drunk father. "Well, K-Karen, this will be the last time you tell me you h-hate me! What you g-gonna do? Walk out like your f-fucking deatbeat m-mother?" he raised a beer bottle, and Karen screamed, tears streaming down her face. He swung the bottle down, and hit her across the face. I ran over to him as fast as I could, and tackled him to the ground. He grabbed the pocket-knife from his pocket the sliced it across my face. I fell backwards, and he stood over me, laughing. "Kenny, my s-son. Don't think you can run out of h-here like your m-mother. You're l-legally mine. MINE!" he screamed, raising his fists and beating whatever I had left out of me. I struggled for a while, then gave out. There was no point anymore. "You're mine!" was the last thing I heard before I blacked out.I woke up several hours later. It was dark out, as far as I could tell. The lamp was broken, along with most of the things in the living room. My "father" was passed out on the couch, an empty vodka bottle hanging from his fingers. I rubbed my head, sinking back into conuisness. I tried to recall what had happened. All I could make out was my drunk father, running towards Karen. "Karen!" I shouted, looking frantically around the room. I saw a dark figure shaking in a corner, her face masked with dried blood and tears. I scooped her up in my arms, and whispered to her,"it's okay, we're getting out of here" as I quitley walked out the front door. I guessed it to be around 12, according to the position of the moon. I had learned that from my fare share of sneaking out of the house. As I walked down the street, Karen still attached to my back, the average nightcrawlers were out. Druggies and prostitutes roamed the streets, looking for a quick buck. As I walked by them, they knew not to mess with me. I've had my fare share of mistakes, also. I had no idea where me and Karen were going, but anywhere was better than at home. A few blocks later, Karen was shaking again from the snow. I cared about her more than anything, and if she was cold, I would do whatever I had to do. I don't know if I was crazy, or had been cheesing for that matter, but my feet turned themselves up into Eric Cartman's front porch, and my hand regrettably knocked on his front door.