Disclaimer: South Park isn't mine.

Claimer: There are four lines of a poem after Eric's journal entry. It's the ending of an actual poem that I wrote a year ago. If you want to read the rest of it, I'll send it to you, but please don't use it in anything without consulting me first. My poetry is very dear to me.

Author's Note: You'll notice the rating has been changed to M…this is because of events in this chapter. If self-harm bothers you, don't read this chapter. He's not suicidal, though…that may be even more disturbing to a few of you. If you find the practice of witchcraft or the belief in spiritual things to be disturbing, you also should not read this chapter.

Cartman's POV

I can't believe I actually expected much to happen at school today. I guess I thought everything would just go back to the way it was before, but everything changed and I was left out of it. I might be different, but I'm still the same. I think I'll always be the same, no matter what I try and do. Like today, with Kyle. We were getting along fairly well, and then I had to laugh at him and make him all angry at me. "Hello, poopsikins, how was school?" Mom hadn't changed a bit, but I guess I couldn't blame her because my attitude towards her was about the same as always. "What do you think? I'm going downstairs to watch TV." I never really spend much time in my room, except at night. Normally I'm in the basement. I just feel so much safer underground, for some reason. I'm not going to watch TV, though. Why bother with such a trivial thing as television? No, it's time to write some more poetic crap in my diary. Let's get it out of my system, just for right now.

Today was destined to be a day of thought. As I walked to the bus stop, I could feel how the world had shifted in time; how it was then and how it is now. I knew change was in the air today. Change is a tricky thing. If you change with the world, you may lose yourself. If you don't change with the world, you may wish you had lost yourself. Or sometimes, it isn't you that you lose. But in the big picture, your losses don't really matter. Are you going to look back thirty years from now and call yourself a loser for your previous losses? Probably not. In thirty years from now I'll probably look at this book and scold myself for wasting pages on this. But this is what's important to me right now. Today, I chanted my poem. I don't know when I started believing in all this spiritual mumbo-jumbo, it doesn't even follow a pattern. But it's an addiction; an addiction to cover up my addiction. And he saw me doing this most sacred of acts. But I didn't care, didn't acknowledge his presence…sometimes I wonder if it is actually more painful to hide my feelings than to just let myself feel the pain.

I like keeping a journal. It allows me to keep track of thoughts I would never tell anyone. It also helps me to keep track of my "spells". I know that witchcraft doesn't really work, but ever since last year my true addiction has led me to desperate measures…up to and including so called black magic. I pulled my hand away from my side and studied it…the cuts I've received make me shiver, so I flip my hand over. I know in a few minutes I'll have a cut there too. I'm taking out a piece of paper now, this is the seventh day of the spell and this is how to complete it. I hit my hand a few times, to numb it. No matter what I do, though, this is going to hurt. Taking off the necklace, I allow pain to flow through me. Emotional pain always blocks out physical pain, I've learned. I've learned it the hard way, too. Finding the sharpest edge, I dig the necklace into my skin, drawing blood. My hand is bleeding freely now, but I make no attempt to stop it.

Face the window
One last time.
Draw the knife;
Say goodbye.

Four simple lines, written in my own blood. To this day, I can't answer why I've turned to this. It doesn't help, it doesn't block pain at all. But it's become my addiction, it calls to me like marijuana calls to some people. I don't want to do this. I scream inside my head every time I let myself do this and let myself lie about it. I could tell the truth, I could get help for it now, and I wouldn't have to go through this again…I wouldn't have to deal with the pain of hiding my secret away every day. But I know there's only one person I would ever admit this too, and that is the one person that would probably never care.

I trace the edge of the Star of David necklace. I should probably wash it off, after all the edge is bloody now. I'm not bothering to clean my hand up, either. It doesn't hurt, and it's not bleeding very badly at all. I wonder why everyone complains about cuts on their hands…they don't hurt as much as oh, say, your wrist? I'll never understand suicidal people. But that's okay, because I don't think the suicidal people will ever understand me. After all, they self-harm to die, and I self-harm to live. We're completely different. I think I'm done here. I'm taking my note now and leaving the house. What has to be done next shouldn't be done inside one's home.

I feel Pagan, now. I always was very intolerant of religion, but now I'm just being hypocritical when I say something mean about what others believe. After all, I now believe in one of the stupidest things to have ever been invented, and I was perfectly fine with it. I climbed to the mountains behind Kyle's house, that way I can look at it while I release my spirit to the wind. I prepared for it this morning…I branched myself out until my soul became one with the elements, and determined that on this seventh day, I would release my wish and will to the Earth and let the outcome be decided by fate. And that is exactly what I plan to do now.

Kyle's POV

I don't think Cartman noticed I can see him out my window. I hope he doesn't notice, either. I get the feeling this is something he wouldn't want me to see…although, why is he standing near my house, then? Uh oh, he's pulling out a match, does he smoke or something? I never thought he was on drugs, but if he was that would sure explain a lot. Hey, what's he doing now? He's lighting paper on fire? Why? Oh no, not again. He's holding the burning paper out in front of him, and is clutching that necklace again and now is chanting…he looks like he's reading the paper, though, which doesn't make any sense. If what's on the paper is so important, why is he burning it? It's then that I notice his hand. What the hell happened to it? There's this really small cut on it, it doesn't look like a big deal, but there's a lot of blood coming from that cut and it all dried on his hand, making it look like he got attacked by a bear or something. I'm almost tempted to go out there, but I don't think he would be happy that I interrupted his whatever. Oh crap, he's looking this way. I duck down before he can see me; I'm going over to Stan's house in about five minutes and I'll probably end up seeing him outside. I really don't feel like explaining why I was spying on him.

I guess I should leave about now. I was late to Stan's the other day and he got kind of mad. I know he has a bit of a temper but really…was it worth it? I don't think so, but whatever. I'm not going to be late again. I can see Eric heading back to his house, and I just called out his name…wait, what? What did I do that for? Great, he's turning around. "What happened to your hand?" Fuck. I can't believe I just said that! Can I see it from here? Luckily, I can. "What do you mean, Kyle?" He's hidden his hand in his pocket. "Don't lie to me, Cartman, I saw your hand! What happened?" He looks a little ashamed. Maybe he came out second-best in a fight with his history homework or something like that, I've seen paper cuts cause that much blood before. "Curiosity killed the cat, Kyle." "I'm not a cat!" "It's really none of your business, Kyle." He had a point, but now I'm just arguing for the sake of arguing. "I don't care, asshole. Tell me what you did!" Uh oh, did he do that himself on purpose? He's shaking and looking positively frightened. "What…I…did? Try society, Kyle! Try the world! But don't ever accuse me." I feel so bad…he's walking away now. "Cartman, wait!" He stops and half turns around. "What?" "I'm going over to Stan's now…do…do you want to come?" I think Stan's going to be mad that I invited Cartman, but it's the least I can do. He's going through some emotional problems right now, I think. Or maybe he's just being Cartman. I really can't tell.

Cartman's POV

It's amazing how small South Park is. It only took about five minutes for me to walk to Kyle's house, and it'll only take about two to get to Stan's house from here. I think Kyle regrets inviting me, as I regret admitting it was my fault I had a cut up hand. At least he doesn't know the whole story. We're walking along in silence, and I hear him sigh and see him look up at the clouds. I wish I could say something, but I can't. I can see Stan's house, though, so I won't have to suffer through much more of this. I can see Stan now, too. He's standing on his porch, probably waiting for Kyle. He looks at us and waves. I raise my hand up as well, but only get half-way before I put it back down. He's waving to his best friend, not me. We might be friends, but Kyle still ranks above me. He's glaring at me now. I bet he's a bit upset I'm here. "Hey, fatass! You walk over here and then don't have the decency to wave to me?" Oh! I'm pleasantly surprised by this turn of events. "Um…sorry." There's not much I can really say. Kyle looks surprised too, but pleasant wouldn't be the word I would use to describe it. "You're…happy…that I invited him?" Stan frowns. There is no good answer to this. If he says yes, he disappoints Kyle. If he says no, he disappoints me. So he goes for option three: changing the subject. "Come on in! There's an old Terrance and Philip marathon on TV right now, want to watch it?" We both nod our heads yes and follow him inside. Kyle looks a bit sullen. He gets over it fairly fast though, mostly because when we walk in Kenny is sitting on the couch. "You bastard!" Kyle yells in true fashion, mock punching Stan. "Sure, you make me feel like crap for bringing Eric over and you have Kenny over here?" "Dude, I didn't intentionally make you feel like crap…wait – Eric?" Kyle's blushing now. "Um, I meant Cartman." I can see Stan raise his eyebrow, but he says nothing. Kenny's just been watching the whole thing, trying not to laugh. Our eyes meet, and we smile at each other. Kenny and I have been there for each other through some tough times, and he's one of my best friends. I'm not sure if he considers me to be one of his best friends, but I hope he does.

It's kind of nice, that it's just the four of us. It kind of reminds me of the old days – the days before I had so much to worry about. Butters is almost always with us now, at least when he isn't grounded. I'm not sure why he isn't here right now – probably because he didn't know I would be here. I'm trying to focus on the TV, but I just can't. My eyes keep on drifting over to Kyle – certainly not something I want everyone else in the room to notice, but they're all paying attention to the show, unlike me, so they probably won't. He's wearing his hat again, sadly. His hair is just adorable, he finally persuaded his mom to let him cut it a bit and now it curls reasonably, falling into his eyes sometimes if he shakes his head. He's laughing now, as are the rest of them, and I laugh too. I have no idea what's going on, but I don't want to appear weird. He leans back against the couch and folds his arms behind his head, he looks really relaxed and content. I wish he would look that way more often when I see him. He's always on his guard around me. He's turning around now, and I freeze as his emerald eyes seek my brown ones out. He's smiling at me. "Lighten up and watch the show, Cartman. You only live once."

Author's Note: Okay, so I'm not exactly happy with this chapter. I'm not sure I can ever see Cartman turning to self-harm or witchcraft, no matter how messed up he is. But it's necessary for what I want to do with this story later…I've tried writing it without it and it just doesn't work. Hope I didn't scare too many readers away with this one…