(Author's Note: So guys. Here's my first ever South Park fanfic. I had a hard time writing it because lately I've been bummed out, un-inspired and haven't had much time on the computer to do this. It's first person, Kyle's point of view. It may change from chapter to chapter, so don't get used to it. Also, I pretty much forced myself into using American words in this. 'Mom' doesn't sound... right in my head. This will, eventually, become a Style fanfic, but so far all you get is hints. Ha. I'll just stop ranting now and let you read it yourselves. If you have some ideas, please share. Frankly, I have no idea where the hell this'll go. Enjoy~)

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School. If there ever were some kind of award for a living hell, school would win first prize, for sure. It’s not like I hate school because I suck at it, I just hate school because it’s just so boring beyond words.
I know what you’re thinking. But no, I’m not a complete nerd. I only get good grades to make my parents happy, maybe even proud of me. But who cares about that? Good grades are just letters on paper that was invented to single out the dumb from the smart, which I think is pretty unfair. Unless, you think singling someone out because of how intelligent he or she are, is fair.
But, back to my story.
Today was like any other day in the boring town of South Park. The snow was still white, the trees were still green and I stood at the bus stop with the same three friends I’ve always stood with. Even though one of them couldn’t even be classed as a ‘friend’ at all.
Anyway, I may as well get the introductions over with.
First off, there’s Kenny. Kenny’s 17, like the rest of us, and a bit on the rough side, if you catch my drift. His Dad’s a serious alcoholic and, frankly, his Mom is too. They spend most of their time literally beating the shit out of each other, and, sadly, Kenny too. He doesn’t mind it, apparently, seems that he’s used to getting in to painful experiences, but it makes you wish he at least had enough money to buy himself some decent supper that didn’t include pop-tarts or soup.
Next up is Cartman. Now Cartman… He’s not someone I would call a friend. To be more precise, he’s more of an enemy than a friend. He constantly picks on me and enjoys nothing more than bullying everyone in to doing what he wants and getting what he wants. For my sake, I hope he gets run over by a truck, and soon.
And last, but definitely not least, is my best friend of all time, Stan. Stan and me have been through thick and thin, the good and bad and almost every scheme in the book (If there even is such a book).
Now, I know this’ll sound kind of weird, and kind of gay, but I think I like him. I mean… not just as a friend, but proper ‘like-like’ him. I don’t think he knows that, because I haven’t dropped any enormous hints or anything like that. Sure we go everywhere together and sure, I love every second of it, but I don’t do weird, gay things that'll give any hints. But I have to admit; I blush every time his arm or his leg brushes mine, which is a big deal in my case, but he never seems to notice. Stan’s pretty smart I guess, and maybe he does know? Even if he did know, he wouldn’t dare tell anyone, especially in a place like our school. It’s considered a rule that faggots aren’t allowed to live normal lives like everyone else. Two words; Bull. Shit.
But if someone like Cartman found out, I don’t know what I’d do. He’d spread the news around faster than you can say, “Shut the hell up, fatass.”

“So Kyle, you up for coming to my house after school? We can work on that shitty maths work we have to finish.” Stan asked suddenly, bringing me crashing back into the pure, white world that is South Park.
“Er… sure dude. I don’t have anything better to do. Besides babysitting Ike, but that’s not until later on.” I replied with a smile, my eyes fixed on the end of the road as I waited for the school bus to whisk us away to the hellhole.
“’ey. Jew-boy. How much money you got on ya?” Cartman spoke up, giving me a nudge on the arm. It wasn’t even a soft nudge either. It actually hurt.
“Like I’d tell you, fatass,” I grunted back, rubbing my arm, “Go get your own damn money.”
“But I want some money now so I know I have it later.” He whined, like he always did, clearly not amused by my tone of voice, or my reply in general for that matter.
“Hey, hey. Calm down you two,” Stan rolled his eyes before staring off down the road, both hands firmly gripping the straps of his backpack, “We don’t need a fight on our hands.”
“Yeah guys. We don’t need you two fighting like a couple of pre-schoolers.” Kenny added with an identical eye-roll to Stan’s.
Cartman growled, but did nothing else. Maybe he came to his senses and noticed that picking on me accomplished nothing?
Yeah, right, when hell freezes over.
Soon enough the bus pulled up and we all got on, me in my normal seat next to Stan and Kenny next to Cartman. But I noticed something as soon as the journey began; Cartman was picking on me more than usual.
Those next ten minutes were some of the most annoying in my life.
In such a short time he managed to pull my hair, steal my ushanka, call me an assortment of wonderful names and rant on and on about Mel Gibson and graphic scenes from Schindler’s List. All of which, pissed me off until I felt like I was going to explode.
‘No Kyle,’ I told myself, ‘We’re almost at school. Then you wont see him at all until the trip home, maybe at lunch if it’s a bad day.’

And I didn’t see Cartman all morning. Which was a huge relief to me. I was just hoping he wouldn’t pop up at lunch, and then my day would be classed as perfect. Picture perfect even.
“So. Have you seen him, or not?” Kenny asked, bringing me crashing back to earth for the second time today. I blinked a few times before rewinding to what Kenny had said before. He’d asked about Cartman.
“Are you serious?” I snorted, “Of course not.”
“Not since this morning.” Grinned Butters as Stan nodded along with him.
“Shit. And I even found two dollars to give to him too.” Kenny mumbled and took a seat next to me.
“… Dude. Why would you want to give it to Cartman?” Stan frowned. We all knew Kenny could put it to better use than him,
“I was thinking maybe he’d get off your case, Kyle. Seems that he was bugging you about it earlier.” He plunged a hand in to his bright orange parka’s pocket and produced a handful of random things including an old stick of gum, a torn tissue, a candy wrapper and a pile of change before placed it all down on the table before him.
We all stared at it, then at Kenny.
“Did you-…?” I started, but Kenny cut in,
“I found it all on the floor. That’s what I call lucky.” He chuckled and leaned back, his hands now folded behind his head. Maybe that was a little too desperate?
“But why?” I scowled, anger sparking inside me like a newly-lighted match, “Why would you want to give such a pig-headed, over-confident, Jew-hating, stereotypical, fucked up fat bastard like Cartman your money? He doesn’t deserve it. He only wants money so he can blow it all on food so he can become even more of a fat bastard.” I don't think I'd ever slotted so many insults in to one rant before.
By this point, Stan had relaxed in his chair, prepared for a full-on rant. He was used to my bitching, so he was pretty much expecting it, his head now conveniently resting on the table,
“That’s your money Kenny, not his. You deserve to keep it. You need it more than him,” I inhaled deeply, “And another thing, have you guys noticed that today he’s been after me more than usual? It’s like he’s got something jammed up his ass,” I glanced around the table at everyone. No one seemed to be paying attention to my bitching, which annoyed me even more, “Are you guys even listening to me?!”
“Sorry Kyle,” Stan’s head darted up quickly and he shot me a weak smile, “Because it’s Kenny’s money, he should choose what he wants to do with it. And dude, Cartman always acts like he has something rammed up his ass. So don’t sweat it.”
Well, that was enlightening.
“I guess you’re right. But what if he’s planning something? Maybe he’s been planning to murder me? He knows I hate his guts, and he knows all too well how to tick me off, so what if he’s planning something big?” I shuddered and wrapped my arms around myself. The image of Cartman with a knife was just too frightening for words.
“Cartman doesn’t have a big enough attention span for that. Sure, he’s cunning, but come on, no way would he dare try and kill you.” Obviously Stan was right, but I was still a little concerned. Maybe Cartman was planning something? What would he do? Should I run and hide? No. No way was I going to run away from someone like Cartman (even though it was pretty tempting, seems that it did take him hours just to catch up).
“I… I guess you’re right,” I surrendered, hanging my head, “Of course he wouldn’t. Not even he hates me that much.”
But, as if some kind of signal had been sent out as we were talking, a hand was slammed down hard on the table and there stood Cartman, with his Cheshire grin and his eyes fixed on me,
“‘ey bitches, did you miss me?”
You could practically hear everyone around the table uttering the word ‘No’ in some kind of psychic chorus, but no one except Butters replied out loud,
“Oh hey Eric. So, err… where have you been?” he stuttered, desperate to rebuild the mood after it had oh-so-kindly been knocked down by Cartman’s sudden appearance.
“Where have I been?” he repeated, as if the question was worth hearing twice. He simply tapped the side of his nose and smirked, “That information is highly classified.”
“Pff, like hell,” Kenny snorted, “Like anything you ever do is ‘highly classified’.”
“Shut up,” he pouted, almost innocently, if it weren’t for the evil glint in his eyes as they rested upon the pile of change on the table before his neon-hooded friend, “Is that for me?”
Just to let you know, around this time my hands were clenched tightly under the table as I tried not to be tempted to jump to my feet and give Cartman a good slap across the face just for being … him. Everything about him annoyed me. His evil plans, his arrogant personality, even his voice annoyed me.
“No, it’s for the tooth fairy,” Kenny mumbled sarcastically, even going as far as flapping his hands mockingly at his sides like a pair of dainty little wings, “Just take it and go before I change my mind.”
“Thanks Kenny. I owe you one.” But we all knew too well that that really meant ‘Thanks Kenny, but I can’t be fucked to pay you back. I hope you don’t mind.’
His hand flashed so quickly as he gathered the change that I almost missed it. But, he wasn’t done yet. No, not even close.
“So. Jew-boy,” he started off, making me twitch slightly at the sudden turn of his attention, “You got any money on you now?” he purred smoothly. He was obviously trying to get on my good side.
“No you ass, now fuck off.” I hissed, bitterly, turning my head away from him so I didn’t have to look at his face anymore.
“Oh, c’mon Kyle. We’re friends, right? Can’t you lend a friend some change?”
“Since when have I been your ‘friend’, Cartman?” I turned my head sharply and glared at him, the urge to hit him even more powerful than ever, “When was the last time you said a simple ‘Hi’ to me without insulting me?”
“… Last week?”
“You called me Jew, then you called me a fag! Friends don't do that, Cartman!”
“Oh, Kyle, I’m sorry… you’re not a Jew.”
“Cartman, how many times do I have to tell you that I AM a Jew? You just don’t understand that it’s a religion and NOT an insult.”
He paused this time, probably thinking of a comeback, but shook his head instead,
“Kyle, I think you’re seriously confused here.”
A low growl erupted from my chest, getting louder and louder the more frustrated I became,
“No, Cartman, YOU’RE confused! I’ve had enough of your constant bitching and bullying and whining and… everything! Why don’t you just go find some other kids to annoy?! We’re not your friends, Cartman, we HATE you!”
“You don’t hate me,” he frowned, “You’re just confused.” He repeated, just in case we hadn’t heard him already.
I jumped to my feet and glared straight into his eyes,
“Stop saying I’m confused! I’m not confused you stupid bastard! I’m telling you to fuck off because you’re the most annoying, selfish, over-confident fatass ever created!”
He hesitated again, as if my words actually hurt him. He flinched, but decided to press on,
“Oh come on Kyle, stop fooling about. I know you’re jo-”
Before he could even finish, I’d done what I was trying my best not to do this whole time. My right hand raised from my side, already bunched in to a fist, and I swung it forward straight in to Cartman’s cheek.
It wasn’t that much of a blow, I could have done much worse, but I was too angry to keep it held back anymore.
Cartman stumbled back, eventually landing hard on his ass, with one hand holding him upright in a sitting position, and the other glued to his cheek. He stared at me, stunned and dazed by the sudden attack, not able to say anything else.
Then I looked around.
Practically the whole cafeteria was staring at us, gathered around in a circle like this was some kind of show.
But I wasn’t done. I was far from done.
I stepped forward towards the stunned figure on the floor and grabbed him by the collar and with a lot of effort; I hoisted him off the floor until his face was level with mine,
“Cartman, I assure you, I am NOT joking.” I spat, the anger flooding me again. But before I could land another blow on the unsuspecting Cartman, two pairs of hands grabbed my shoulders and tore me away from him, “This isn’t over!” I yelled as I was pulled away, kicking and flailing my limbs in all directions, “You better fucking stay out of my way, Cartman!”
And with that, he ran off. To where, I don’t know, but the same shocked expression haunted his face as he ran, making me smirk inwardly at my victory.
“What the hell was that all about, Kyle?!” I snapped back to reality as both Kenny and Stan let go of my arms and sat me down on the floor, at the foot of the table we were sitting at before, “You’re going to get in some deep shit for doing that.”
“He deserved it…” I mumbled, crossing my arms as I pouted. All these years I’d put up with him, so of course he deserved it.
“But still,” Stan sighed, sitting down next to me, “Cartman’s probably ratting you out right this second. Imagine what your parents will say.”
Oh shit. I hadn’t thought of that.
“Maybe… he’ll change his mind?” I laughed nervously, tucking my legs up against my chest, my folded arms now resting on my knees.
“No way will someone like him change his mind,” Kenny joined us on the floor and sighed loudly, “You’re fucked, dude.”
“Dammit… I am aren’t I?”
“Yeah, you are.” They both muttered together.
Oh, now I feel so much better.