(no subject)
Who: Cartman and anyone else
What: Eric is outside of his house, smoking and pondering a multitude of things.
Where: Cartman's house (and I should mention, this is set before the whole Butters/Kyle/Tweek debacle)
Status: Open
Smoke trailed from the cigarette in his hand as Cartman sat on the front stoop of his house, looking at the sun silhouetting the houses on the opposite end of the street. His day had been semi-remarkable: he had gone to church early in the morning, the grocery store, the library, and when he had gotten home, received a phone call from his mom saying that she had been staying in a motel for the past few days. Apparently a section of the road to Omaha had been destroyed by a freak truck accident, and she had stayed nearby at a motel until the road could be fixed. And, of course, to "comfort" the shaken up truck driver who caused the accident.
He was relieved that his mom was alright, but was frightened that he couldn't say anything else about the matter. No, his head began pounding with a headache once he heard the news. He knew he should be screaming at her, cursing her out, knowing exactly what she was doing at that motel in the meantime and letting her know that he hated, hated, hated, HATED her for it.
But that simply wasn't... well, it wasn't nice.
Cartman now studied the cigarette in his hand. Glowing, pulsating slowly. Ugh, dude. He decided that maybe smoking wasn't doing him any good. For now, at least. He flicked it onto the stone pathway in front of him and sighed heavily. His hands were shaking. He thought to go back inside and finish his homework, but realized he had done it all already. The whole week's worth, in fact. ...frighteningly.
He wondered if anyone he knew would come by, and if it would be better if they didn't. Almost everyone he had talked to for the past week was being super uncool. And despite his own newfound sense of right and wrong, he thought to himself bitterly, he felt terrible and miserably alone.
His stomach started to feel weak, and Cartman wished that he hadn't put out that cigarette.
What: Eric is outside of his house, smoking and pondering a multitude of things.
Where: Cartman's house (and I should mention, this is set before the whole Butters/Kyle/Tweek debacle)
Status: Open
Smoke trailed from the cigarette in his hand as Cartman sat on the front stoop of his house, looking at the sun silhouetting the houses on the opposite end of the street. His day had been semi-remarkable: he had gone to church early in the morning, the grocery store, the library, and when he had gotten home, received a phone call from his mom saying that she had been staying in a motel for the past few days. Apparently a section of the road to Omaha had been destroyed by a freak truck accident, and she had stayed nearby at a motel until the road could be fixed. And, of course, to "comfort" the shaken up truck driver who caused the accident.
He was relieved that his mom was alright, but was frightened that he couldn't say anything else about the matter. No, his head began pounding with a headache once he heard the news. He knew he should be screaming at her, cursing her out, knowing exactly what she was doing at that motel in the meantime and letting her know that he hated, hated, hated, HATED her for it.
But that simply wasn't... well, it wasn't nice.
Cartman now studied the cigarette in his hand. Glowing, pulsating slowly. Ugh, dude. He decided that maybe smoking wasn't doing him any good. For now, at least. He flicked it onto the stone pathway in front of him and sighed heavily. His hands were shaking. He thought to go back inside and finish his homework, but realized he had done it all already. The whole week's worth, in fact. ...frighteningly.
He wondered if anyone he knew would come by, and if it would be better if they didn't. Almost everyone he had talked to for the past week was being super uncool. And despite his own newfound sense of right and wrong, he thought to himself bitterly, he felt terrible and miserably alone.
His stomach started to feel weak, and Cartman wished that he hadn't put out that cigarette.