sonic youth.

superstar

you stared at the mess on the floor, glass shards on your bed, on your rug, fuck it's even in your shoe collection.

you frown and look at the guitar still in your hands.

"ugh... i was just getting to the good part." you set your electric down beside your bed and turn off the amp.

looking out the, well, what remained of your window you could see butters pacing around in his room fumbling with his fingers. his window was wide open, and as he saw you peer out he yelped, "oh, hamburgers..."

you wave, "hi butters." you turn to your bed and grab the brick that softly landed, "did you drop this?"

he turns tight-lipped, he isn't looking at you but seems to be looking at something, maybe someone, in his room. you hear shushing noises.

at first, it was amusing to you, like oh jeez... a brick through my window? that only happens in cartoons! but, unfortunately, this is real life and this is your mother's house that we're talking about, so a bit of panic starts growing in your stomach. the more you look at your decimated window and brick, the more you feel like today is your last.

you chuckle, "um... butters, my window is broken."

"y-yeah, i-i know."

you clear your throat, "butters, my window is broken."

"i-i know!!" he shrieks out and grips at his hair.

"then, why would you throw the brick?" you held up the brick in question.

butters seems to be looking back at the corner of his room. he's definitely talking to someone else, but giving out the benefit of the doubt was a quality trait of yours. butters looks back to you, with a cute smile of course, "i really liked how you, uh, played. y-you're good!"

a pause, "...so you threw a brick through my window?"

you watch as butters struggles to pose seductively, "well, i just needed to let you know." the change in his voice as he tried to reach for a deeper octave made you shrivel a little.

your eye twitches a little, "dude... my window-"

"don't worry about that... dollface-" it was clear how disingenuous this conversation became when butters was leaning against his wall; he reminded you of eastern european gay porn magazines, not that you had any. butters was looking over at the corner again, then cleared his throat, "i'll get that window fixed for you, h-honey... just... keep playing your guitar- actually no- quiet it down, but uh, don't lose your, uh, beauty sleep... sugar." at some points, his voice would keep cracking.

appalled, disgusted, and worried, pretty good word choices for how you were feeling at this very moment. you squint your eyes and frown, "thanks, i'm going to kill you tomorrow." you reach up to shut your window, forgetting that it's pieces on the floor now. so, you resort to shaking your middle finger out the window, pulling down your blinds, and shutting the curtains.

you look at the mess around your room. your brow furrows as you pout. a change of scenery, yet no goddamn inspiration. you pull at your hair.

the life of a high-school artist isn't easy, actually, it's more full of suicidal ideations.

howling from the wind soothes your nerves, as you tap your foot repeatedly on the ground. a mix of the beat in the song you're listening to, and a mix of the impatience you have waiting for the bus. it's a nice monday morning, you're wearing a jacket that actually keeps you warm.

from the corner of your eye, you see some figures moving, but you sort of become an expert at minding your business. well, until they started moving closer to you and you could just barely hear them over your pretentious playlist.

"well, cartman this is all your fault! you're always putting us in trouble and in deep shit."

"uh huh, like you're any better, can't go a day without virtue signaling and arguing with your boyfriend."

"boyfriend?!- ugh, it's not my fault stan is mad at us, and that's why he doesn't want to drive us-"

"that's where you're wrong, jew! stop pretending like you would've done any better-"

"jesus christ! you're the one that threw the brick!"

"and you're the one that didn't stop me!"

a third voice interrupts, "guys, they're right there."

you seem to catch the attention of your lovely classmates, cartman, kyle, and kenny. and as they stare at you as deer in headlights, you stare back and pull out an earbud.

"hey?"

they all breathe out a collective sigh of relief.

"uh... i didn't know you guys took the bus." you play with the zipper of your jacket.

"yeah? well, we don't. it's all because this jew's gay ass boyfr-" cartman is cut off by him being shoved by kyle.

kyle then continues, "stan couldn't drive us this morning, so... yeah."

kenny pulls his hood over his head and grumbles to himself, it doesn't take more than a brain to figure out that kenny regrets third-wheeling a toxic friendship.

you glance over all of them again and give them a very confused-looking smile. you can't help but feel awkward, again, so you go back to listening to your music. you thank all the angels in a hypothetical heaven when you see the school bus turn the corner.

as the doors of the bus open and you trudge in, breathing in the same strange-smelling scent you've gotten accustomed to. looking through the seats you notice that apparently, everyone decided to take the bus today, leaving you to sit in the back. could be worse you thought to yourself, well before eric cartman decided to sit right next to you.

you look at him and unconsciously death stare, he looks right back at you. not that you're right, but you see him sweat a little under your gaze.

"what?"

"...what?"

cartman faces forward, and he side-eyes you, "you keep looking at me."

"...really?" you asked, genuinely asked.

"uh, yes, you fucking- ugh, whatever."

you decide to cross your arms and rest your head against the window, making sure not to bite your tongue when the bus hits a pothole. once again you look over to cartman, not that you care--or can even put the pieces together--but he's frantically texting someone.

in all caps, you see him repeatedly send "they know".

you pull your bag a little closer to yourself. you know that schizophrenia isn't contagious, but it's eric cartman. his might be, and you're better off not hearing voices in your head.

again you stare out the window and rethink your life and your choices. oh, to be a handsome smart boy born in New York City. actually, oh, to be literally anyone from around the world and not be here.

author's note
i keep forgetting to update this thing
every monday...
in the meantime enjoy a bit of filler
as everyone gets used to each other
^^