Am I Strong Now? (Creek Story)

Fuck Off Cartman

-Craig's Pov.-

       I reached into my pocket again, digging around for my lighter. I keep accidentally grabbing other things. This is stupid, I should empty my pockets when I get home. I get a grip on something and pull it out. I groan, seeing it's only a pen. Why do I even need this? I barely do my homework anyways. I toss it into the snow and stuff my hand back in.

It took me longer then it needed to find it. Once I finally clutch my lighter, I pull it out of my pocket and bring it to the cigarette between my lips. I hold my hand out to cover the wind from blowing out the flame. I flicked it a few times before it ignited, only for it to go out before it reached my cigarette.

    I try starting it again and again, but to no avail. Godamnit, it better not be fucking empty. I bring it to my ear and shake it a few times. To no surprise, I don't hear anything. I bring it down, dropping it next to the pen in the snow.

Shit, now I have to ask those emo freaks for their lighter. I hate listening to the conformist shit they spout 24/7. What does that even mean? Whatever, I don't care enough to know.

I lift my back off the brick wall, turning to walk not even ten feet to them. The scent of smoke burns my nose before I even make it to them. Damn, these people smoke more them that French kid. He smokes every time I see him.

       I stop in front of the shortest kid, one hand deep in my pocket and the other wrapped around my cigarette. I keep a straight face as their attention is directed to me.

"What do you want kid," the tallest says in a low voice. Their attention slips back to their own smokes. I hold my cigarette out a bit, keeping my plain expression. I don't want to talk to them, they are annoying as hell. The glance at it for a second before they begin smoking again.

"Why should we help you? Your just another conformist like everyone else." The comment. This is why I hate them. I take my hand out of my pocket and flip them off.

       I sit there for a while, not moving my hands and my face keeps it's bored look. The little one gives an irritated sigh and tosses their lighter to me. I catch it with one hand and quickly light my cigarette so I could get away from them. After it's lit, I bring it to my lips. I spin around and throw the lighter over my shoulder, stepping away from them. I hear it hit the ground.

"Why would you let him use it Firkle?" I faintly hear from behind me. I lean back against the wall next to the snow pile with my empty lighter and pen in it. I puff out a cloud of smoke, listening to the kids answer. "He wouldn't leave us alone if I didn't. I don't want that conformist near me." I scoffed under my breath, beginning to tune them out.

I inhale the cigarette again, leaning my head back to face the grey-blue sky. I gust out the smoke above me, lightly shutting my eyes. As tune out everything around me, letting my thoughts consume me for a while.

I should quit smoking, it's going to ruin my lungs sooner or later. And, frankly, I actually want to be able to breathe when I'm older. On the other hand, it does help me relieve some of my stress. I feel calmer when I smoke, I just don't do it often. Once a week at most. I have had two today though, one before my lighter ran out.

I'm going to need to get a new lighter before next Friday. I don't want to have to talk to those freaks again. I glance over at the Emo cliche. They aren't doing anything, just smoking and drinking coffee. Freaks, I think before getting back to my cigarette.

Shit...I'm such a hypocrite. I'm a freak to them just as much as they're freaks to me. They aren't to bad, just different. Different isn't all bad, I think it's just the whole "conformist" this they constantly say. Besides that, they are fine.