Okay!
This is my third story, I believe, and my second one for South Park. This idea came to me in some darker times at home and felt like writing something not so happy - happy for once. If you were looking for a lemon at the end of this, YOU WILL BE DISSAPOINTED. I'd rather not deceive you, as this story is rated M for language, well, it's South Park. What the fuck did you expect?
So without further ado, I bid you good reading, chers lecteurs.
I woke up in bed that morning, as I did every Saturday, following a precise series of steps to get out of bed.
Step One: Open eyes slightly, so as not to get blinded by the 10: 30 light coming in through my bedroom window. Stay like that for at least ten minutes. Step Two: Sit up in bed and wrap comforter around body, taking care to carefully hide any exposed skin aside from the face (because the cold morning air is cruel). Step Three: Lazily drag legs over the side of the bed and mentally prepare yourself to get up. Step Four: Actually get out of bed and leave it's comfort. Cast a regretful and longing glance behind as you walk away for dramatic effect. Step Five: Proced in the usual morning rituals.
And so after following my Five Step Plan, I find myself downstairs in the kitchen to greet my parents. However, the room is empty, as is the rest of the house when I found that no one answered the call I threw. I look around for a note but I find none, to my great surprise. Usually my parents always left a note for me and Ike if they were gone on some emergency or something.
I shrug, deciding that there are better things to do while my parents aren't home. I leave the kitchen and head to the door (yeah, I know I should eat, me being diabetic and all, but I know that that's not what's gonna kill me in this town. Besides, I wasn't even hungry), going to grab my jacket, but strangely, it's already on me as well as my boots. Oh well.
I go to open the door and find myself struggling to do so. I grab on with two hands and manage to pull it open and swing it shut behind me after I exit. I'll have to tell dad to oil the hinges when I see him. I walk down the peaceful Saturday morning street, enjoying the warmer wind on my cheeks. Finally, the seemingly eternal winter that lingered on South Park was beginning to thaw. I heard the birds singing and the noises of the neighborhood, like dogs barking and kids laughing. I saw a few of them having a snowball fight with what was left of the snow on the other side of the road and I smiled, remembering the ones me and my friends had when we were ten.
I still remember a lot of things from then and I sometimes find myself wishing that I could go back to that time. I guess a lot of things change, six years later.
I dodged quickly as I saw a stray snowball fly inches away from my face. I looked over to the kids and saw that they were continuing like nothing happened. Geez, what happened to saying sorry. Kids these days.
I walked over to the park on my way downtown. There I saw Cartman sitting on a bench with Wendy (yes he was dating her. Don't ask me how, I have not the slightest clue), holding hands and talking. I greeted them as I passed, but they didn't look my way. I waved, trying to catch their attention, then I shouted quietly when the waving didn't work.
"Cartman!" he continued talking to Wendy. "Hey, Fatass!" I tried and expected something along the lines of 'The fuck do you want, Jew boy?' but nothing came. "Dickhole! Lard ass! Gaywad!" nothing, not even a flinch in my direction. Even Wendy sat there, smiling at Cartman sadly, who was, remarkably, trying to comfort her.
I huffed and walked away in frustration, my fists curling at my sides. Deep breath in... Then let it out... Let it go, they weren't worth it anyway. I continued my walk to the center of South Park and looked for a place to hang out. Of course, I could have stayed home to do so, but some fresh air once in a while never hurt anybody, right? Right.
Usually, in a small town like this one, everyone knew everyone, the young and the old alike, so it was custom to greet the people you knew when you saw them on the street or in the store and whatnot. But this morning, it was like no one saw me, like I wasn't even there. I said hello to the people I knew and received nothing at all in return, not even a grunt or an empty stare. I finally gave up and entered a coffee shop, feeling dejected, slipping in the building behind another customer.
Since no one was at the counter, I headed over there to order a coffee. As I stood there, trying to talk to girl, she just stared ahead, past me, through me. It was disconcerting, the completely disinterested and bored look she had.
Finaly, I gave up and steped aside. I went to sit one one of the empty chairs and watched the world go by through the large windows that was the front of the shop.
I liked doing this sometimes, just watching people, observing it like I would a science experiment, trying to discerne what they were thinking while they did that or that action. It interested me to know how people thought and why they did what they did, what makes us different from the others and yet all the same. I liked to think of us as ants sometimes: all of us had a specific job in the colony of our town, to keep it safe (God knows we will never be safe enough, here), to bring in food, to insure the productivity of the colony, ect. It was amusing, how we think ourselves so special and more evolved from others and yet we are all basically the same. Exept, we are unlike the ants, intelligence wise. We are more like cats: we are so smart that we can climb the tree in record time, but we're too stupid to get back down, even though we know how.
I sat there I-don't-know-how-long before I got up anf left the shop. Seeing as it was Saturday, I thought that maybe Stan would wanna do something. I went over to his house and knocked at the door. It was Mrs. Marsh that answered it, looking like she had been crying for a while. I stood there a moment, surprised. I wasn't used to seeing her like that and what didn't help was the expression of confusion that gave place to anoyance when she looked around outside, seemingly searching for the person that knocked.
I waved my hand in her face and said hello, but a tear just ran down her cheek and she left the door open while she walked away, her face in her hands. I stepped in just before Mr. Marsh closed the door and went to comfort Sharon, who was now sobbing. I tried to ask what was wrong but they just ignored me, like the rest of the town.
Seeing as this was a lost cause, I headed up to Stan's. What I discovered there was a most dreaded sight.
His room was a complete mess (like, way more than usual) and he was sitting on his bed, dressed from head to toe completely in black with the heavy black eyeliner to accompany the full Goth look. He had the black pin that I liked so much on his right brow and his cross earing was on, as well. Some kind of metal song was playing in the background (Three Days Grace, I think?), the kind of music Stan only listens to when he's depressed or every time he broke up with Wendy... Except that was a month ago, when HE left HER because he was tired of all their shit. So why the Hell was he being a Goth?
"Stan," I said. "Hey..." I approached him carefully, stepping over the debris that cluttered his bedroom floor.
He didn't look up from the spiral notebook he was scribbling in. "Stan? What's wrong?" I sat on the corner of his bed.
At my movement, his gaze darted in my direction somewhat fearfully but as if I wasn't there. I saw that he had been crying for a while, too, his eyes puffy and red and the eyeliner slightly smudged at the corners.
"Stan? Hey, it's just me," I said as I leaned forward to put a hand on his shoulder. He backed away, dropping the open notebook from his lap. Something like a poem was written inside.
"No! Stay away!" he cried.
"What?" I asked, confused by his reaction. I stood up.
He pushed himself to the other side of his bed in fear. "Leave me alone! I don't want anything from you! Go!"
His words stung me deeply. "Fine then!" I spat. "Be a fucking emo and kill yourself alone!" and I walked out his room and down the stairs.
I stormed out of the Marsh residence and headed to Kenny's house. Maybe he would at least look at me. I walked down the street and used my anger management techniques to somewhat calm myself down. After years of enduring Cartman, God only knew that I needed some way to stop myself from killing him. Fortunately - or not - they worked.
In a few minutes, I found myself at his doorstep. Before I could lift my fist to knock, the blonde himself opened.
"Hey, dude," he said and smiled.
"Ah! Finally!" I exclaimed. "Someone who can see me!"
"Huh? What d'you mean?"
"I mean, your the first person to actually look at me and speak to me."
His smile faded. "Come in in and explain."
"O... Kay...?" I stepped inside the house, the usual smell of beer and smoke hitting me full face.
We went to the living room and each took a seat on opposite ends of the couch. "Well, usually when you say 'hi' to people, they give you some kind of acknowledgement, even if they hate you and wish you were dead, right?" He nodded so I continued. "So when I saw Cartman and Wendy at the park this morning, they didn't even glance at me when I went over to them. I ragged on Cartman, but I didn't even get a twitch of irritation out of him. He and Wendy just went on talking as if I wasn't even there.
"Then at the coffee shop, the clerk didn't look a me, just past me. Like she was looking through me. It freaked me out, that stare. And the people on the streets acted as if I didn't exist.
"I even went to see Stan and he was a complete Goth and got all scared when I tried to ask him what was wrong. He told me to go away and he was looking at me with that same empty stare that everyone else has been giving me all day!
"So now you're the first person to actually acknowledge me today!" I was slightly out of breath by the end of my venting.
Kenny stared at me from his end of the couch, his eyes thoughtful. After a moment of that, he said two simple words.
"You're dead."
"Yeah, that's how I feel!" I snapped.
"No, I mean your literally dead."
"The fuck are you talking about?" I wasn't in the mood for stupid jokes like that.
"Like, your physical body has died and you are now in spirit form. That's what I'm talking about."
He liked completely serious while saying this and I got a shiver down my spine.
"Dead? How the fuck can I be dead?" I demanded.
"Well, I guess Cartman finally got you." he smirked.
"What?!" I gaped at him.
"He's been planing how to kill you again, for about a month or so. We all told you to be careful, because no one really knew how he was gonna try this time. I tried to find out, but I only ended up getting killed again. I wanted to help you, but it seems it's too late." his smirk held a hint of sadness in it. "I'm sorry, dude."
I was incredulous. Either this was all a very elaborate joke to get me back on something that I did in the past and it was working perfectly, or Kenny was telling the truth and I really was dead. I truly hoped it was the first, because I don't know what to think of the second. But the more I studied Kenny's words and completely sincere expression in front of me, the more I realized that it was indeed the latter situation that was reality.
"But... how... what..." I was at a loss for words.
"I can't help you with anything, really. All I can say is go to Hell."
"What d'you mean you can't help me!?" I shouted. "And why the fuck should I go to Hell!?"
"Because Heaven sucks ass and face it, Kyle, everyone in this town is dammed from the day they were born. No one goes up there."
I sat and thought a moment. "Why can you see me, then? Is it base of some kind of curse or glitch in the world?"
"Yeah, I guess." he shrugged.
I sighed heavily. "Well, guess I'll be spending a lot more time with you, then"
"Yeah, I guess."
We both got up as I went to leave. I tried to pull the door open, but it wouldn't budge. I tried again, until Kenny put his hand over mine - or through, rather - and opened it up for me. He gave me an apologetic smile as I turned to the road.
I sighed again, unsure of what to do next. No sure what I could do like this, I mean, fuck, I could barely open a damn door without having someone help me. I suppose I could go home and ponder on my whole situation in the comfort of my room.
When I got there, I saw that my family still wasn't back from wherever. I went up to my door and worked a good ten minutes into opening the damn thing, very grateful that I'd forgotten to lock it this morning when I left. But it didn't feel this heavy earlier, wich was strange.
I shrugged and proceeded to take of my boots... only to find my feet already bare. Funny, I would have sworn that I had them on all day.
I quickly climbed the stairs to my room and graced at the digital clock on my nightstand. It said 3:46. I sure spent a lot of time outside, even though it only felt like an hour or so, it had been more than five hours. Time probably passed differently for the dead.
An idea then made it's way to my mind. I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself thoroughly. I had my signature green ushanka and orange jacket (I hadn't changed my style since elementary and went to the end of the world to find the same green hat), as well as a pair of jeans on. I thought of something to wear that was more comfortable, like my black sweat shirt and grey joggings. I closed my eyes and when I opened them, and as expected, I was dressed as wanted.
My eyes widened in surprise. Note: When a ghost, one can change their appearance as they wish.
I was about to try something else when I heard the front door open. I went downstairs to see who it was and sure enough, my parents and brother were back.
My father looked shaken, not calm and composed like he usually was. His face was ridden with sadness and his eyes seemed dimm. He was helping my mother in through the door, who was sobbing uncontrollably.
She was a mess, with her usually bright red hair somewhat matted and dull. Her eyes were shut and long tear streaks stained her face. She tried to say something but her voice caught and she began sobbing again.
Last came my brother. At nine years old, he was already in middle school, since he was such a genius. His expression was that of a condemned criminal with his eyes cast down and an empty look in his blue eyes, but not the same look I got usually. This was one of great loss.
Before they closed the door, I ran out because I couldn't stand the sight of seeing them like that. They were supposed to be happy, like any normal family. I felt a tear run down my own cheek, freezing in the wind. Gha! What to do?! I'm dead, so I can't really do anything to comfort them or reassure them that I'm alright. Aaaaah...!
Wait! Kenny said that Cartman had been plotting to kill me for a while, before all this happened. Maybe I should go pay him a visit and see if I could get some answers out of him. Yes, that's what I'll do.
I made my way down the street in the snow that was now falling. The afternoon light was getting dimmer as time went by. Judging by the sun's position, I guess it was around five thirty that I reached the green house where Fatass lived.
Fortunately for me, just as I went to open the door, Liane Cartman walked out. I took my chance and slipped inside before she could close it. I heard the car door slam shut as the engine roared to life and she pulled out of the driveway.
I grinned maliciously while I climbed the stairs to Cartman's room. He was scared shitless of ghosts and now he was at my mercy, all alone with the spirit that he hated the most coming to haunt him.
His door was partially open so I gently pushed on it so I could pass. Just that simple move cost a lot of effort on my part, but this was worth it. Cartman was stretched out on his bed, casually scrolling through his phone, probably on Facebook or something. He hadn't noticed the door.
I stepped inside and looked around, searching for something to spook him with. My gaze roamed the room until it landed on Clyde Frog, who was seated atop Cartman's dresser. I strode over to it and then looked to its owner: he was still occupied.
Taking all my strength, I pushed the stuffed animal onto the floor. It fell with a thump, effectively catching Cartman's attention. He shut his phone to get up and approach Clyde Frog. In doing so, he passed right through my body. He must've felt something, because a moment later he froze, then turned around with his eyes wide.
"No way..." he muttered. "No fucking way... Kahl?"
"Yes, Fatass, it's me," I snapped even though he couldn't here me.
"Oh God, Khal, please don't do this to me... You know I had nothing to do with... what... happened to you..." he stammered.
"What happened to me?" I demanded.
As if he'd heard me, he said, "We found you in Stark's Pond, blue and frozen... We pulled you out as fast as we could, Stan even jumped in to save you... But you were already gone... We were to late... Why d'you do it, Khal?"
"I jumped on the pond?!" I shouted. "Why the fuck would I do that?!"
"I dont know why you did," a tear streamed down his round face. Wow. Cartman crying was a rare sight, especially when it was genuine. "But now my favorite Jew is dead and all I have left to rip on is Poorboy and Stan. It's already no fun without you and it's only been three days... I'm sorry, Kyle," he pronounced my name without the slang he usually put into it. "I'm sorry for all the shit I did to you. I know I tried to kill you many times before and I don't regret any of that one bit because I always wanted it to be me, that you die by my hand. But everything else... Damn it! Why!?" he screeched.
OK, I'd heard enough. It was a pretty good apology, coming from him, anyway. I turned and left him to cry silently in the safety of his bedroom.
Downstairs, I went to the front door again. I tried to push my hand through it, thinking that if Cartman was able to pass through me, I could go through the door. But no, it didn't work like that. I gathered my strength and opened it. I left the green house feeling quite confused.
So apparently I had thrown myself into the pond and they had been too late to save me. So then why did Kenny tell me that Cartman had something to do with my death? Maybe because he wasn't there and he and Stan hadn't told him yet. Or it could be something else, but what?
As Stan's name came into my mind, I thought that I should go and see him. Maybe he knew something more, and I wanted to apologize to him for my earlier words even though he wouldn't here anything and hadn't heard anything either.
It was dark out now and the snow was falling more heavily. It seemed like a storm was developing, and a big one at that. One good thing that came with my condition was that I didn't feel that cold as much, anymore, thank God. No, it might have been God's doing, all of this, so screw him. Like Christophe always said: God was a fucking bastard.
I chuckled at the thought. I wonder what had happened to that Frenchy after that war with Canada ended. Never heard from him again after that. The guy just dies in my arms and disappears the morning after. Ah, simply another day in South Park.
I soon found myself in front of Stan's house and unfortunately, no one seemed to be going out the house. I frowned. I went to the windows to see if anyone was up and fortunately, there wasn't. I tried the door and found it unlocked. I stepped inside, waiting in the entrance as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. Over in the corner, an old-looking Sparky lifted his head lazily, not even bothering to bark, probably because it was someone he knew that had entered the house. I smiled at him and bent down to pet him, in vain for my hand just went right through him. I guess I can pass through living beings, but not inanimated things.
I climbed the stairs one by one, careful to step on the right places so as not to make them creak. I found my friend's bedroom door ajar, just enough for me to slip in without effort. Stan was sitting at his desk now, still dressed as a Goth and scribbling in his notebook. I walked forward and looked over his shoulder to see what he was writing with such fervence, careful not to touch him in any way.
It was indeed a poem that I'd glimpsed, earlier. It read as such:
Death and despair,
That is all the world is.
We are nothing but empty vessels,
Filled with the putrid rot of humanity.
All we do is take and want more,
But what good is material,
When it simply vanishes when it dies?
Death and despair,
That is all we are.
What good is it to live,
When from the day you are born,
You are condemned to death?
What good is it to take the hope that is offered,
Only when it will be taken away?
Death and despair,
That is all life is.
While others lament that life is too short,
We wait only for Death to take our souls,
For God to have truly abandoned us.
We wait only for the sweet release,
The reward that is at the end of all the darkness that is the light.
Death and despair,
We only live for that day when we are taken down to Hell,
For that is where all souls go.
We wait for the day that despair will end,
For within only death will we be truly free.
I read that and my heart pinched in my chest. Oh, how he was wrong!
"No, Stan, death is not a liberation. It is pain and punishment, not the reward of life. It only separates the people who are close, takes them to another world. It fucking sucks ass," I explained to him.
Of course, he hears nothing of this and continues to scribble, this time drawing something. He sketches the outlines of two people, one holding the cheek of the other in it's palm, their faces inches away. The first one, the one holding, had dark hair that covered his eyes, so I couldn't tell what the caracter was thinking exept for the tear that traced his cheek. The second, the one being held, had light curly hair, wich also covered his gaze, and was looking down as the other cuped his cheek. Strangely, I thought that these two caracters resembled Stan and I, but I dismissed the thought quickly.
Having somewhat completed his drawing, Stan threw his pencil down and leaned back and I jumped back so as not to touch him. He sighed heavily and looked at the ceiling.
"Why?" he said simply. "Why'd you do it, Ky?" he added after a while.
I stared at him and I really wished I had a an answer. After all, how could I tell him something that even I didn't know? My life (or was it death?) was now all a mess. What the fuck was I supposed to do?
"I don't know, Stan..." I said anyway.
"You know, it's times like these that make me realize that God is not as just and righteous as they all make him seem. What kind of God would let his subjects suffer like this for no other reason that his sick pleasure of watching us suffer. Christophe was right: God truly is a fucking bastard," he chuckled sourly.
"Ha! I know what you mean," I said, chuckling myself at hearing my earlier thoughts voiced by my best friend. I went over to his unnocupied bed to sit down.
"I loved you, dude. Like really loved you, in more than a brotherly way. Like I used to love Wendy. I still do, even though I know you'll never come back." Suddenly, the sketch now made sens. "Hehehe, sounds strange to hear those words come out of me, I'd kept them in so long. Since, like, seventh grade, I think. I remember the day I realized my feelings.
"It was the end of the school year and the class had gone on a trip to California. On the last day, had the day at the beach and we had decided to go treasure hunting, because Cartman had bet that the first one to find a gold coin would get twenty dollars from the other three, and if we didn't find any, Cartman would give us twenty each for proving him wrong. Of course, we both knew it was vain, we'd never find one, but apparently the prospect of leeching a twenty out of Fatass was more powerful that reason," he paused and smiled at the memory. I did, too, clearly remembering the feeling of determination of getting paid by Cartman.
"It was around the end if the day," he continued. "When the class was supposed to regroup and head to the hotel and we realized that you were missing. We set out to look for you, and of course Fatass was practically doing back flips he was so happy you weren't there. I remember feeling nervous about you, hoping you were okay and not lost or hurt.
"Later on, I found you further down the beach, in a kind of cave in the cliffside. You were sitting at the entrance while the waves crashed gently around you, looking just so serene and at peace with the world as you watched the sun go down on the water. And that precise moment, I remember as if it was yesterday, the way it hit me: you were so fucking perfect it was almost impossible. It was like a stab in the heart and it fucking hurt, but the good kind of pain, the kind that makes you realize that you love someone that has been there since forever.
"'How could I ever have missed it?' I thought to myself. You were the reason why I broke up with Wendy a month ago, because she couldn't make me happy and feel good the way you did. I was trying to find a way to tell you, and when I finally did find it, I found you in the pond, cold, blue and lifeless." he stopped and I saw his saphire eyes water through my own blurry vision.
Stan had just professed his love for me and here I was, unable to do a fucking thing about it. I, too, felt that way for him, and I had for a really long time. I had said nothing and hid my emotions because I was afraid of destroying our precious friendship that we'd had since we were born, practically.
When Stan voiced my thoughts, I sobbed and was glad that he couldn't see me like this. I had to do something. There had to be something I could do, right? There's always something, some way.
I racked my brain for ideas, just one that had even the most remote possibility of working, but I had no clue as to where to start looking. Then I remembered my conversation with Kenny this afternoon. 'Go to Hell' he'd said. I'd taken it as an insult back then, but now it seemed like the one thing that I could do.
I stood from Stan's bed and bid him goodbye, saying that I was sorry for what I'd said to him before. He himself was crying like I had been a moment ago, and my heart twisted in my chest at the sight, like a knife was being thrust into it. I couldn't bear to see him like this, like rest of my family, so broken down and sorrowful. They were ment to be happy and oblivious to the pains of death, not in this miserable shape. So I set out to do what I had to.
I went to Hell.
Yes, I wrote that thing in there. I own it. No steal (not that I think anyone would).
Anyhoot, thank you for reading this first chapter. I promise, more will come next week, same day as today. Also, this story is already written, so if you have suggestions, it's very likely you won't find them in the next chapters.
However, feedback is very much appreciated and flames will be used to keep me warm.
South Park is owned and created by Matt Stone and Trey Parker. Not me.