This story is based off a short passage I did in "dA Music Meme". Check it out if you want to get a short spoiler on what the story's going to be about, except it's probably going to be a lot different than that idea. It's also going to be based off the song "The Night the Lights When Out in Georgia" by Reba McEntire. Though I won't be copying the song's idea completely--I'll be adding in my own twists and stuff.

This story was requested by: BlackHeartsxxRedSpades926.

–

"On the account of first degree murder, what have you found?" The judge asked, her brown eyes penetrating the jury foreman deeply. He nodded slightly while adjusting his footing—something nobody even noticed.

The man took a breath and read the paper in a loud voice that rung off the walls and echoed back into everyone's ears. "We, the Jury, find the defendant, Kyle Broflovski, guilty for murder in the first degree. He shall be sentenced to death,"

Gasps were immediately wrung out along with sobs and voices of protest. But the judge would hear none of it. She slammed down her mallet. "Silence in the court! The verdict has been given. Please take Mr. Broflovski away," she said to the officers that were already putting Kyle in handcuffs. They nodded briefly to her before pulling roughly on the redhead's arm and leading him out of the courtroom.

Before Kyle was through the doors that would surely lead to his doom, he glanced back with teary green eyes. They locked on to raging pair of blue in the room, the owner of which was shaking his head furiously as tears cascaded down his cheeks like mini waterfalls. The blue-eyed boy, Stan, was reaching out for him in a desperate attempt, as if to summon him back to his side.

Before Kyle was forced to turn his head away and exit the door, Stan mouthed the words, "I'm sorry." and then he was gone. The door was shut and that was the last he would see of him, ever. Stan's fists clenched and unclenched.

He pushed his way through the dispersing crowd and up to the judge. He grabbed her shoulder to get her attention. She turned around, somewhat stunned to see Stan standing there, shaking with tears.

There, he paused, glaring at her. "Wendy," he breathed.

Wendy put her hand on Stan's shoulder and gave him a small, apologetic smile. "Stan, I know you're scared for your brother...but he did a bad thing and he deserves to be punished for it,"

Stan shook his head. He turned his head up and looked her in the eyes. "I did it," he stated simply.

Wendy frowned. "What?"

"I did it, Wendy. I killed them. All of them. Kyle didn't do any of it!" He began losing it there, pulling out his usually silky black hair—which was now dry and knotted. "Take me away, instead! I'm the guilty one! Please just don't take Kyle!"

The black-haired judge sighed and shook her head sadly, looking to the side of Stan's face, not meeting his eyes. "Stan...you're just scared and freaking out. It'll be okay. Don't blame yourself, okay?" When it looked like he was about to protest, she held back her famous temper due to the situation and finally met his eyes. "It's all been taken care of. It's all over now."

That's when Stan paled a little. His eyes narrowed in an instant, then went wide. He stumbled backwards a little, pointing at her as if she just turned into Satan himself. His wide eyes turned into a furious glare, fire practically dancing in his pupils.

"You did this! You sentenced him to death! You stupid bitch! You sentenced my brother to death!"

Wendy gulped and back up a little when Stan started nearing her. "S-stan, calm down. You're being delirious. Just c-calm down."

But Stan ignored her. "You were one of them! You stupid whore! That's why you did it—isn't it!? Tell me!" He brought his fist back, fully intending to beat the everliving out of her. The security guards were on him in an instant, slamming him into the nearby desk and holding his arm painfully behind his back. Stan ignored this pain, however, and tried breaking free. He was weak and shaky and unstable, so this didn't work out too well and they dragged him away. "They won't believe me..." he whispered to himself as he was shoved outside the courtroom.

Wendy stared after him. "He really did do it..." she shook her head. It's too late for that now, Wendy. You're too respected to be put down by that secret now. She looked towards the door Kyle was taken through with a blank stare, before she turned away and walked through the outside doors. It's too late for that now.

–

Stan punched the wall. He punched it over and over again until he just crumbled and cried, like a paper that had been crunched into a ball so many times, you couldn't decipher the words on it anymore.

He was alone in his dusty house. All alone. He slid down the wall, which was dented with an admirable hole, and held his head, letting the tears fall in hiccups and sobs. It felt to him as if he had been crying forever. Maybe he had been? Who could tell now. This world was too full of lies for him to know what was true and what was not, what was reality and what was imagination.

It scared him.

But there was nothing he could do about it now. The deed—deeds--had been done. He had gotten away with it. He stood and wiped his tears with the sleeve of his jacket.

"This is not my fault..." he assured himself. Stan walked across his blue-walled bedroom and sat down on top of his unmade bed. He never really was a tidy person. He stared at the wall with his normally shining blue eyes, now dulled to the point of no return.

Next to his bed was a very basic, short dresser. He picked up the framed picture that was sitting atop it and almost—almost--smiled at it. Brushing a thumb over the picture, he blinked back more tears and hugged it to his chest. "Kyle... Kyle, Kyle, Kyle," he sobbed, chanting the name so as to bring back some sort of happy memory with him. This was a failed ritual, for all it brought back were horrible memories. Memories of things he did, for Kyle. All for Kyle.

The memories began to consume the raven-haired boy in the darkness. He let out a short-lived scream and gripped his aching head, picture falling to the floor and breaking into tons of sharp little glass shards.

Once Stan realized what he had done, he instantly freaked out and got down on his hands and knees to clean the glass up. "No, oh no, oh no..." he cried. "I'm so sorry!" But even he wasn't sure who he was apologizing to.

While brushing away the glass to get to the picture of the smiling eight-year-old brothers, he ended up accidentally cutting his palm on a particularly sharp piece of glass. He instantly brought up his hand, this motion causing the blood to drip down onto the picture and cover the beaming Kyle's face. Stan cried in frustration—why couldn't anything go right for him now?!--and brought his hand to his mouth, sucking on the rustic fluid. He lifted the picture carefully and hugged it to himself sadly once more before placing it gently back onto the dresser.

Stan stood and, taking once last look at the picture of his and Kyle's oblivious eight-year-old faces, he turned and left the room, leaving the blood to dry across Kyle's childish face.

–

Listen to the song if you want to get at least an idea as to what's going (and going to go) on! It's good.

By the way, in this story, everyone is in their 20's. Probably about their mid- or late-20's. And just to escape possible confusion; yes, Wendy was the judge. More ideas will come together in the next chapters.