A young man walked along the dark, rain-soaked streets, unknowing of where he went, and uncaring of any cars barrelling toward him. He knew it wouldn't matter if they hit him or not. He simply walked forward without a purpose, a great sense of apathy wrapped around him. The enhancing effects of taking a walk had long faded, leaving him feeling as empty and alone as staying in his broken home would. Yet he loved the rain, particularly at night.
The few people that passed by the 13 year old gave him strange glances, no doubt thinking him odd for wearing a dark purple hood, matching long-sleeved shirt, and dark, almost black jeans covered by gray boots. A pair of lighter gray gloves hung from the pocket of his jeans, discarded for the preference of cold air on his skin. He dismissed them, continuing his purposeless walk. As he walked, he couldn't help but notice that, disregarding the previous couple, the streets were unusually dead. It would be cause for suspicion if it wasn't raining. Kenny simply attributed it to the rain, and people being pansies and not wanting to get wet.
Suddenly, a large blur shot past his peripheral vision. He looked around, preparing himself for an attack, but saw nothing. He heard a small rock fall behind him, and looked behind him. Seeing nothing, he looked up and immediately narrowed his eyes in irritation.
"What the fuck are you doing, Cartman?" He asked the masked figure hunched over on top of a nearby building, his voice disguised in his typical "Christian Bale" manor. "And how the hell did you get up there so fast?" The moonlight behind Cartman illuminated his slowly forming grin.
"I need a new "sparring" partner. Stan is proving...inadequate." Kenny narrowed his eyes further, knowing what kind of sick torture he probably subjected Stan to under the ruse of "sparring."
"Fuck off, Cartman." Kenny growled, not wanting to be subjected to the same torture Cartman had inflicted upon him for years. Being physically and mentally tortured to your breaking point over and over again and not dying was a pain worse than death. Even if you became numb to it, accustomed to it, the agony never ceased. Cartman grinned even wider.
"Is that a 'yes'?" He asked. Without waiting for an answer, he leapt from the building, landing miraculously on his feet and started toward Kenny. Kenny backed up a few steps, reaching for the gun he'd stuck in his belt. Unfortunately, his poor ass family could only afford rubber bullets, but they still hurt like hell. Cartman, however, scoffed, continuing to grin.
"A gun, Kenny? You find that at the swap meet? How much did it cost? Five dollars? Your family must have gone without food for a week just to pay for that." Kenny knew what he was doing. He was taunting him, and Kenny wasn't about to be goaded into a pointless fight. He stood his ground, gun held at his side as Cartman held up his steel claws.
"Come on, Kenny, let's spar." Cartman teased before lunging at him, swiping and slicing into his face, just under his eye.
"Goddamnit, Cartman!" Kenny yelled, feeling blood start to trickle down as he shot at Cartman and hit one of his claws. To both of their surprise, it broke off the glove. Kenny smirked "Cheap, huh?"
Cartman simply growled and tossed both sets of claws aside. Kenny shot at him again, missing, and Cartman lunged, reaching for the gun. Kenny kept his arm over his head as he fell with Cartman on top of him, trying to shove him off.
"Get off me, fatass!" Kenny said, gasping for air. Cartman simply smirked, managing to knock the gun out of Kenny's hands. Kenny managed to get his leg under Cartman, and landed a solid kick to his gut. Cartman grunted, but didn't let up. He punched Kenny, hitting the same eye that only moments before, he'd cut with his claws. Kenny felt the sting and it only angered him more. He managed to shove Cartman off of him, and scrambled for the gun. Before Cartman could get up, Kenny fired, hitting the side of his nose.
" Ah! Fuck, Kenny!" Cartman yelled, holding his nose. which was now starting to bleed. Kenny sighed and lowered the gun, half wishing the gun had real bullets in it, but he knew the fight was over. Even though Cartman was way more of a sadistic sociopath, he was still a whiny little bitch who couldn't take pain himself, and Kenny knew that this was going to turn into a whole big "to do" at school the next morning. He kicked Cartman's claws to him.
"See you tomorrow, fatass." Kenny said, walking off. Even though it had been completely uncalled for and short lived, the little scrap with Cartman had still been the highlight of his night, and he couldn't help think that he needed more nights like that to spice up his meaningless existence.
When Kenny got up for school the next morning, he threw on a white and orange t-shirt that he deemed relatively clean, and the same jeans he'd had on the night before, and went to look at his face. His eye was now swollen and purple, though it wasn't the worst black eye he'd had. He went to wash his face from the grime of the night before not having bothered when he got home, being too tired. As he generally rubbed and pulled at his face, he noticed that the water running down the sink was now mixed with blood. He stopped and looked into the mirror, sighing at the cut that was bleeding again, a little drop of blood landing on his shirt.
He looked down at it, then deemed it still wearable, figuring it would just be covered by his hoody anyway. He finished with his face, wiping the blood away, then brushed his teeth and went to get his orange hoody. He donned it before going to the kitchen to grab the last pop-tart. He loved the mornings before school: his parents were either at work, or more likely, passed out still from their drunken escapades of the night before, and his brother had already left for his job, so the mornings were essentially his. As he ate his pop tart, he went back to his room to get his backpack and phone, then left to catch the bus, still munching.
He wasn't particularly worried about seeing Cartman again. Cartman was like night and day. One minute, he'd be pissed off and sadistic, getting off on mind games, and the next, he'd act like nothing happened. While that fact alone should scare Kenny, he'd come into a sense of immunity with his ability to cheat death. Nothing really affected him, because the thing that scared people most into obedience was impossible for him, and that fact had turned his emotions into a warped sense of apathy. Sure, there were things he did care about, but they were far and in between, and for the most part...he just didn't bother to care.
He considered these musings on his walk to the bus stop, his pop tart now gone and his hoody tied around his waist, the walk up warming him plenty. He noticed that his friends weren't there yet, and decided to entertain himself in his usual manor. He pulled out his newer issue of Playboy and began "reading", already mostly unaffected by the images because he'd looked at it so many times. After a few minutes, he heard footsteps and looked up. He grinned at the small "cast" over Cartman's nose that was obviously homemade with paper maché and tape.
Cartman gave him a surly glare as he slid up next to him.
"This isn't over, Kenny." He growled. Kenny simply grinned wider at his magazine, knowing that this meant more fights between the two, and while he found it annoying, he also found it something fun in his otherwise boring life.
As Stan and Kyle walked up to them, Cartman ignoring Kenny to complain to the others about how much is poor nose hurt, Kenny rolled up his magazine, tucking it under his arm. He looked up one of the patches of sun peeking through the now light gray clouds, and smiled. He now had an adversary to take out his frustrations on. Maybe life wasn't so bad after all.
This is for someone who leant an ear when I really needed one. =w=