Author's Note: My next project. Like Pinning Butterflies is nearly done (just need to round off the final chapter/epilogue) and I felt like I wanted to explore other pairings and stories. Fairy tales were the first that immediately came to mind. Comment with future stories/pairings and I'll probably write it~ These stories will be relatively short and more of a collection of drabbles than an actual continual story. Enjoy~
The Little Match Seller
No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen...
Butters
T for depression, sensitive subjects
It had moved on from grounding a long time ago.
The bruising had began as he rebelled, as he fought desperately against the curfews, the clothes, the work, the ethics. He wanted to run and hide from them, to stop the bruising, to stop the new, physical pain that they brought. The stinging remarks were hard, but when they moved onto punches, he wondered if he would ever feel a thing again.
He clambered out of his window, falling breathlessly into the snow and trudged forward, trembling as he fought his way past the little drifts of snow and onto the sidewalk. One glance back showed them quite nicely in their living room, framed by the window, their eyes glowing reflections of the TV set, blissful ignorance.
He carried on.
It was Cartman's house that was the closest when he realized which direction he was going. Of course Cartman offered for him to come in, of course he gave him the widest, most disgusting smile that made Butters stomach churn. But when Butters stepped in, his feet bare and frozen, his eye swollen, he knew he couldn't stay.
Cartman was hammering him with questions, none of which mattered at all, he was sure. He couldn't hear them, anyways. As Cartman's mom bustled around the kitchen, making them some hot chocolate, he had eyes only for the glittering set of knives on the countertop.
He could see one diving through his chest, wrenching out his heart. Could see how much they would cry when they realized why he had done it.
"Dude, are you even going to answer me? I'm talking here, hello?"
The hot chocolate was set down before him and, with a glance upward, Butters smiled brightly and nodded.
"Well, gee, I'm fine, Cartman." He smiled and took a sip off the top, burning his tongue and lip. "Just fine."
He would've stayed the night, but when he was laying there in the dark, next to a snoring Cartman, his mind wandered down to that set of knives in the kitchen. The only thing that held him back was the question:
Well, how would Cartman feel if he woke up and you were dead on the floor?
Not good.
He crept away into the silent night once again, bare feet frozen on first contact as he stumbled out the door and into the cold.
Kenny's window slid open quickly. Of course he hadn't been sleeping, not even at this late hour. He even helped Butters through and into the house, mumbling something as he searched for a clean towel and, not finding one, settled on a blanket to pat Butters down. He rubbed at his shoulders, hugged him even, trying to help him get warm.
Butters was too numb, of course, to feel any of it. Besides, he was too busy looking at the countless bottles of pills littering the floor next to Kenny's bed. Pills for everything. And there went his mind again, wondering what those pills could do, how many of them combined would effectively stop his heart from beating? In which order should he take them? Maybe Kenny would know.
"Hey, you ok, man?"
"I'm fine."
It was so easy, laying there in bed with Kenny, to stretch his arm out to the ground, to brush his fingers against those bottles of pills and sigh, so very quietly, to imagine himself taking them, shutting his parents up for once… finally. it was all he wanted. It was easy to pop open a bottle as Kenny rolled over onto his other side, easy to finger a pill, press it between his waiting lips.
Until Kenny's arm draped itself across him and that pill fell from his lips onto the pillow and rolled onto the floor, lost forever beneath the mattress.
And how would Kenny feel, waking up in the middle of the night, seeing him laying on the floor, convulsing and drooling all over himself? What would Kenny do then?
Butters pulled himself over the edge of the bed, slowly, to not wake Kenny, and took out into the cold once again. He made his way slowly, slowly, dreadfully slowly back to his house, back to his window. He wasn't used to being this cold, his toes awkwardly stiffened, unaware that they were being moved as he struggled to scale the wall, back up to his bedroom.
How would Cartman feel? If he woke up to a bloody body
How would Kenny feel? If he woke up to a twitching body
How would he feel, dragging this on and on, when he was so dead inside already? How could this be all that was left in life? More pointless smiles, more hollow laughs, more endless dark nights, when the plugs were pulled on his lights, his computer, his… world?
No.
And so he walked, very slowly, oh so slowly, to the bathroom. Drowning was the most peaceful way to die, he had heard somewhere, sometime, when his morbid interest in death had first began. Drown yourself. It'll all be better.
He turned on the tap, climbed into the bathtub with all his clothes, and submerged himself. It was hard at first, but then the instinct to breath fully kicked it and he dragged awful, huge gulps of water into his lungs, filling himself up as everything drifted away, peacefully.
Silent, quiet, stifled little bubbles drifted to the surface about his mouth, popping one by one.
When the sun came up and calls were made, informing the school, the hospital, so much business to do. Kenny and Cartman, shocked just as everyone else. How could he do this?
How could he do this?