I do not own South Park. If I did, Stan and Kyle would be gay lovers and Cartman would be dead.
Eternity - Style
This town never changes. Ever. It's been the same ever since I could remember. Sure, people age and die, but as soon as you do, it's like you were never there. Like you didn't have a life. Like you didn't have a family. Like you didn't have friends. Like you never even existed. There's no record of you, there's no memories of you, there's no trace of you. It's as if they deleted all evidence of you ever living in this town.
Kyle and I are the only ones who've noticed these things. We're the only ones who remember the people who have died, and even when we try to tell someone, they look at us like we're insane. Not even Kenny, who's said he's died several times and come back. It's frustrating, to say the least, that nobody besides ourselves notices. I can't even name all the times we've been sent to psychiatric therapy for our insane "delusions." We've been named the town's official nut jobs, we've gone so many times.
Recently we decided to just end all this repetitive shit. We're tired of nobody noticing; of nobody listening; of nobody caring. It's getting old and repetitive and tiresome. So we're just going to end it for us this Friday morning at the strike of twelve.
It's 11:50 PM, Thursday night.
I sat with my back rested against the tombstone, frost swirling around my mouth with each breath. My thoughts are focused solely on the pathetic life I'm leaving behind, and how I'll be free of this Goddamn curse called life. Snow's floating around me… It always is, though. It snows year-round in this God-forsaken town. Sometimes I wonder if that's why everything within the boundaries of this town seems frozen in times. But then I think, "Who cares? Nobody even notices anyways." So I return to think about leaving this town behind once and for all.
A second bund of darkness resides next to me on the frozen ground. His bright red hair is slipping out from under that green-and-black plaid hat of his, curling around his high cheekbones. The patches of forest we call the iris are focused on a gravestone in front of us, and he doesn't look up when I brush my hand against his. He just locks it are mine and watches the grave marker. His fingers are cold. So cold, I fear that he's already died and this is his ghost sitting next to me. But as I press my lips to his in a final kiss, I feel warmth there, telling me he's alive.
As we're sitting, the church bell begins to chime somewhere in the distance, signaling the beginning of Friday morning.
One…
Two…
"It's time," I whisper, locking my deep midnight gaze on the forest of my love's.
Three…
Four…
I pick up the small bottle of poison we'd brought to kill ourselves with and trail my eyes around the curves of Kyle's face.
Five…
Six…
He takes the first swig then hands me the bottle.
Seven…
Eight…
I quickly follow suit, setting the now-empty bottle on the ground beside me.
Nine…
We cuddle in the darkness, snow flowing around us in a screen of white.
Ten…
The frost we create with our breath slows then eventually stops.
Eleven…
The eternity we spent in this never changing town draws to an end.
Twelve…