A little experiment, exploring inside our favorite little Brit's mind. Maybe a little OOC-ness in here I guess…
He's about… thirty? Forty? I'll leave it up to you to decide.
No slash here. Maybe a little one-sidedness, but that's all. XD.
Enjoy :)
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I have had many nightmares, some that were completely elements of my own imagining, things that could not have existed, and some that came true. Or maybe, about the former, I am wrong on that count. This is a place where impossibility becomes a normal occurrence, a place where shit literally talks and you can see Jesus Christ on television every day, in person. I myself have no idea how I survived here for so long, for an outsider, but I did. And I'm still here, with the effects of this quiet little mountain town preeminent.
People here used to hate me for what I was, a foreigner—British, mind you, not French, as they usually say—and the sheer fact of that made me an immediate outsider the first day I stepped into South Park Elementary. The other kids fucked me up as much as they could, especially the "gang of four", the fatass Cartman's friends. Why they even remained friends with him is an ongoing mystery that I guess would never be solved, but they did. I was an easy target, too, with barely any backbone an annoying penchant of showing friendliness to anyone within a five-yard radius. I still have scars on me from that time, but as scars go, the physical ones faded and the mental ones remained, albeit whitewashed over many times. I was pretty stupid back then, I admit, but for some strange reason never found myself caring that much even though I did want some attention; I was never one to screw over other people to gain something I wanted. But I did want, and I did need.
Through the subsequent years, proceeding through the junior high and high schools, I was bothered less and less until the whole fuck-with-me thing stopped altogether. It wasn't because I had grown tougher or bigger, but I had stayed the same—and so to say, I had become a boring, unresponsive target for bullies. They had simply lost interest, and I can't exactly say that's a bad thing. But seeing them beginning to torture other poor souls—now, that was something that stirred up my memories. There are some people, including the aforementioned fatass, who just don't get the fun out of anything unless it's personally screwed over and delivered to their own front door. Once upon a time I'd come across a book describing this phenomenon, that there are some boys who like birds, some boys who are afraid of birds, and some boys who love birds so much that they shoot at them and rip their wings off for the fun of it, and all the time never letting anyone else touch their precious pet. Disturbing, but true… and I've seen too many people who are like this.
With this out, I also remember something else, not quite like the story of the little boy, but close, ages back when I stood at the edge of the earth and saw the world go black…
xxx
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
He was smiling inside and I knew it. Brilliantly white and cold like marble on a chilling December day, it imprinted itself on me, and I saw the wavering hope. Some people would give it their all to impress others, never caring about the consequences. I never quite got around to know him enough, and I doubt I would ever. Enigmas like him are what keeps the mind going, aren't they? But there was this one little similarity that we both shared, and might very well much be the only and lasting tie between us.
"Holy shit?!"
That was… one of them… Stan? Kyle? I don't remember, and neither does he. He doesn't care; the momentary warmth is enough.
I want you to know, the reason why I do what I do, and everything within me that would pour out like rain once that barrier has broken between us.
I wanted, and I needed. We were the victims in a world of wretchedness, and nobody loved us. He wanted to know what it felt like to be loved, to be awed, to be something. I let him do this to me, because I was that bird—I needed to feel those emotions upon me, I needed someone to love. And in the midst of all the madness I didn't care about what kind of person I wanted. Inherent within me was a creature that did not let itself condescend to the level of plotters and schemers who wanted to have to world to themselves; so I let myself be torn, and I loved it—I cannot take anything more than what I need. And still I wonder sometimes if I have just dreamt this all, that I have never known him, nor anyone else on that fateful day. Frankly, I don't give a damn, but that's just because I've experienced him before.
And you, like me, are nothing.
I heard him, but he never spoke. The only thing I felt was the burning sensation of fire, the hues of red and yellow and orange bursting before me. There were inaudible sounds of laughter through the roar of the flames, and I screamed and laughed along with them. There's only so much truth one can see, and in that one moment the world was never more clear to me.
I rose… and descended.
"Am I, still?"
Like a flower but in flames. Beautiful… but ephemeral.
End.