South Park © Matt & Trey.
Craig is probably OOC, but oh well~ for the sake of the story. Also, no trips to hell for Kenny in this one. Poor babe.
Is Craig evil? Is Craig sick? Does Craig care about Clyde? I don't know! Interpret it however you'd like :)
Kids with guns, kids with guns
Taking over, but it won't be long
They're mesmerized skeletons
Kids with guns, kids with guns
Gorillaz
December 18.
Craig Tucker isolates himself. He pushes people away because he enjoys solitude. He also enjoys inflicting pain, but more than that, he enjoys the simple feeling of feeling nothing at all. It's an empty existence, but he doesn't mind. He pushed his parents away, he pushed his sister away, and he is even pushing his friends away. Soon he'll have no one.
Last night Craig called his best friend. "Don't come to school tomorrow," he said flatly.
"What? Why not?" Clyde Donovan asked, confused at Craig's strange and sudden request.
"Just don't," he reiterated before hanging up. Clyde tried calling him back, but he turned his phone off after the incessant ringing grew annoying.
It's a Wednesday morning now and Craig is getting ready for school. Today is the last day before winter break. Today is the day. Today he is going to become a legend… he'll be a household name, not that he really cares about any of that. He throws on a plaid, button down shirt and a pair of jeans before heading to school. With his book bag over his shoulders, everything is going perfectly monotonous – the way the day usually starts. He enters homeroom and takes in each familiar face before shutting the door behind him.
"I see you've finally decided to show up, Mr. Tucker," the teacher greets offhandedly, with a tired sort of sigh.
Craig just smiles at her. It's a strange sort of smile – the kind of smile that doesn't belong on the face of a teenager.
"Craig, take your seat," the teacher demands, irritated.
Craig doesn't do as he's told. Instead, he pulls the gun out from his book bag. Annie Faulk is the first one to scream. In turn, she's the first person to get a taste. Craig has been practising and he's gotten very good.
Right in the heart. Bang.
Then everyone starts screaming as the sound of the gunshot rings throughout the room. Teenagers scatter, trying to hide behind desks and chairs. The teacher tries to shield a few students, but Craig kills her next. Wide eyed, Stan Marsh grabs a stunned Kyle Broflovski and hides behind a desk they've turned onto its side. On the opposite side of the room, Craig shoots the Jew's girlfriend – pretty, blond Bebe Stevens and then Stan's girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger.
Stan starts wailing and sobbing. He sounds like he's going mad. Kyle tries to calm him down as if he's hoping if they're quiet enough they'll get out of the school alive. A girl and a boy try to escape, but once they reach for the door handle Craig turns around and shoots them both in the back.
Bang, bang.
Dead. Just like that, two more lives are stolen away. Is that all there is to ending human existence? It seems too easy. Too easy. Is this all humanity is? More dead meat. Dead weight. Lifeless. What is a soul, really? Craig wonders this as he saunters around the desk and aims his gun at Kyle and Stan. "N-no," Kyle stutters with stunned, pleading eyes. Craig points the gun at his forehead and pulls the trigger without remorse. Kyle slumps onto Stan, who touches his tanned face and continues sobbing.
"Kill me," he cries, almost begging as he stares at the barrel of the gun. Craig decides to let him live. Merry fuckin' Christmas. Craig always hated Christmas.
Kenny McCormick shields Lola and Butters Stotch. "Please, Craig…" Kenny starts. "Stop this."
Craig always liked Kenny. He is better than the shit he hung around, but that doesn't stop Craig from putting a bullet in his chest. Who did Kenny think he was telling Craig what to do? "Fuck you!" Craig shouts his first words of the day. "Fuck you!"
Kenny falls forward onto the floor in a pathetic heap. Lola and Butters hug each other and Craig can see them trembling. "Please, Craig…" Lola chokes out, voice wavering. "W-w-we're friends…"
Bang.
More screaming. Voices echo in Craig's mind like songs – the kind of music he can really appreciate. This is his song. This is his creation. This death is art.
January 08.
Craig shows up on the other side of the clear wall wearing an orange jumpsuit. "How's life behind bars?" Kenny asks the eighteen year old murderer.
"Fun," Craig says flatly, not a hint of emotion evident in his tone. "I love prison rape. It's always the highlight of my day. Guards rarely show up in time to stop it from happening. I've been fucked at least ten times."
Kenny cringes before murmuring, "You killed twice that many people…"
"So, I'm getting what I deserve?"
Kenny doesn't answer. He doesn't know how.
January 11.
Ruby would like to stay at home forever, but she can't. She needs to face the inevitable. She can't run away. She can't hide. She gets up and puts on a nice dress before making her way to the high school. There is a large memorial in the lobby, with photographs of all the deceased students. She pauses in front of it, lingering for a moment. There are so many familiar faces: Kyle Broflovski, Eric Cartman, Annie Faulk, Bebe Stevens, Kevin Stoley, Butters Stotch, Wendy Testaburger and Heidi Turner among many others. These were people her older brother grew up with. People she was used to seeing in the hallway. Some of them have even been to her house. She closes her eyes for a moment before turning away. In class, the kids whisper and Ruby feels like all eyes are on her.
"Ruby's back."
"Where'd she go?"
"Didn't you hear? Her brother was the senior who killed a bunch of kids last month before Christmas. There was only one survivor. Stan Marsh. He was on the basketball team with Kyle Broflovski. He hasn't been to school since the shooting."
"What? No way!"
"Yeah, he probably won't be coming back at all. I know I wouldn't."
"Me neither."
"After it happened, Tucker tried to set himself on fire. They found him behind the school, dosing himself with gasoline."
"Too bad he didn't succeed."
"Yeah, he was in prison but they transferred him to a place they think is more suiting. Now he's in a nut house."
"He deserves the death penalty."
Ruby slams her hands down on her desk, having heard more than enough. "Shut up!" she screams at the top of her lungs. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" She spins around and shrieks, "None of you know anything about anything!"
The class falls uncomfortably silent as the teacher walks in. Ruby leaves, unable to bring herself to stay.
January 13.
"Mom would kill me if she knew I was here," Ruby says as she takes sight of her brother. He's wearing pale blue pajama pants and a loose t-shirt that hangs off his thin shoulder. She wraps her arms tightly around him, but he just stands there lifelessly. "She doesn't want me to visit you. Neither does Dad."
"Why are you here then?" Craig mumbles the question.
"I wanted to see you," she says simply.
"You can't just pretend," he tells her. "You can't just pretend I'm not a murderer."
She lets go of him and takes a step back, staring at him and wondering when he began to change. The person in front of her is not the brother she remembers. He's just a shadow, a shell. He's someone else. Or maybe he's just a marvellous actor and just got sick of playing pretend. Maybe she never knew her brother at all. These questions haunt her. The thoughts pervade continuously and it's an endless cycle of torment.
"Why did you kill your friends?" she asks weakly. More than anything, she wants to understand.
"Because," he says simply.
February 06.
"I didn't think you'd be the one who'd end up in here," Kenny admits softly. "I thought Tweek would be the one in the nuthouse. But hey, I guess it's better than prison, right?" It seems they've decided prison wasn't the place for him, and an asylum better suited the kind of person he was.
For some reason, Craig can't quite register what's happening or what's being said. Maybe it's the pills he's being force fed or maybe the doctors are right. Maybe he's not all there in the head. Maybe there's something missing. He wouldn't be surprised. There's nothing inside. He always knew. There's just a void.
When fellow patients ask him his name, he replies, "Nothing."
When the doctors ask him what's wrong, he replies, "Nothing."
I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing. I'm nothing.
Nothing.
Craig lets out a sigh and looks at Kenny. "Do you know what it's like," he starts, "to be nothing at all?"
"I don't know what you mean, Craig," he says warily.
"I think it would be a little like dying, so you must understand," Craig continues. "I like it."
"Is that why you tried to kill yourself?" Kenny asks. "You wanted to maintain that nothingness without interruption?"
"Yes, that is why I tried to kill myself. There is nothing more pure than death."
"I think you're afraid," Kenny says. "You're afraid of everything."
"Am I?" Craig wonders.
"Yeah. That's why you're trying to achieve that empty feeling."
March 27.
"Do you get a lot of visitors?" Kenny asks. He hasn't come to see Craig in a while.
"Not really," Craig airily replies. "No… Sometimes. Sometimes I do."
"Who visits you?"
"Parents and kids," he says. "Not my own parents, but the parents of victims. People who want to know why I did what I did."
"Do you ever give them the answers they're looking for?"
"No," he sighs, as if the whole ordeal is tiring him.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know the answers either."
"If you knew, would you tell them?" Kenny wonders.
Craig smiles a small, distant smile. "You ask more questions than the doctor."
"I think you know why you did what you did, Craig," Kenny says with a fair bit of certainty. "I think you know exactly why you did it."
"I don't care what you think, though."
Kenny simply sighs. Over the years, he grew to see Craig as a lobotomized version of a normal kid. He didn't suspect that there was something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. He was proved sorely wrong, along with everyone else.
"Do you know what they do when you first arrive in prison?" Craig asks.
"What?"
"They check you," Craig says.
"Check you?" Kenny repeats, confused.
"A man put a glove on and stuck his finger up my ass while some other man watched. I got an X-rated pat down. I got another one when I arrived here, though I'm not exactly sure what they were hoping to find."
"Drugs, maybe?" Kenny murmurs.
"Where the hell would I have found the time to buy and hide drugs?" Craig shakes his head. "Another time, a man forcibly removed my clothes; afraid I'd try and tie a noose with my fucking pajama pants. I feel like I should be angry about being treated like that. I struggled for a minute, but then I realized I didn't care. After being jumped while taking a shower in prison… that wasn't such a big deal."
"Shit," Kenny deadpans. "For the record, I don't think you were crazy. I think you were sick. This place is what made you crazy. If you're fucked up before you get here, then this place just keeps you fucked up. This place is a prison, too. Just a different kind of prison than the one you were in before coming here."
Craig snorts back a laugh. "I just killed a classroom full of kids," he states flatly. "People I've known almost my entire life. Some of them were my friends, and you're telling me I'm not crazy? I hate people like you."
"People like me?" Kenny asks.
"People who refuse to believe the worst, even when the worst is what's true. I'm not sick," Craig bitterly spits out the word, "I just don't care. Everyone thinks I'm sick. The doctors think I'm sick. My parents think I'm sick and dangerous. I'm not fucking sick."
Kenny smiles softly. "Well, maybe there isn't a difference between being sick and being crazy. Or maybe you're just evil."
"I killed two of your best friends," Craig decides to add, trying to get a rise out of the blond. "I shot Kyle. He was crying. With his eyes, he was begging me to spare his life… Stan was watching the entire time. He was shaking and sobbing. I shot Kyle in the forehead. Before that, I killed Bebe and Wendy while Kyle and Stan watched. I didn't feel anything."
"Were you hoping you would?" Kenny wonders.
"I don't know," Craig admits.
"Clyde told me you asked him to stay home the day you killed all those kids," Kenny says. "Why did you do that?"
"If I saw Clyde, I would have killed him."
"Did you want to?"
"I don't know what I want," Craig admits. "Why don't you hate me?"
"Maybe I do." Kenny shrugs. "Maybe I'm just here trying to figure out why the fuck so many of my friends are dead."
"Oh."
"Did you kill everyone because you wanted what they had?" he asks. "Every person you killed… every single one of them was good. They all had so much to live for. You took it away."
Craig closes his eyes and mutters, "Shut up…"
"But you didn't kill Stan. Why? I don't know. Maybe it was out of some sick thrill. You kill the people he loves best and let him live with it. He had nothing left, so you let him live."
"Yes," he says in a strange and gentle tone. "My gift to him… He was the only one who asked for death, so I gave him life because I knew that it would be the only way to give him what I gave the others. Nothingness."
Kenny shakes his head. "I pity you, Craig. I really do."
"Do you want to know what I think?" Craig asks.
"Go ahead," Kenny murmurs.
"I think I did kill you," he starts. "I think I killed you and I think you came back. You can't be with your friends and now you hate me because of it."
Kenny lets out a sigh, but doesn't tell Craig that he's right.
March 24.
Clyde takes a deep, calm breath before walking into the asylum. He hasn't visited Craig once and he tried damn hard to deny what went down all those months ago. It was on the news the day it happened. Clyde faked sick; staying home just like Craig had asked him to.
Roger was watching the news. He called Clyde downstairs frantically when he heard them mention his son's school. Clyde started sobbing uncontrollably when he saw Craig on the screen. He was being taken away. He wasn't struggling. He seemed to go willingly. People were screaming at him... the parents of children he grew up with.
The following day, Kenny called Clyde. He said Craig went mental. He killed some kids. He killed some friends. Clyde didn't understand.
"Why'd he do it?" Tweek keeps asking.
He's asked the question about a hundred times and every time, Clyde has the same answer. "I don't know." It's not really much of an answer, but it's the only thing that he'll allow to slip between his lips. He doesn't want to hover on any possible notions of theories. He doesn't want to believe the things that are being said about his best friend – that he has no soul, that he's evil, or that he's sick. Clyde doesn't want to force himself to think about it, but he knows it's inevitable.
Tweek and Token are in a different class and Clyde can't help but wonder if they were in the same class as he and Craig, would Craig have told them to stay home as well. For some reason, he already knows the answer is no.
"Clyde," Craig states when he sees his friend sitting in the visiting room.
"Craig," he greets weakly, standing up and approaching Craig so they're standing face-to-face.
"So, you finally came to see me. I knew you would eventually. I've been waiting, you know –"
"What the fuck did you do?" Clyde whispers, cutting Craig off.
He smiles, but it's free of emotion. "I always loved you the most, you know," he says, choosing not to answer the question. It's a question he never answers, no matter how many times he's been asked. He cups Clyde's cheeks in his hand and gives him a brief kiss. It isn't a romantic kiss; it's just a kiss – the kind you give only to your best friend. Simple as that.
"Was our friendship just a lie?" Clyde asks quietly once Craig draws back.
He gives his best friend a blank, empty stare. "It wasn't a lie," he says. "Not all of it." Though, he's only telling Clyde what he knows he wants to hear.
Clyde's eyes are wet, but for once in his life he's not sobbing. He throws his arms around Craig and says, "I'm really fucking sorry."
"You're an idiot, Clyde," Craig says, mumbling the words into the other boy's shoulder. "You're not supposed to say sorry to people who hurt you. Take this as a lesson."
Clyde doesn't answer and for many long minutes, he just stands there holding Craig's body to his.
"Don't come back here, Clyde," Craig says softly, the words muffled by Clyde's letterman jacket.
"Why?" he whispers the question as they finally break apart.
"I don't want you to."
April 07.
Stan starts sobbing as the memory replays in his head. He sees the fear in Butters eyes as he's gunned down. He sees Wendy and Bebe with panic stricken faces, frantically trying to hide. He sees them die. He sees them murdered. He sees Craig's eyes light up like sparks. He feels Kyle take his hand. Neither of them can stop shaking. He sees Craig point the gun at Kyle's forehead and pull the trigger without a hint of remorse evident on his face. He feels Kyle slump onto his lap, dead eyes staring at the floor. He sees body after body fall.
He relives it. Every night he relives it.
"I can't, I can't…" he murmurs to himself, panting and choking on each breath he takes in. He's going to make it stop.
April 10.
"By the way, your kill count went up one," Kenny says during his next visit with Craig.
Craig doesn't respond. Naturally.
"Stan Marsh just commit suicide a few nights ago," Kenny continues. "I just got back from the funeral. I guess he didn't really appreciate your present to him. You ruined his life and that is why you let him live. It's sick. It doesn't matter because you took everything from him. His best friend, his girlfriend, and his freedom. Our lives are only our own as long as we have our freedom. When you gave up the chance to take Stan's life, he knew that it belonged to you. That's what you were saying when you did it, whether that was intentional or not. I don't fucking know… Maybe you just wanted to tear everyone apart and take from them what you wanted for yourself."
Still, Craig remains silent. Kenny shakes his head, getting up to leave, but Craig doesn't mind. He knows Kenny will be back. Kenny always comes back. He'll keep doing so until Craig tells him not to.
April 15.
"Why did you do it, Craig?" Kenny asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Please…"
"You ask me far this often."
"So?" Kenny shrugs. "You've never answer. There are people who want answers. You owe them that much."
"It won't make a difference," Craig says. "It won't bring the dead kids back to life. It won't ease the parents' pain. It won't do anything. Is that the only reason you come here? Will you stop once you find out?"
"I'll keep coming if you want me to," Kenny insists.
"Is that a promise?" Craig asks.
"Yes," he says. "Why did you kill your friends?"
Craig shuts his eyes and Kenny watches intently as his lips part. "You really want to know why?"
"I do."
He opens his eyes and leans forward. "I killed them because I knew I could," he breathes. "I was bored and I wanted to do something."
"What?" Kenny raises an eyebrow.
"I did it because I was bored."
"You…" he trails off. "You were…"
"I was bored," Craig repeats.
"You commit mass murder… because you were bored?" Kenny whispers, staring at Craig. This when he notices Craig's empty, soulless eyes. There's nothing inside of him. Nothing good. Nothing pure.
"Yes, bored," he says again. "I was bored with life. I was going to end mine, but I decided to do something unexpected beforehand. I knew no one would see it coming, especially not from me. It was a big fuck you to everyone. It didn't quite work out the way I had planned. I suppose these things rarely do… Nonetheless, it made me sooo happy."
"I think you really are a sociopath, Craig," Kenny tells him. "You have no conscience, no social skills… You do things and you don't understand why they're as horrible as they are. You don't feel things the way a normal person should. You have messed up notions on what love is and you show it by doing strange things. You talk about human life like it doesn't have value, like it's just something for you to play with. You have no remorse. You don't care about people. You're horribly sadistic and there are things you do just for the sake of it. You've always been these things… I just never knew it was bad until you showed us what you were capable of."
"You know," Craig states, "they don't use the term sociopath anymore. It's antisocial personality disorder. That's what they say I have, among other things."
"Whatever, same difference…" Kenny murmurs.
"I know," Craig admits.
"Yet…" Kenny starts once more, "you told Clyde to stay home so you wouldn't have to kill him, too."
"I don't know why I did it." He doesn't know, and he doesn't want to think about it. Answers would only complicate things and Craig would much rather keep everything simple.
"Me neither." Kenny shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe you were just doing what you knew a best friend should. It was a very human thing to do. You saved his life, right? Maybe you cared at one point, but it's lost now. That much is obvious."
"Okay."
"You're alone," Kenny says, "and because of what you've done, you always will be. You're going to live alone and die alone."
"So what?" Craig whispers. "We all do." And Craig happens to prefer being alone.
April 16.
Kenny buys sunflowers on his way to school and approaches the memorial. He does this monthly. He looks at each photograph, taking in the familiarity of his best friends. He takes in Kyle's smiling face. He always hated taking pictures. The cameraman nagged Kyle until he finally relented and put on this big, silly grin. Eric made fun of him for it and said he looked gay. Eric always took nice photos. That boggled everyone's mind. He looked sweet in his pictures and seeing them would fool a person into thinking that meant he was a sweet guy. Stan's photo was put on the memorial as well. Everyone agreed it was the right thing to do. Kenny almost wished he could stay dead so his photo would be there and the four of them would live in infamy. Together. That's the way it should have been. They were all supposed to be together. Forever.
But life is cruel, just like Craig. Neither does as they're asked.
Kenny places the sunflowers on the ledge, where hundreds of other flowers are resting. He feels an ache in his chest. Similar to Stan, the memory of the murders haunts each corner of his mind. Sadly, unlike Stan, dying wouldn't do anything about to help. He'd be gone, but right away he'd return. He'd wake up in his bed and he'd be alive and breathing. Kenny never understood why. What a horrible twist of fate. He's never resented his curse more than he does now.
"Hey," a sudden voice greets. Kenny turns around and sees Clyde standing there with his hands in his pockets.
"Hey," Kenny greets him in return.
"I'm really sorry," Clyde says.
Kenny just shakes his head. "You didn't do anything," he whispers. "It was your friend."
"Yeah, but still…" Clyde murmurs. "Maybe if I paid more attention… Maybe there were signs…"
"There was nothing to be done," Kenny says with finality. He throws an arm around Clyde and the two of them walk away from the memorial. It's time for class.
April 25.
Kenny hasn't come back to visit. Craig didn't ask him to. He likes being alone. He likes being nothing. He likes simply existing in his own mind, where nothing can get in the way. However, it's something he can't achieve. Not yet. Not until he's gone. Not until he finishes what he started. Then the doctors can't ask him questions, the nurses can't nag him and the patients won't try to talk to him. Everyone will finally leave him alone.
Sometimes Craig feels like he came into this world the wrong way – like there are parts of him that got lost on the way out, the parts that might have made him normal. He doesn't hover on those thoughts. He's tried to feel the right things, but he can't seem to. That's why he stopped pretending. There really is nothing inside. He always knew that, but still, he's okay. He's more than okay. He's happy. He found happiness in each and every one of his victim's faces. Every night, he thanks them.
Craig leaves his room, sauntering past the familiar heads of the night staff. They're all oblivious as they chatter amongst themselves, giggling as if they haven't a care in the world. Craig leaves through the back exit and walks up the fire escape to the roof of the building. The alarm starts buzzing, but he keeps moving. He walks with a calm air and the steel steps are cold on his bare feet. He reaches the top and stands at the edge. The night nurses will find him in a matter of seconds and they'll get in trouble for accidentally letting another patient go. Welcome to South Park.
Craig looks searchingly at the moon before extending his arms to the sky. "I'm ready," he whispers, taking a step forward.
- Fin -