A/N: Yay.
Band-Aid Quick
It's funny, the way he'll be here one second and gone the next. You'd think I'd get over it after seventeen years, but I guess not. You never know what'll set him off, though. One day, a faulty condom broke and implanted itself in his ear canal, causing a brain hemorrhage. Another time, a squirrel had taken a shit and it fell down his throat while he was breathing, cleverly asphyxiating and killing him before he could begin to try to dislodge the object. This time, a bird crashed through the window, lodging its hard beak into his chest cavity.
Sometimes, I feel as though the world is conspiring against me.
As if it's not bad enough that I'm screwing him, he also has to die within the next couple of days.
Can I not get at least one week of fucking and loving?
Guess not.
No one even bothered with a funeral. Why should we; he'd be back soon enough. Every few hours someone would come in, whisper 'Bastards, you killed Kenny' (even though that's so my fucking line) and then slip back out.
And the cycle repeated.
It has now been two days.
I'm scared shitless.
But some strange part of me knows he'll be back. You know, the gut feeling you get when you know that somethings gonna happen? Like the sun rise, or living to see the next day.
It's been a week.
I take back what I said before; I've gotten wiser. You don't know you'll see the next day. You don't know if the final breath you take before you go to sleep will be your fucking last.
You don't know your boyfriend will always be by your side.
It's been a month.
People say I'm a hollow shell now.
I tell them to fuck off.
People say I need to move on.
I say I moved on in their mom.
People say he's never coming back.
I stare blankly at the wall.
It's been six months.
I'm
wasting
away.
He's gone.
Why should I stay?
I'm contemplating
why I'm hesitating.
No, it's true.
I'll do anything to see you.
It's been a year.
Here lies Stan Marsh. A friend, a son, a brother, and a co-worker. May he seek his one.