Author's Note: Hey, new story I'm working on. I just got this idea in my head and I hope it ends up alright. I'm still working on It's Always the Last Place You Look and I'll try to update both stories on a somewhat regular basis.
Disclaimer: South Park belongs to Matt Stone and Trey Parker. As do the characters.
(Present) Kenny's POV:
"It's not safe!" he screamed. He threw some clothes in my general direction and motioned for me to pack. I started folding them and he groaned and rushed over. He pushed me out of the way and started to shove the garments into my tattered suitcase. When it was almost overflowing we closed and zipped it.
He grabbed my hand and yanked me out of the room. In our hurry we ran into the other guy, I forget his name, and he cursed under his breath. We heard the door open and he, the guy holding my arm, swore. We quickly went down the staircase into the small basement where I was shoved against a wall with the brunette standing over me.
I shuddered finally understanding how far in I truly was. And as we saw flashlight beams pass under the door and heard the scuffling of heavy boot, I realized that I wouldn't be able to get out. Not this time.
XXX
Flashback
I can still remember the day he left. That was the day that we went from being the "Fucking Fantastic Four" to the "Teary-eyed Trio." His leaving us was a shock. It had been the last thing we expected. He had been the one that had always ended up doing the right thing at the end of each day. Did he think that leaving us was the correct choice to make? Were we nothing to him? Just another group of friends that he could take a shine to and then run off?
I've never really wondered why he had gone. I thought it had something to do with his parents. They wanted him to be the best that he could possibly be. And I'm not sure who made the decision to put the For Sale sign up, but it really didn't matter, anyways. All that mattered was that he was going away. Away to some high class, fancy-smancy, hoity toity private boarding school. And I would never see him again.
And, I mean, it wasn't like we hung out that much. We saw each other at the bus stop in the mornings, but for some reason we never really matched up. Him and his friend, they were perfect for each other. I was just the extra in our group. The perverted boy in an orange parka that died nearly every day. I was nothing, really, to them.
Now, we still meet at the same spot. We take a different bus, though, to the high school. South Park doesn't have one, so we have to travel twenty minutes to North Park. Our parents keep asking us why we haven't made any new friends. Apparently they don't understand that North Park hates us. They hate everything that has to do with South Park. It's been a rivalry since before the two towns were even built. It's almost as bad as the Denver/South Park contention. Now that's been going on since the dinosaurs. It's like God created humans and then said, "You will create two towns by the names of South Park and Denver. They will hate each other and nothing will make it better! And it's all for my personal entertainment!" You know? Now that I think about it, I can really see God saying that. He's more of a douche than the Bible let's on. I mean, seriously, He let's me die and brings me back to life again only to kill me again. And it usually hurts. Sometimes I wonder if he gets off on blood or death or something. Maybe I'll ask him next time he wants to take me. Again.
Crap. I got a little off subject, didn't I? I tend to do that. Especially when I'm high. Or just plain horny. Which is pretty often. I guess since I'm already talking I should explain the current situation that we're in.
Ever since Kyle went away, Stan slowly faded back into the Goth scene. The last time he had done that was when he was eight and Wendy broke up with him. Butters had managed to convince him to leave the group. This time, however, no one could persuade him. He was too upset about his Super Best Friend leaving him—even though he left all of us—and we realized he was too far gone to be saved.
When I say, we, I mean Cartman and I. Although I shouldn't consider us as us, since he's only been hanging out with me more since he doesn't have Kyle to rip on anymore. And Stan isn't fun to make fun of. So that leaves me. Every conversation starts with, "Hey poor boy." I'm starting to understand how Kyle felt being called a Jew every day by the fatass. I know that he uses me. I'm his little messenger boy. I get to run his errands, also known as getting drugs from the local druggie.
I forgot his name, but I know he has Down's syndrome. I heard something about him giving Jimmy steroids a few years ago. I doubt it's just a rumor considering what he has stashed under his porch. He can't handle a gun to save his life, though. I, being the messenger, have been shot many times by him. But only because his first shot was off aim. I ended up in Hell with two bullets in my left arm, one in my leg, and three in my stomach. Fucking painful. And that bastard God made me suffer for three hours, twenty-two minutes, and five seconds. I know because I counted. It got my mind off the pain.
No one else was affected that badly. Wendy never really cared for Kyle. And Bebe got over not seeing his, and I quote, "Godamn luscious, squeezable, Jewish ass." Now she's got her eyes on Clyde who has the rugged good looks. And on top of that, he's able to get her free shoes. I swear I'll never be able to understand chicks.
For three years now we've lived without him. We moved on, or at least I did. I still miss him every now and then, but I really don't have to time to think about my past friendships when I'm going to the club every other night.
But maybe I should explain where I am now and how I got here. After all, I'm sure you're all wondering.