Dawn's POV:

I lay back in the airplane chair sandwiched between my parents. My family and I were moving away from our former home in San Jose, California to some hick town in Colorado that I'd already forgotten the name of. The Smiths blared from my iPod's headphones as I closed my heavily black shadowed eyes and became lost within another one of my darkest daydreams. I imagined a world free of conformity and false hope. A world where people could live as their own unique souls and not wander aimlessly as the media produced pseudo beings in this endless rat race to hell. Call me cynical but I'm really not. I just believe that everyone should live artistically and not allow themselves to be molded into lesser versions of themselves for the sake of others.

That was basically the whole reason why I had chosen to be Goth. I enjoy expressing my individuality in a darker way because that is simply what's beautiful to me. That doesn't necessarily mean that I'm depressed all the time or fantasize about suicide or whatever the hell the rest of the world thinks I do.
They see my kind as spooky or weird and that's totally fine with me. I really couldn't care less.
Somewhere in the midst of my ranting thoughts, I drifted off into a deep slumber.
It wasn't long before the same unexplained dreams began to fill my head. Vivid images of a cemetery filled with crumbling tombstones and surrounded by wrought iron gates. Snow white roses bloomed all around, collecting beads of dew on their petals.

The iron gates opened invitingly as I approached them. I walked through at once, brushing past the snaking ivy. I found myself bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun and I became entranced by
one of the roses hanging just over a tombstone. The inscription was unreadable due to it being weathered by rain and covered in moss so it was difficult to determine who the grave had belonged to.
Nevertheless, I was overcome by the pristine beauty of that rose. Gently, I cupped it in my hand as I caressed its delicate petals. Then suddenly three drops of blood had spilled onto it and to my horror,
I saw him again.

Perched on top of the tombstone was the dark angel figure, his head bent.
He watched me with a pleading look in his eyes as more blood flowed freely from his severed neck and onto the ground. I stumbled backwards as he reached for me, his black wings flapping like a raven in anguish. "I need you!" he rasped. For a moment, I stood there gaping at him and then the sight of his blood on my hands.

"Dawn," a voice suddenly echoed inside my ear. "Dawn! Wake up!" "Wha-?" My eyes flew open to see my parents still sitting on either side of me, a look of concern on their faces. "Are you alright, honey?" Mom asked. Her brow furrowed deeply, giving her that all too familiar worried mother look.
"Were you having another one of those nightmares again?" "W-what makes you think that?" I replied.
"Well," Dad said "One minute, you were taking a nap and then the next you started twitching and crying in your sleep."

"It was probably just a bad side effect from eating the plane food." I said. "Honey, all you've had since we've been on here was bottled water." Mom said. "Could have been the BPA in the plastic."
I attempted to argue. "Nice try," said Dad. "Dawn, if these nightmares have been bothering you again, it's best we find you a new therapist as soon as we get settled in. Mom and I are really concerned for you."
"It's no big deal," I said. "Really." "It is if it's getting to be a constant thing." Dad retorted.

I leaned back in my seat and groaned. I really hated the idea of seeing another therapist.
The last one I had sure as hell couldn't figure out what was wrong with me.
What made them think this time would be any different? For the remainder of the flight, I sat in silence. I held my left hand in my right as I ran my thumb along the mysterious white scar etched across my palm. How I'd gotten it in the first place, I didn't know, but it had been there for as long as I could remember. About an hour later, the flight attendant announced our arrival. "Ladies and gentlemen we would like to welcome you to South Park, Colorado. The time is approximately five-thirty pm." I peered out the window at the looming Colorado mountains adorned with snow caps. Definitely a big rural change of scenery for me compared to the hot busy streets and freeways back home. "Come on," Mom said, nudging me. "Let's go find your brother and sister and get our luggage." With an aggravated sigh, I climbed to my feet and bustled through the crowded aisle with her and Dad.

I was relieved when the nightmare of the bloody angel hadn't returned by the time I fell asleep that night in our new house. I still couldn't fathom the reason behind it. It was the first time this had happened in months. I really hoped that time on the plane was just a fluke and not a sign that this bullshit was about to start all over again at random.
This was the last thing I wanted to deal with along with the fact that I was in a completely different place where nothing was familiar to me at all.

Suddenly, a loud rapping on my door had pulled me from the deep, dreamless sleep I was in.
"Time to wake up Dawn," I groggily opened my eyes to see Dad peering at me through the doorway.
He was dressed in an all black suit and gray tie, his white hair combed back neatly. Confused, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. "What time is it?" I asked. "What day is it even?" "Ten o'clock, Saturday morning," Dad offered helpfully. "So did you sleep okay? No more bad dreams or anything?" I shook my head. "No, I don't think so." "Well, it still would be wise for you to see a therapist in case it happens again." "Great," I grumbled. "So what are you all dressed up for anyway?" Dad sighed softly. "Well, we just got an invitation from the mayor to a boy's funeral.
His name was Kenny McCormick. He was around your age. Mom and I thought it would be good for us all to pay our respects and become more acquainted with the town at the same time."

"Oh," Normally, I didn't mind attending funerals for obvious reasons, but right now I wasn't so sure I wanted so much as to set foot inside a cemetery after last night. Dad, however, was watching me, surprised by the fact that I would even hesitate to go. I figured, it was best not to give him another reason to worry about me even more, so I eventually gave in. "Okay. I'll start getting ready then."
"Just be sure to wear something black," he teased. "Haha," I said sarcastically.

"And so, as we commit this young child to the earth, let us all be reminded that syphilis is still a deadly disease, and it can be caught even if using protection. This young boy learned the hard way that there's no guarantee... For the world of oral sex is a world... " The vicar bowed his head solemnly as he made his eulogy. As several other funeral goers thoughtfully whispered amongst themselves, I stood in silence. Syphilis? Wow. What a horrible way to die. "Tragic, isn't it?" A male voice suddenly tore me from my thoughts. I turned to see a tall guy with curly dark hair standing next to me. "How ignorant they all really are? They all act so sad and devastated by something like this, but I'll bet not even half of them can begin to imagine what pain and death are like. Tomorrow they'll all return to their happy go lucky lifestyles and forget all about today and the fact that one day they'll be put into the ground and forgotten."

I immediately recognized him to be a fellow Goth based on his outlook on life. He wore a mostly black attire, white dress shirt, black nails and guyliner. He held a cane in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. "You're the new girl aren't you?" Seconds later, another black clad dude with swoopy red and black hair and purple Doc Martens showed up flanked by an overweight girl and-what the fuck? A little kid? "Yes, I am," I said. "My name is Dawn Fawcett. I just flew in with my family last night."
"Well," said Red Goth. "We'd say 'welcome to South Park' but there really isn't much here in this shit hole of conservative republicans and Nazi conformists. My name's Pete by the way,"

he nodded towards Tall Goth. "That's Micahel," he gestured towards the girl and the kid. "and that's Henrietta and Ferkle." "Nice to meet you all," I said politely. Then I asked Henrietta,
"Is Ferkle your little brother?" "Psh! I wish," she rolled her eyes as she took a drag from the cigarette in her Cruella de Ville like holder. "My little brother is such an annoying Justin wannabe twerp." "Just be grateful you're the oldest," I said. "Two older siblings here. They love picking on me every now and then." "Rough," said Pete.

"So," I started "Did any of you guys know Kenny?" "We knew of him," said Michael. "But we never hung out obviously. All we knew was that he was one of the poorest kids in town. He was also this huge pervert. Teachers have caught him sneaking Playboy and Hustler mags into school all the time. It's no wonder the poor bastard died of an STD." "There was even a rumor that his white trash parents had a meth lab behind their house," said Pete, flipping his hair from his eyes. "His family was pretty dysfunctional. Always screaming and beating each other up."

"Sounds like he had a pretty difficult life," I lamented. "No kidding," said Pete. "Our backgrounds are no better though." "So what are you doing right now?" asked Michael. "We're going over to Henrietta's to write dark poetry up in her room. You can join us if you want." "It sounds tempting," I said. "but I think I'll catch up with you guys later. Will you be at school Monday?" "Unfortunately," said Henrietta.
"We usually hang out behind a classroom close to the playground if you want to come chill with us."
"Cool. See you over there then."
The gloomy foursome walked away and I set off to locate my family. In the middle of the crowd, I spotted three boys in winter wear standing next to a tree. Like Henrietta, one was extremely overweight with a teal snow cap, brown pants and a red coat over his fat belly. The other two boys were smaller and slimmer, one wearing a blue hat with a red trim and poof ball at the top. The other in a lime green ushanka with lots of curly red hair sticking out. He must have been Jewish.

"I can't believe Kenny is gone," The kid in the blue hat said, staring solemnly at the ground.
I told him," The fat kid said, "A woman's mouth is the most germ-ridden place on earth, I said. Statistically the most unsafe place for a man to put his penis, I said." "Well," said the kid in the green hat. "Now we know." "And knowing is half the battle." They stood around looking sullen for a moment longer before the unimaginable happened. "Oh well!" the fat kid said. "Let's screw this joint and go play video games at Clyde's house!" "Yeah!" the other boys joined in.

I watched in disbelief as the boys ran off. How can anybody recover that fast after a friend's death?
I really hoped that they were only trying to distract themselves from their grief and that they really weren't that insensitive because that would be totally fucked up. "Ready to go sweetie?"
Mom suddenly appeared at my side. "Sure," I said, distracted. "I'll be there in just a minute. There's something I want to do first." "Well, alright. You can just meet us back at the car when you're ready."
She walked off and, leaving me alone at Kenny's grave. I knelt as I took a moment to gently caress the picture of him that had been left there. He was dressed in an orange parka with smiling blue eyes peeking out from the brown fur trimming of his hood. I couldn't help but grow curious to know what his face had looked like underneath it.

"I'm really sorry this happened to you," I said honestly. "I know I never met you, but I wish I did. It seemed like we both really could have used a friend. Someone to talk to and confide in during rough times. Someone to listen care about you. I would have cared about you. I don't know your friends, but I'm hoping you'll live on in their hearts and that they'll always remember you."
I spotted a bush of red roses nearby. Pulling a small knife from my pocket, I snipped off two stems and placed them on his grave. Before leaving, I kissed my fingertips and lightly touched them to the top of his tombstone. "Rest in peace, Kenny."