My second fic. Cause I was getting bored with my first one (not posted on um... enjoy? XD

Chapter One -- The Crimson Layer

Shoes.

Originally used to protect your feet, and keep them warm. They come in different shapes and sizes, and colours. The type of shoes worn can tell you a lot about the person inside them. Wearing high heeled shoes every day of the week shouts out 'Slut' and wearing designer shoes all the time would suggest 'Rich'. Wearing trainers would be the practical man, and wearing high polished shoes would be the business man.

This would have made sense to me a few days ago.

But now, as I'm looking down at my own feet, I see holes have formed in many places. There's a couple on the side of the trainer, and I can feel the cold, damp snow pressed up against the sole of my foot. If I hadn't been wearing thick socks, my foot might have been numb. Not that I wasn't cold. I was definitely cold.

The most notable feature on my shoe, however, was the overall red colour covering the shoe. Blood.

White would seep through the red, and it's hard to tell if the trainer is white with red blotches or red with white blotches.

I know that they were originally white, though.

The red doesn't even look like blood, but as if the shoes had been designed like this. Then again, who'd design a shoe looking like this?

I take in the overall view of my shoes. Ripped and torn, with dried blood covering the surface.

Yeah, a few days ago, I would have said that a person's shoe tells you a lot about their personality.

But this definatly isn't me.

I'm not a wreak, and my shoes wouldn't normally be torn and tattered. Yeah, so, my family might be poor, but it doesn't mean I can't keep my trainers in good condition. My shoes are normally a bit dirty, but I wash them a lot.

Unfortunately, the blood has dried on, and it's not coming off.

Hell, the blood isn't even mine. And I've died a lot, so it should be mine. But I know that it isn't.

I haven't died in about two months. I guess it's a good thing. But, if I i had /i been dying, then I wouldn't of had a chance to get my shoes covered in the red, sticky, menacing liquid.

I wish I didn't have this blood on my shoes.

I wish I didn't have this guilty conscience.

I wish I hadn't--

"Kenny?"

I spin around to see two sets of green eyes digging into my own. It's Kyle, and he looks pretty cold. He's shivering from the cool breeze and the all-year-round snow layering the concrete. I guess I've been sitting by this lonely road for a while now, maybe two hours at the most. It must be about one in the morning now. And I'm not even tired. I can't sleep, not after what I did. No one could.

But, Kyle's awake, obviously. And, unless he's fucked his life over, too, then I can't see any reason for him to be out this late.

"Kenny? Why are you out here?"

Ah, ignorance. It's a beautiful thing. When you don't have a clue what's going on, and to you, it all makes sense. For me, ignorance didn't last long. I guess this is just the way I'm growing up. Or choosing to grow up. Who knows?

"Why are you out here?" I shot the question back at him.

"I saw you out my window when I went to get a glass of water. You okay?"

I throw my head around to meet up with, indeed, Kyle's house. Damn. So much for not being interrupted. Guess I chose the wrong street to sit at.

"Yeah, I'm fine" I lie. Or at least, I assume I'm lying.

"So, why are you sitting out here?"

"Why not?"

Good question, Kyle. Why am I sitting out here? God, I don't even know. Maybe it's to escape what I did. Maybe I'm just giving myself something to worry about. Maybe I'm looking for sympathy. Maybe I'm insane.

Maybe.

"Well, you're shivering, for one thing"

And now it's hit me. It's blowing a gale. The harsh wind is thrashing against my face, and it hurts. Though, I'm not really in the right place to be complaining about pain. The deep layer of snow beneath me feels as though it's slowly eating away at me, and I think my foot has turned numb now. In fact, I'm not really shivering, I'm shaking… violently.

Yeah, it's really, really cold. And I definatly shouldn't be out here. It's beyond what's considered safe. I should go home I guess.

"I suppose it's pretty cold"

"Hey, if you don't want to walk all the way back home in this weather, you can crash at my place tonight. My parents won't notice"

"Nah, it's not too cold. I'll be fine"

I stand up, and the weight of my body comes crashing down on my legs. It feels as though my legs have been frozen stiff, like as though with each extra step I take, a little part of my leg will break off until they eventually snap in two. Staying at Kyle's house does seem a bit more rational, for my leg's sake.

Then again, it's not like I haven't died before.

Suddenly the harsh thrashes against my face become a lot worse, and I realize that it's raining stones. Hail-stones, that is. I immediately put my hand up to protect my face, I guess that's just human instinct.

And now, staying with Kyle tonight is starting to seem a lot better, and warmer, for both me and my legs. Yeah, I'm not that insane, yet, and I wouldn't want to break my record of two months. I've got to avoid dying if I can.

I look on at Kyle again, my hand still held up to my face. I can just imagine what I look like right now. Cold. Worn out. Scrawny. Pathetic. One huge mess. One huge, whole, fucking mess.

Kyle doesn't look too much better, I guess. He's got dressed pretty un-tidily. He's wearing some jeans and what appears to be a green tee-shirt, covered over by his jacket. His hat is on his head, but it looks as though it's about to fall right off. His ginger curls are clearly visible, even more so than usual. Not only this, but he looks just as cold as the snow itself. He too is trying to block out the harsh weather with his gloved hand, not really succeeding. Not only is he cold, but he looks really tired.

He gazes back at me.

"Y-you sure?"

I take one more look at myself, and then the sky, and then back at myself. How could I say no?

"Maybe I w-will"

"C'mon then" He motions me to follow him into his house, and I obediently follow.

"Th-thanks, dude"

The only audible sound is that of the snow crunching beneath our feet, and the chattering of our teeth. Above all, is the noise of stones cracking against my ear-drums. The never-ending shower of rocks, thrashing against my cheek.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

Never-ending.

I'd close my eyes, to try and block out the noise, but I'd probably end up walking into a tree. Or a car. Or a pack of wolves. Something ridiculous like that. Anything that could kill me, basically. I have to stay alert.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

It's so annoying. I can't even think. It's just there, and it's stopping me from processing anything.

I want to fucking be able to think.

I need to be able think everything through. I need peace.

Crack.

Stop.

And it does exactly that. The cracking noise stops. I'm inside Kyle's house now, and I'm walking up his stairs and into his bedroom.

"Just wait here, I'll find you something to sleep on."

I'm starting to warm up now, and I finally get to see myself in the mirror opposite. I've changed a lot since I was nine, both appearance wise, and personality wise. Now that I'm sixteen, I don't wear a parka anymore. I still keep to wearing orange; I think it suits me, but it would just be a simple tee-shirt, providing it wasn't too cold. Today would be an exception. Today I'm wearing a tattered long-sleeved top with jeans. Way too thin for the stone cold weather outside.

With no parka, that means no hood. I don't really care anymore for the little 'hats trend' Stan, Kyle, Cartman and I had going on. We've all outgrown that. None of them wear theirs, either. Cartman and Stan never wear their's anymore. Kyle will occasionally, but only if the weather is morbidly cold. Makes sense, I guess, even if the hat doesn't really fit his head anymore. I suppose it's for sentimental purposes more than anything.

Today though, I wish I did have a hood to cover my almost in-human face. I'm pure white, and it looks as though my lips are turning blue. My eyes have lost their usual blue colour, and are now a husky grey. In fact, my eyes are so dark, from sleep deprivation, that it's hard to tell that they're eyes in the first place.

My hair isn't anything to brag about either. The wind has tangled the strands into each other, it's usually pretty messy anyway, but right now, it's beyond messy.

I could try and sort it. It might take a while and I can't really be bothered with it. It's not really too important either. I'll see to it in the morning.

The door creaks open, and Kyle walks in, throwing some sheets on the floor for me.

"Here you go. Sorry, it's probably not the comfiest thing to sleep on"

"That's okay, dude. It's a lot better than having to walk home in this"

"Yep. Well, I'm gonna crash now"

"Sure. Night"

"Night"

The lights flick off, and now I can't see my reflection in the mirror. Finally, a chance to think things through with myself. No distractions, no interru--

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Bloody clock.