A/N: This is just going to be a collection of one of random ideas involving Stan/Kenny. It may range anywhere from Angst, Fluff, Smut, etc. I'm going to base almost all of them after songs, so if anyone wants to throw some ideas or songs in my direction, feel free to! The POV ranges from each chapter... There isn't any dialogue in this chapter, BUT THERE WILL BE IN OTHERS! It really depends on what kind of genre the chapter is. :)
I own NOTHING, all right goes to the owners~
Shameful Metaphors
constructed by Chevelle
Kenny's POV: Age 19
Angst: Nothing serious, light Stenny
Fear. It's an interesting concept, the idea of an emotion so vast in levels, undetected unless sought out. Yet, it's always there, that fear.
I don't fear for myself, for nothing is left to worry about. My life is silent, a whisper hidden beneath all the others, the others who actually matter. I will live for a matter of time, do nothing worth while, die, and repeat. Once, when I was younger, I thought I could change the world. It was just a silly dream of a fourth-grader, but it still gave me hope. That ambition caused me to dress up and play the role of a hero, dance like a puppet for apathetic crowds who didn't even know how to care anymore.
Then it was over. For a single moment I had hoped, I had actually crossed my fingers and wished on a star for this pain to be over, to either learn the truth or simply succumb permanently to death.
Nothing changed, because nothing ever changes. There are those who have a chance, who have luck on their side, then there are those left to wander, left to wonder what went wrong and then wait for something new to happen. High School was the last chance, and yet all our futures were already planned out before we ever even had the idea to protest. We were too young then, our fates twisted behind our backs as we laughed at things we wouldn't remember the next day, because we were naive to the world then.
We were the inseparable quadruplet, Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and me, yet we still managed to be separated. We were just children growing up, learning to face reality and hold each other up when life threatened to tear us apart. Cartman drifted away, threw himself into sports obsessively, turned the fat into muscle, his anger into physical labor. He was the quarterback, the top student of academics, the jock, any and all of the names fit the new person he had become.
Kyle turned to academics, the only place were life was as simple as the words written there. Stress was his weakness, but he was happy in a reality were things were exactly as stated, were every aspect had an exact answer, versus the complex ones the world had to offer. He was always the one who would move on from this god awful place, who had so much to offer to the world.
Stan? He shattered inwards, wrapped himself in a morose silence, not depressed but... withdrawn. Lost on where he stood, constantly losing his footing and having to crawl from where he had fallen. Music became his release, he became absorbed in an instrument the moment he picked it up, whether it be the violin or the guitar, two instruments he forced himself to learn until he collapsed of exhaustion, the melodies became his life. It kept him out of trouble and yet... He was still wandering, much like I was. There was no place designated for him.
I wish I could say I found something healthy for myself in high school that I turned to when I was alone and lost, like my three old friends had. Yet, any good thing I could of had, I ruined it by all the terrible things I chose to do. The story of my life right there... I taint all the good things, leaving only the dissolute twisted morals that I carry with me, for that's all I know how to do. No, I didn't find something great in high school, I bended to the easy things. I took all the drugs there was to offer, fucked anything that walked, sold my body for the hell of it, drank myself into oblivion, committed suicide over 50 times in front of crowds for money, and tore down any person that tried to help me from the hell I had buried myself in.
There wasn't anything I thought was left living for.
I only ever had three true great things in my life, and their places in my heart were wavered, strained, and stained. Art used to be something I loved, it could have been my future if I would have been smart enough to try and pursue it. But no, I punched my art teacher in the face and screwed his daughter afterwords. I gave up trying, gave up commitment, because I thought I knew everything about life, and how there was no point in getting attached, for I'd just mess it up one way or another.
That was one of the empty places in my heart, my love for something that expressed myself, that was now lost somewhere far away. My little sister held another portion, the only girl in my life that actually mattered to me, because she was mine to protect. She was the one who got me clean from all the shit I had done, not some councilor, not another therapist, just the kid who needed to depend on her big brother, because their was no one else. Ruby needed me to be there, so I promised I would be, in place of our fucked up parents, to save her from the hard shit in life, to hold her and tell her everything would be alright, when our "parents" finally ditched out on us, leaving us to defend ourselves.
I cleaned myself up, got a job, though I still sold my body, so that she wouldn't have to go through any of the things I had too. I kept her fed, tried to replace what she couldn't have with things that would make her happy, and stayed with her every moment. I couldn't leave her... I wouldn't leave her. I gave up my dreams of leaving South Park, instead I collected that degree from the principle with a sad smile, and humbled myself to work as a greaser at the gas station, all for her.
Then... their was Stan. The quiet boy with the raven black hair and the slate grey eyes, the one who had so much going for him, the one who could do so much, change so much.
The one who graduated high school only to disappear. His parents had no clue where he went, for no collages were attended in his name, no credit cards or checks were written by him, no letters, calls, or e-mails. He was just... gone.
I knew he would come back though. South Park was a dangerous and sick drug, a fucked up place that was addicting, a beacon for the lost souls that would always drag them back screaming.
And sure enough, about a year later those grey eyes were staring into mine again, a grin on his face that I hadn't seen since we were kids, a smile that made something unfamiliar flutter through my stomach. He was home again, but everyone he had known had moved on, except me. He was looking for something familiar, something comfortable.
I was looking for the exact opposite, and I found that in those grey eyes.
Yet, why? Why does every word, every interaction, between us feel so strong, so loud, and yet our lives make no sound? We wander hand in hand, yet no one knows us, we are simply ghosts passing through. Our chains restrict us here, but no ones sees. We are alone.
I don't fear for myself, because all I have to worry about is for him. At the end of the day, I just have to keep those grey eyes dreaming, keep his heart rate the metronome of his precious music. I have to keep him breathing, keep him away from the pain. That's my destiny, not his.
Life doesn't matter until there is someone else there to make it matter.
That's why I'll continue to write these Shameful Metaphors.
