Divinity
Act I: The Edge
When we were young, they taught us how to tell time. "How many seconds in a minute? How many minutes in an hour? How many hours in a day?" When we started getting older, we started asking ourselves worse questions, like, "How many hours until the day is gone? How many minutes does it take to fall asleep? How many hours are in forever?" It's a losing game: It always has been. Time only flies while we're at peace, or when we need more of it. When we're unhappy or alone, it drags on forever, like a curse. When I was in first grade, I found a book in my friend Kyle's backpack. It was called 'Prayer of the Masochist'. I didn't know or understand what it was, but I picked it up and read as best I could for hours. "How many hours in a day?" All that matters is what time the sun goes away. Once I finished the book, I closed it, dropped it on the floor of my room, and cried. That was years ago. I'm closer to an adult now, but I never forgot that book. My name is Stan Marsh. I've lived in South Park all my life with my mom, dad, and sister, Shelly. My best friend's name is Kyle Broflovski, my girlfriend since first grade is Wendy Testaburger, Kenny McCormick is my closest friend next to Kyle, I love Butters like a little brother, and Cartman is…a friend. We were all together when it happened. It all happens so fast. "How many moments in a second? How many breaths in an instant?" As it happens, I just close my eyes.
"Jew! Jew! Filthy Jew! Bastard!" It never ends. It'll be like this forever. Why doesn't anyone do something? How can everybody take it like a joke and act like I'm not crying? What did I do to bring this on myself? Did I just fuck up too many times? I'm not a bad guy. I do the best I can: I know it's not much, but I'm trying. Mom…Dad…Ike…I'm sorry. I've just been fighting too long. I've been through too much pain: Too much pain. Whatever came out…it wasn't me anymore. I don't remember who I was. All I can identify with is this ugly thing I've become. It's been so long…I can still hear him crying from across the hall when I close my eyes long enough. I still smell her perfume. I still see his face. It's been so long. "Then what do you want?" Stan demanded of me that day. "…I want you to kill me," I answered, staring my best friend directly in the eye. He looked so shocked and hurt. "Don't worry," I pleaded, not noticing how badly I was breaking apart. "It wouldn't be a sin. I want you to do it…Please." A part of me still hates myself for doing that to him. Even more, I'm troubled by the fact that he didn't do it. I'm sorry, Stan. You know I still love you, right? My name is Kyle Broflovski, I might have a little brother named Ike, my parents are still together, I'm Jewish and devout and proud of it, Stan is my best friend, Kenny is like a brother to me, and Cartman is my punishment. Like Pyramid Head, I need him to punish me for my sins. My mind breaks up into flashes of white light when I try to describe or even remember what happened. It was all so fast. Sometimes, when I'm half-awake and lying down, I have to physically take stock of my body just to make sure I'm still here. I place my right hand on my left shoulder, then my right leg, left leg, face, chest, and then my right palm. I'm always all there. I feel like I'm drifting sometimes, though. Ever since it happened.
The problem with having sexuality is that it doesn't take you anywhere. It's like a drug constantly inside me: Strike to start the fire. Then, I'm safe for a little while. There's nothing to protect me in the mornings, though. Or at night, or when I open my eyes and the sun is still out. There's just something so ugly about the whole thing, but it's an escape. I'm in the greatest pain when I'm at home: my parents drinking, screaming, fighting, or neglecting us. I hate being alone, though. Karen's the only one I have. The only time I'm strong is when I'm protecting her. I hope and pray that she never becomes what I am. The more torrid, depraved, and isolated my fantasies become, the better the high, and the more crushing the low. I see how much Kyle suffers, thinking he's the worst of us all. But he's wrong. There are nights when I'm so hungry I pass out. When I do, I always try to keep Karen nearby, just so I know that she's safe. I pray she doesn't see me as I am, though. It would only make her cry and worry. Karen is what I hold on to. Eric Cartman has always been my best friend, but Stan, Kyle, and Butters aren't far behind. I love them with all my heart, even though I know I don't belong with them. I try to do what I can to help, so the guilt isn't so present. I don't know where my life is going, and that was okay for awhile, but things are starting to change, and I'm scared. My soul is drifting to something I don't know, and I don't think it's ever going to end. When I was in the hospital years ago, they gave me a teddy bear to keep me company, especially during the night. Last week, I started stuffing him inside my coat, so he's always lying against my heart and shielding my body: He stays there in a constant embrace, held in place by my jacket, and I'm never truly alone. Sometimes I worry about him. When everything's going well, my mind goes to a dark place, and I develop feelings based around my little bear. I'm so afraid something I'm doing is wrong. When I don't think about him, I worry about Karen. She's the only one in this world who really needs me. When it happened, all I thought of was her, but I was only one who was able to let go. I love you, Karen.
This whole world is bullshit. I hate my life, my body, my mind, and everyone around me. What really pisses me off is that the world didn't always seem this way. I always used to think the world hated me, and that gave me comfort: It was only what I thought. Now, I know the truth, and I'm outraged. How'd everything turn so evil? How did I get so ugly? I'm sorry for all the shit I've done, but I know I'll never change. I glance over at Wendy on the other row of seats on the bus, and she's already staring at me. I know what she's thinking: Judging me, hating me. I know what she is, though. On the inside, she's just as ugly as I am. She tries, though. Every single bite of food is like fire: all it does is eat me up and leave me even emptier than before. The water I drink is cancer, and my mouth is filled with sores. I'm a monster. Everyone knows that. Kenny's the only one I have, but I can't let him get dragged down with me. The only person in my life that I truly care about…is my mom. I don't want to be with these people, spending money and wasting time and effort: I just want her. I used to cry when I was young, worrying about what her life was like when she was alone. I felt empty and sick, hating this thing I was inside. She's the only one I haven't wronged. Butters, Stan, Kyle, and Clyde hate me, but we're close enough to be happy. I didn't think of myself when it happened, but I've doing nothing but recently.
I thought what I was doing made a difference. I thought what I was doing was right. Now, I don't know what the hell I'm trying to do. My dreams are crumbling, and this inherent guilt is burning me. Maybe I screwed up. Maybe there's nothing left for me anymore. I feel like I'm drenched in sin and mistakes. Everything I was focused on feels wrong, and the hours of every day feel wasted. Stan and I are here to save each other: Nothing more and nothing less than that. We keep each other from taking on our truths. We make sure we never get what we deserve. Stan really is a good person, but I keep holding him down. I think I heard him crying last night, feeling so weighed down by what I put on him. My relationship with him only brings out my cruelty. 'O, that this too-solid flesh would melt.' I swear I believe in Heaven. I'm ready for that reality. When everything was fine, I assumed I was living the right way. Now, I have no certainty. I feel filthy. When it happened, I was scared, but now I'm ready.
Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, Kenny McCormick, Eric Cartman, Wendy Testaburger, Butters Stotch, Tweek Tweak, Bebe Stevens, Clyde Donovan, and Craig Tucker sat next to one another on the bus, talking, laughing, singing, and simply hanging out. Stan and Wendy sat with Kyle while Kenny, Eric, and Butters shared the front seat. Bebe and Craig shared a one-sided conversation while Tweek, Damien, and Clyde each sat alone. Several other students were present, but they kept to themselves, staring out the window at the fast-moving landscape around them. It was a day like any other: a field trip to someplace new. Everyone was excited, though they remained in their normal state of mind. Nothing groundbreaking was going to happen: no changes, no insights, no growth, and nothing that couldn't be walked away from.
"How many seconds in a moment?" Down every new road, the process is always the same. Everything moves forward, almost without thought. It takes just a breeze to cause a storm…Just a breath to cause a scream… The scream of a frightened woman tore through the air, the axle smashed into something hard, the bus never stopped, the speed increased rapidly, and the world outside the window became nothing but a growing horizon of running water. The glass broke, something snapped, friends were separated, laughter turned to screams, screams turned to silence, and the bus continued to move as the students' bodies remained still, most of them phasing through broken windows or an open door. The fall was like a dream: no sensory perception, no sound, no logic, and no set amount of time. Then, within an instant, it was over, and the world was new.
Too weak to open her eyes, Wendy chose to remain still, her back secure against what must have been the ground. Time dragged by slowly, and she finally gathered the will to force herself into a seated position. The bus was gone, the ground was rigid and entirely sand, and an unknown body of water was nearby. Nothing looked familiar in any sense. Leary of a potential injury to her spine, the raven-haired girl slowly rose to her feet, using her arms to assist her. At last, she stood on her own feet and looked around: The sun was several hours past its zenith, no land existed past the watery horizon, and further inland consisted of massive, red rock formations, gulches, and scattered vegetation. Her eyes quickly growing weary, Wendy spotted something in the sea. He was lifeless, floating without control or bodily involvement as his longer, brown hair slowly waved along the surface of the gentle waves. "Is anyone here?" the young woman called out, her fading awareness struggling to latch onto something.
His mind dethatched from his body, Kyle shut the world out, unable to hear, see, smell, or feel anything. No, he cried out to himself, becoming aware of his presence. I'm not ready yet. Soon, his eyes opened, though his vision was obscured by something abnormal. Feeling it would pass, the Jewish young man looked down at himself: His left arm was around his stomach, as if guarding or resting on it, both legs out of sight, and his chest suddenly splashed with blood that appeared dry. Breathing was hard. Although he had returned to his flesh, his body was not yet his own. Something paralyzed him. A distant voice called out from the past, calling for Kyle, who listened intently. He never intended or thought to answer, but he took it in. A strong but gentle hand grabbed his seemingly absent right arm, pulling him into a seated position. The voice continued on as a faint but familiar form found his legs and forced them into sight. "What was the question?" She repeated her question, breaking through this time. "Kyle," Wendy said. "Are you okay?"
"I'm not sure," the redheaded boy answered. "Do you see anything?" Closing his eyes and letting out a sigh, Kyle let his head slip to the side, too tired to stay upright.
"Your left hand looks broken," Wendy declared. "Like it's been smashed. You've got to hold still; there's a ton of glass shards in you. I can only take out a few. The others are too close to nerves and organs." Kyle nodded, closing his eyes tightly. Soon, he was able to stand with his friend's help. Aside from his broken hand, there was no notable pain. Most of the glass came out easily, freeing the boy's body to a degree. Sometime later, Wendy told him that there was an abnormal glass formation extruding just about his left eye and partially covering it. It wouldn't damage his sight, but trying to remove it would be too risky for the time being. "Can you walk?"
"I think so," Kyle answered, slowly edging forward. "When you found my legs…they weren't up my ass, were they?" The two laughed, recalling an old game of Red Rover. "Have you found anyone else?"
Remembering Clyde, Wendy detached herself, and shook her head. "As stupid as this sounds, we should probably just start calling out for someone. My phone's gone." The redheaded young man pulled a crumbled plastic and glass shape from his pocket before tossing it aside: His phone was out of the question. "Hello?!" they began hollering. "Is anybody here?!"
"We need help!" Kyle cried out, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling with all his might. "Is anyone here?!" His stress and fear bubbling beneath the surface, the boy began overturning small stones and stray patches of brush.
Wendy made her way towards a wooded spot, making sure to remain on the beach. Placing her hand on a thin tree, the raven-haired girl felt something wet her palm. Pulling herself away, she looked to see her palm and fingers stained with warm blood. Looking up, Wendy's jaw dropped at the sight lingering above her: What appeared to be a massive nest of spider webs, composed entirely of gel-like blood mixed with traces of bone, with Damien's lifeless form tangled and contorted at its center, connected the two neighboring trees. Individual streams of plasma fell to the ground like raindrops around the horrified child. Slowly taking herself back, Wendy couldn't help but stare at the nightmare before her. Did it breathe? Sharply turning her head, the young woman saw Kyle desperately searching, digging through the sand. "Kyle," the girl cried out, running to her friend.
By the time the beach had been completely searched, the sun was setting, and darkness began to spread over the earth. Keeping track of his steps off the sand, Kyle approached a tall enclosure that cleaved into two separate rocks towards the top. Enough space existed to slip in between them, though the boy remained on the outside. A subtle sound of rocks colliding drew his attention to the bottom of what now resembled a canyon. "Wendy!" Kyle cried out, seeing a familiar form among the stones. The black-haired girl turned on her flashlight, followed her friend's voice, and settled just in front of the stones to shed light into its depths.
"Stan!" Wendy cried out, her heart pounding. He was alive, and simply having found him gave the two some relief, but something was wrong. "Stan, can you hear me?" His head leaned back, trying to rest somewhere, the boy didn't answer. "It's not that deep. Kyle, if I can get down there and get Stan, can you pull us out?"
"I think I should go in," the Jewish young man answered. Pain began to flow through his crushed hand, but it wasn't enough to stop him. "I owe him that. Please, just keep the flashlight on him." Kyle slowly, carefully climbed onto the small ledge, felt around with his feet and free hand, and gently walked over the rocks lining the ground. Looking back for a second, the boy could see to the ocean, suggesting an elevation in land in favor of the forest he hadn't picked up on. "Okay, Stan…It's me, Kyle. It's just me, Wendy, and you…I'm coming to get you. You're gonna be okay." Keeping his left arm wrapped around his stomach, the redhead reached out his right hand, treading over loose rocks. Stan began to groan. Suddenly, Kyle slipped on an uneven rock, recovering by putting his weight against the unseen wall to his left, though it caused a jolt that jerked his broken hand outward. Tightly pressing his teeth together, he motioned to Wendy that he was alright, and slowly proceeded towards his friend. "I'm here, Stan. I'm right beside you. Wendy, can you shine lift the light higher and tilt it down?" Wendy did as instructed, giving Kyle a better look at his friend. "Oh, god," he exclaimed under his breath. "Stan? Stan, can you hear me?"
"Where am I?" the dark-haired boy replied, his voice hoarse and cracking.
"Don't move," Kyle ordered, his tone sounding more desperate than he planned. "Can you hear me okay?" Stan nodded. "There was a crash…Your left arm is crushed under a rock. Wendy and I are okay. You're gonna be alright; just hold still." Walking forward, Kyle felt around the rock on Stan's hand, being careful not to move it. "Damn it," he sharply exhaled. "It's stuck, Stan. The rock is stuck. It's wedged in too tight. I can't move it."
"I can't feel it," Stan whispered. "Is it bad?"
"I can't really see it right now," Kyle calmly answered. "You're gonna be okay, though. How do you feel? Do you need anything?"
"Water," the dark-haired boy begged, leaning his head back as pain washed through his bowels. "Please."
"I'll get you water," Kyle answered, trying so hard to stay strong. "We'll find water and we'll bring it to you. You'll be okay."
"Can someone stay?" Stan desperately asked. "With me? Can someone stay here with me? I don't want to be alone. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, Stan," the Jewish young man replied. "I'll stay with you. Wendy, can you bring back some water, please? I can't get you back out if you take my place."
"Just stay close," Wendy answered. "I'll do what I can. Just don't go anywhere, Kyle." Kyle nodded. With that, the girl hooked the flashlight onto her coat, searched for something to hold drinkable water, and made her way back towards the beach.
Turning towards his friend, Kyle made out the shape in the dark. "How do you feel?" he asked, trying to comfort the boy who had been like a brother to him since the day they met.
"Like shit," Stan answered with a slight laugh. Kyle smiled, breaking into laughter as well. "Is everybody okay?"
The truth didn't matter: not now. "We're still looking," the redheaded boy answered. "We're gonna be okay…" Images of the dead flashed by like lightning: The last thing he saw before Wendy called to him was the dried tears on the girl's face. "All of us." His body weak, Stan allowed himself to smile, taking comfort in the immediate. "Hey," Kyle lovingly chuckled under his breath, warmly embracing his brother, who returned the gesture with his right arm. Acting on emotion, the only reliable thing in void, fucked up, utter chaos, the Jewish boy quickly kissed his friend on the forehead, keeping his grip on him firm. Stan understood, his own grip on Kyle remaining strong.
Soon, Wendy came back with a plastic bottle filled with water from the sea, long, thin stick, and her jacket and a small rag. "Kyle, Stan, the water around the place is drinkable," she declared. "It's not even saltwater. Kyle, I'm gonna hand this down to you. Keep it level." Wendy passed Kyle the stick, keeping it horizontal. "Stan, put the end of the stick in your mouth and tilt it up very slowly."
"Thank you," Stan exclaimed, his shaking hand taking the stick from Kyle. The first drop of water felt like nectar on the boy's dry, wounded tongue and flesh. Praising his Father, Stan drunk down the cool liquid, his breaths heavy, frequent, and relieved, allowing several small streams to slide down his face. It was beautiful: Oneness with the earth. His aching body found comfort, and his mind found peace. Soon, the water was out, but Stan was stable for the moment.
Carefully feeling the depth from the surface, Wendy crawled down into the small formation, handing Kyle the bottle and Stan the damp cloth. "Put this around your neck," she instructed. "You're close to overheating." Stan obeyed, barely able to mouth his thankfulness to his friends. "Once your body gets adjusted, take off the rag and wrap my coat around your head. The night's gonna get cold."
Taking comfort in their makeshift shelter and partial unity, the three were able to relax, sleep coming to them like an old friend. "Hey Kyle," Stan whispered once he was sure his girlfriend was asleep. Kyle moaned in response. "'Least it wasn't my whackin' hand," the raven-haired boy humbly joked. Kyle snorted in awestruck disbelief soon leading into laughter. Stan laughed like a child, never knowing that Wendy was awake and smiling warmly at him.
Once the night outlived its youth, Kyle stared up at the sky, his body settled atop the rocks. The stars were few and faint, but they were still there. The moon had abandoned its viewers, leaving little light for anything. What if we're the only ones left? the boy asked himself, his fear and concern rotating in his stomach. Please, God…don't let it end here. Please let Stan be okay. Please, help us find our friends. It's so dark here. Closing his eyes, as if hiding from the bleak sky above, Kyle felt his broken arm, then his leg, and then his face.
Wendy looked towards the ocean, comforted by the waves as they reflected the dim light of stars. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Stan wrapped up in her jacket. He was safe for now, but tomorrow was uncertain. What the hell am I doing? the black-haired girl asked herself. How'd it all come down to this? The air was cruel and cold, but the girl kept her body curled up, conserving whatever heat she could. "Wendy, your question is; do angels exist?" A moment of silence passed by, and Wendy reached out her hand in an attempt to touch on something. "Yes," she answered, her youthful boldness shining. "The existence of angels is documented in various forms of the Bible. There is currently no scientific evidence that suggests they don't exist, and, if we truly believe in something, it is, in fact, real. Thank you." I was young then. I'm not sure what I think now.
Gazing at the darkness that now veiled his lifeless hand, Stan felt a form of phantom pain. However, it was clear to him that his arm was no longer his own. The water was still inside of him, keeping him alive and close. The stone wouldn't move and neither would the arm. Standing up, the raven-haired boy stared at the rock, the arm, and the shadow. Without effort, Stan pulled away, leaving the worthless flesh behind: It was no longer a part of him. Without turning back, he walked away, soon joined by Kyle and Wendy, and then Kenny, Butters, and Cartman. They all knew where to go. This place, this thing, wasn't home. They all walked onward until they reached the ocean. From there, a form of ground appeared just beneath the water, and they proceeded towards South Park; to home. There was nothing on the island: Nothing left for anything. It would vanish in time and never be missed by anything.
Morning finally arose, but it was all too fast. Awakened from their dreams and happy lies by the rays of the sun, the three came back to reality. No: Back to the island. Unable to tell the dream from actuality, Stan tried to move his left hand, but there was nothing there to move. They were alone and isolated. Within an hour, the hunger pains started. Their mouths dry, Wendy, Kyle, and Stan passed around the bottle, each drinking slowly for the sake of conservation and to spare themselves pain. "Now what?" Stan begged of his friends.
"One of us has to go out," Kyle realized. "We have to find the others. I'll go…I'll keep a record of how far I go and in what directions. Is that okay, guys?"
"That's fine," Wendy accepted, knowing it was more for Kyle's sake than anything. "Take the bottle in case you get lost away from the ocean." Stan went along as well.
"Just…be careful, man," Stan instructed, his mind still in the throngs of slumbering haze.
"Thanks, guys," the redhead smiled, nearly bringing himself to tears. Taking the bottle, Kyle departed from the canyon, mentally logging his steps and direction. The sun set in front of us, he told himself. Towards the ocean is west. Turn east from the ocean and Stan and Wendy will be there. Turning towards the north, leave footprints, search the beach last this time. This whole thing sucks so much ass.
"What about food?" Stan asked, his voice starting to quake. Apprehension began to flood his body as he tried to think beyond the stone.
"We'll wait until we're all together, then we'll start planning," Wendy answered, remaining strong. "We're gonna be okay, Stan." The bodies made their way into the girl's mind, this time accompanied by what was lurking on this forsaken island. Fear or the unknown spread like a cancer, but she couldn't break down; not here.
"Mom," Stan tried to get his mother's attention. "Mom!" Sharon turned towards her son as he stared out the window. "I've never seen the waves get so close to the house before." Guided by the rain and winds of the storm, massive waves smashed against the windows of the Marsh family house, causing no damage or concern. Jolted forward, Stan felt a horrific sense of guilt come over him. "What were you telling me, Wendy?"
"You were asleep, Stan," the raven-haired girl gently answered. "I wasn't saying anything. Just relax, okay?"
"…Wendy," the boy finally mustered the strength to call out. "I'm scared. I feel like…like I still have it, but I know I'm gonna lose it…But it's here, dude…I can't think of what it'll be like when it's actually gone, you know?"
"Don't think like that, Stan," Wendy answered. "You're gonna be okay. Kyle should be back soon. He'll get help: We'll be okay."
"Thank you, Wendy," Stan sighed in relief. "I love you."
"Looks like you guys found shelter," Kyle joked, looking at Kenny, Cartman, Craig, and Bebe as they rested under large palm leaves. "Is everyone okay?"
Cartman shivered, his body struggling to adjust to the high temperatures. "F…-fuck you, Jew," he cringed, keeping his arms tightly crossed over his chest.
"We're fine," Kenny muffled, his voice calm. Several strands of the boy's thick blond hair showed from under his hood, and his left eye was closed. "Is there anyone else?"
"Stan and Wendy are back by the beach," Kyle answered, holding out his hand to help Craig up. "Where's Butters?"
"We can't find him," Bebe sobbed, her voice completely broken. "He's alone, Kyle."
"I'll find him," the redheaded boy answered. "I swear it. I just need to get you guys back to the safe zone first. Has anyone found any food?" Kenny shook his head, praying the groans of his starved stomach would remain quiet.
"We should try to find him now, before it gets late," Craig insisted. "We spent all last night looking, but he shouldn't be out for two days."
Beside himself, Kyle weighed his options to the best of his abilities. "Okay, but I need you guys to follow me to this spot first. I won't be able to find my way back if we go off from here." The kids agreed and followed their guide to a spot on the beach. Calculating, Kyle took a moment, and was then able to continue onward.
"Is there any water?" Craig asked. Glancing back, Kyle saw Craig's ashy black hair peaking out through the torn edge of his blue and yellow-poofball cap.
"All I have right now is the bottle," the Jewish young man answered, pulling the nearly full water bottle from his pocket. "I know this sounds cruel, but the thirstiest person should drink last. You look like you all need water." Passing the water to Kenny, Kyle watched the nearly emaciated boy lick his dry, cracking lips, only to pass the drink to Bebe. Taking a healthy sip, the girl passed to Craig, who took only a small drip, swished it around in his dry mouth, swallowed, and passed off to Cartman. Restraining himself, the overweight boy took one big sip, making sure to leave enough for Kenny, swallowed loudly, and gave his friend the last of it. "Thank you," Kenny weakly mumbled, giving everyone a quick look over to make sure they didn't need more.
"It's all yours, Kenny," Craig declared, licking the roof of his mouth in between words.
"Drink as much as you need," Bebe added. Kenny smiled and slowly, graciously sipped the delicious, cool, heavenly water.
"Now let's find that little fag," Cartman declared, making his way towards the other side of the beach. "Kenny, go behind us: Let us know if you see something." Kenny muffled his agreement.
"Slow down, fatass," Kyle called out, keeping track of his steps. "Bebe and Craig, can you keep an eye out for anything…not-friendly?" The two agreed, allowing Kyle and Eric to advance without second thought.
"Kyle, wait," Kenny finally called out, managing to stop the redhead for a moment. "Your arm."
"It's okay for right now, Kenny," a touched Kyle answered. "Thanks, man." The Jewish young man ran to catch up with his friend as Kenny went back into his position.
"I hope we find him," Craig told the blond-haired girl, trying to keep his voice down. Glancing forward, the nasally boy made sure Cartman wasn't listening.
"Me too," Bebe answered. "He's like a little kid…He has to be okay." Craig nodded, scanning all around the area.
The air was hot and the wind failed. Over time, the sand seemed to burn, blazing Kyle's shredded shoes. Rays from the sun scorched the children without mercy, burning Bebe's exposed arms, the back of Cartman's neck, Craig's face, and Kyle's nose as Kenny merely roasted inside his coat and hood. Glancing out into the water, Bebe saw steam float along its surface. Kyle and Eric remained ahead of the others, allowing them to talk freely.
"I know how you feel," the Jewish young man argued. "I really care about her, too. We just have other shit to worry about."
"That's not your call," Cartman retorted, slowly growing angry. "Where the hell is everyone?"
"Some of them are dead," Kyle answered, keeping his eyes beyond Eric, who seemed to stop short for a moment.
In the very back of the company, Kenny looked at the sky for a smoke signal, on the ground for other sets of footprints, and into the forest for signs of a way out. I won't be gone long, Karen, he promised, pressing his hand to his chest to feel for the necklace. Smiling to himself, the boy resumed his watch. If this is how it ends…I'm glad it's with friends. Suddenly, a flicker of light caught Kenny's eye, leading him to turn towards the ocean. A woman stood between him and the sun, glistening with her own light. Her body was pure of any markings or imperfections, but her expression and body language were seductive. Pulling himself away, Kenny looked forward to see everyone else carrying on. Quickly glancing back at the water, the boy saw nothing: Nothing but empty seas and small waves. It wasn't long before the pain arose again. Grinding his teeth together, the blond boy quickly clasped his loins, let go, sighed heavily, and continued on his way.
His focus drifting, Cartman caught himself falling, colliding into the sandy ground. "Ow," he sharply whined. "Son of a…bitch!" Standing up, the overweight child saw a huddled form in the sand that wore Butters' clothes. "Butters?" Crouching down, the boy put his hand on the blond child's shoulder and turned him flat on his back. Butters trembled, his eyes darting all around. "Butters! Thank God. Guys, he's here!"
"No!" Butters cried out, nearly breaking into tears. "Don't make noise! Please!" Kyle ran up to the two, gave the blond boy his hand, and pulled him onto his feet. "We're not safe…Not here."
Kyle quickly hugged his old friend, as if embracing an infant. "You're gonna be okay, Butters," he promised. "We're all gonna be okay." Acting quickly, the Jewish child wiped away Butters' tears, keeping his broken hand tight around his stomach. "Stan, Wendy, and I are safe…Same with Cartman, Bebe, Kenny, and Craig. You're going to be alright, bud." Butters tried to smile, though his fear was consuming him. "Can you walk?"
Retracing his steps, Kyle led the way as Cartman, Bebe, Craig, and Kenny, who carried Butters on his back like a koala bear, followed. 80 steps, the boy repeated in his mind.
"Thanks, Kenny," Butters cooed, his eyes weak and tired.
"No problem, bud," Kenny happily muffled.
"There they are," Stan happily declared, his heart happily racing. Wendy glanced back, spotting something written on the wall of rock, and turned back towards her approaching friends to wave them in.
"Holy shit!" Kenny declared, his speech muffled. The hooded boy gently set Butters down and came to Stan's side.
"It looks worse than it feels, now," Stan answered, his humor starting to reflect his sorrow. "Looks like the gang's all here…But what about Clyde and the other kids? I know there were more of us on the bus."
Clyde, Damien, Red: All of them, dead. Their bodies were already decaying. Tweek was nowhere to be found. Stan, Kyle, and Butters were injured and Eric was developing hyperthermia. There was no food, no one to call, no way for anyone to know where they were, and no one coming to save them. The only supplies they had were the ones they carried, and the night was coming. Stan, Wendy, Kyle, Cartman, Kenny, Butters, Bebe, and Clyde huddled close together and stared into the ocean. The leaves above the rock formation would have to make due for the night, even though they may have been poison. For now, though, they were safe. Tomorrow might not come, but the night would go on with a speck of hope and friendship. Looking back at the wall, Wendy saw that the writing was gone. It didn't matter, though. The day would be over soon.
And all that stands between the soul's release…
This temporary flesh and bone.
I know that it's over now: I feel my faded mind begin to roam.