Disclaimer: I do not own South Park, its characters, or Jonny's song.
Song: I Still Feel Her (Pt. III) by Jonny Craig
I Still Feel Him
By PopcornChicken66
How far back can you remember?
I think you remember Wednesday of two weeks ago as clear as day, Stan Marsh. You sure as hell act like it just happened yesterday. It's painful really, being rendered so helpless. I'm forced to watch you suffer, and I'm stranded. I don't know what I can do.
Did the ice stop your heart?
You're blocking everyone out, even Kyle. You're really scaring him, y'know. He's thinking of confronting your parents. But then, they already know, don't they? They just think it's another of your "everything's shit" fazes, though I guess they're still worried. I don't feel bad for them; they're under-appreciating you.
Oh wait, that was me.
Oh wait, that was me.
Because it's always me. I know you can't remember, Stan, and it kills me. It really does, without pun intended. It's excruciating, that something so tantalizingly repetitive is never acknowledged. Fuck, it's non-existent to you and all the rest of them, my condition. It makes me angry and miserable and bewildered all at once.
I froze to death…
Literally. You weren't the only one that knew I was working a shift at McDonald's that night; you were just the only one scoping me out. I took the late night shift in favor of the extra cash it offered; I was reeeally hoping to save up for an iPad, though the fantasy was probably unrealistic. A few coworkers and I were closing up for the night, and I was in the process of checking the freezer inventory when the door closed and the lock clicked into place. Frantic, I had rushed to bang on the vault and scream for someone to let me out, but it was useless. Nobody was going to hear me through a 3-inch thick metal door.
It was a cruel twist of fate on God's part. I don't know which is worse; burning or freezing to death. I suppose burning is quicker, but every waking moment of it is excruciating, white hot agony stabbing itself through every molecule of the body. When you're freezing, however, your body goes mostly numb. At least for a little while.
You found me too late the next morning. An hour earlier, and maybe you could've gotten me help quick enough. But by the time you opened that door and found me huddled in the corner, head bowed and vision blurring, I was done for. It really hurt, especially the frostbite. In hindsight, I probably should've regulated my blood circulation by moving around, but once it's decided that I'll die, I die. It was inevitable. If I didn't die that night, I would get killed soon after.
I remember how you rushed over to me, held me in your arms. You have no idea how fucking warm you were, Stan. I just wanted to soak into you, to stay forever blissful in your arms.
…my last words choking your breath.
I heard it. The air catching in your throat. I had been mulling over those words for a considerable amount of time, but never once had I even dreamt of telling them to you. I assure you though; they were one hundred percent true.
Do the words still haunt you?
It's my fault too, I know. Those words passed my lips, and they stuck with you. Maybe if I hadn't said them… Maybe you would've been alright. You could've moved on, at least until I came back.
Because I always come back.
Can you secure its claim, bottled up like smoke floating over flames?
You never told a soul. In fact, I don't think you talked at all unless forced to by a teacher or something. Did you want to keep it a secret? Were you trying to forget? Were you depressed?
I didn't mean to do this to you, Stan.
I have no soul, no conscience.
Floating for one meaning.
This happens sometimes. Like when I possessed Eric, or more accurately, he put me in his body by drinking my ashes with milk. I was just an entity then, unconscious of myself, residing within my remains. But this situation is more like when I communicated with Cartman as a ghost. Everything involves that bastard, doesn't it?
I think it's a punishment. For what, I don't know. I do a lot of nasty, sinful shit. Whatever I did this time, God didn't like it. I'm neither in heaven nor hell; I'm just hovering around in ghost form, unable to repossess myself. And what's worse is that it has been this way for weeks. I didn't just resurrect the next day, like usual. It's temporary, I'll bet, but I still have to watch you.
Okay, I don't have to follow you. But there's nothing I'd rather be doing, even if it means being in a constant state of emotional collapse.
Three words, I left you with.
Three words I left you with.
I love you.
It sounded terrible when I said it; I was dehydrated, and my voice was raspy to a hardly discernable degree. You understood though. I saw it in the way your features fell. You started crying then. I couldn't remember the last time someone had cried over my death. I'm sure there have been instances, but none as important as that one.
I wanted to tell you that I'd be back. I didn't want you to cry over me, unlike the many times I'd wished for someone to acknowledge my death in that manner. But I was already fading, and fast. The last of my strength had been channeled into those three words, and no matter how much I wanted to hold on for your sake, my lifeline had been severed.
I should've waited to tell you. I am going to come back, and I knew that I would back then too. But I said my goodbye as if it was final, when it wasn't. I should've used my last breath to reassure you. I was stupid.
…I was stupid.
Do the words still haunt you?
Can you secure its claim, bottled up like smoke floating over flames?
I saw it in your eyes, when I said it, and I knew you felt the same. It's a little pathetic that it took my death before your eyes to elicit a confession from me, but hey, maybe I never would've gathered the courage otherwise. Discovering how you felt about me really made my ironic, fucked up life worth living.
I don't remember how it came to be, the sudden interest in you. But then instantaneously you were cheating on Wendy with me, and lust developed into something more. You and Kyle remained super best friends, but me and you… Me and you had something special, Stan. Something really out of this world.
You broke up with the girl you used to think was the love of your life, for me.
You don't know how much that meant.
I left you with one promise.
I hear your heart call my name.
I can feel it. I can just feel your yearning, your regret, and especially your loneliness. I hear your prayers to me, and I wish with all of my being that I could answer them. But I'm intangible, and the living world is just as equally so for me. I'm powerless.
I can't help but to contradict Kyle's trademark curse whenever he witnesses me die. God's not the bastard. I am.
Do the words still haunt you?
And now I drift above you, unable to so much as shed a tear, let alone cry out for you to stop, to please just wait a while longer, as you load your father's .33 pistol.
Can you secure its claim…
Don't you get it, Stan? We can never be together like this. I'll come back. You won't.
You'll be going to heaven. I can't say the same always happens to me.
I'm speaking to myself right now. I know that you can't hear me. But I can't quit trying.
Please, just stop and listen for a second. Please.
You're too innocent for this, for that black tool of death you're gripping with white knuckles and trembling fingers.
Don't do this, Stan. Not for me. I know you don't want to.
And yet you bring the gun to your temple. You curl your digit around the trigger and apply just the slightest amount of pressure.
My heart wrenches at your next words, practically ripping itself out of my chest and into your palm.
"I love you, Kenny McCormick. And I'll see you soon."
You flex your finger.
And it's over.
…bottled up like smoke floating over flames?
~fin
A/N: So I've been writing a lot of Kyman lately, and I thought I would express my love for Stenny as a change-up. It's the first tragic fic that I've ever posted… I'm not good with unhappy endings. I feel like this one went well, however. Let me know your thoughts!