Sheila Broflovski screamed like a banshee after listening to her son's heartfelt speech. It didn't matter though – someone had to be blamed. Without a second thought, she grabbed the general's gun, took aim, and fired at the two defenseless Canadians her son and his friends were trying to protect.
Kyle saw the wild, deranged look on his mother's face, knowing quite well what was going to happen. His green eyes burned like hellfire, anticipating the moment. As she pulled the trigger, Kyle did the only thing he could do. He jumped high into the air, right in the path of the bullet.
Blood. All she can remember is blood. Deep, dark red blood . . . her son's blood . . . her own son's. Unable to move, Sheila dropped the gun and fell to her knees in the snow. The most gruesome scene lay before her: Kyle's body, gone limp; blood streaming from a hole in his chest, turning his bright orange coat red; his best friend Stan, cradling him, begging him to hold on; all the other children, including Cartman, bowing their heads to honor a brave fallen hero. To Sheila however, the only thing visible was the sight of her precious little angel lying lifeless on the ground.
He never felt this much pain before. It felt like a million daggers being shoved through his chest. Was this what death felt like? Kyle fell to the ground, unaware that Stan caught him and was saying something to him. Something he couldn't quite make out. Stan's voice . . . the sounds of the war – all were fading. With the last ounce of strength he had, Kyle turned his head towards his mother and spoke.
Sheila lifted her head when she heard his voice, once sweet and angelic, now weak and feeble. The words he said imprinted themselves in her mind, forever doomed to haunt her. She wanted so badly to hold him and tell him all would be okay, but she remained frozen – unable to do anything except watch as her darling boy slowly faded, until he just couldn't last any longer.
The pain was beginning to become too much for Kyle. He knew it was time to give up. He knew he was going to die, on a snow covered hill in the midst of a war. His breathing slowed and his eyes became droopy. He could barely feel the pain in his chest now. He could hardly hear the sobs of his friends. He could faintly see a crying Stan looking down at him. Kyle was numb . . . nothing could hurt him anymore. Shutting his eyes, his final thought was what he had said to his mother.
"Is this what you wanted . . . mom?"