Random and slightly pointless introduction: Well, here's my second story. It took me a while. Sorry. Hey is anyone noticing a pattern ALREADY in my stories? I think I have an unhealthy interest in a certain something cough cough. Anyway, this chapter is told by Butters'. I might switch around the POV, if I feel like it. This chapter is really, really short, but I wanted it to end in as much of a cliffhanger as I could. To torture the readers. Mwahaha.
Warning: Suicidal themes. Don't like, don't read.
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I leaned against the school wall with Eric Cartman, Stan Marsh, and Kyle Broflovski. Kyle and Eric both had cigarettes in their mouths, but Stan and I don't smoke.
Kyle pinched his cigarette in between his index finger and his middle finger and pulled it out of his mouth. He frowned slowly while breathing out a puff of smoke. "Does anyone know where Kenny is?"
Stan and I shook our heads. Cartman just shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it, Kyle, he's almost always late. His crappy motorcycle probably just broke down again."
Kyle sighed. "I'm not so much worried as annoying. God knows that Kenny can pull through just about any injury, but he just can't manage to pass his classes."
Stan stiffened abruptly. "Speaking of not passing, I never did that math homework... Butters, do you mind getting my math book from my locker? It's two to the right of Cartman's."
"No problem," I replied, a little nervous about going inside the school before classes start. I smiled and walked away quickly. I knew where Cartman's locker was, since I got his homework for him whenever he was sick. Sometimes when he would forget a book, and I would be staying after school, he'd call me and ask for me to get it for him.
I got to Cartman's locker, and there was a note sticking out of it. I know it's not right to snoop, but I couldn't help myself... I looked right and left before snatching it.
I looked around me again, before unfolding it carefully and quietly. It read:
"Hey, Cartman,
Sorry you're the one that had to receive this. I guess ever since you told me I was your best friend in fourth grade, I guess it just stuck. Anyway, you're probably my closest friend anyway. So here goes.
I'm killing myself. No, this isn't a joke, and no, I won't come back. You see, all those times I died, Satan would always ask me if I wanted to go back. I always said yes, I loved life, why wouldn't I want to live?
Well, this time I'll say no. Cartman, I hate my life. I refuse to spend my time moping and cutting my wrists. I'm not that kind of person, and you should know. I'll skip the drama, and I'll leave now. Everyone knew that I would never amount to anything. So why even pretend to try?
I'll see you eventually, Cartman, if we go to the same place. I want you to know that I honestly liked you, as a person. You were a good friend, most of the time. It's not easy for me to write this, Cartman, but I'll miss you. Really.
Tell Kyle, Stan, Butters and Tweek to not be sad. Hey, you can put down an animal to put it out of it's misery, right? I should probably say something poetic, you know, a "last words" kind of thing. Sorry, I just refuse to try to write a suicide letter (it feels weird writing that) that's TRYING to make someone cry.
I guess this is goodbye. You probably either already heard a gunshot, or you're about to. Go straight to the science room on the second floor. That's where my dead body will be.
Say bye to everyone for me, Cartman.
Kenny"
My eyes widened. I dropped the letter on the floor and ran as fast as I could up the stairs, toward the science room.