Lunchtime was Pip's favourite time of day. He adored his classes, of course, but a lunch break was essential to his wellbeing. Much to his chagrin, Pip would sometimes find the other boys' behaviour inducing bursts of irritation, even anger. He kept it safely locked away, but as long as it burned inside him, aching like a deep internal wound, it remained a source of embarrassment. What kind of gentleman carried a dark heart masked by an innocent face? There was only one way for Pip to purify himself, and it was best undertaken alone.
As usual, he took refuge under a large tree, sitting and carefully leaning against the thick trunk. He breathed in deeply, relaxing slightly at the familiar scent of leaves and bark. If nobody disturbed him today, he would be perfectly fine.
His lunch money had already been stolen by a gang of ninth-graders (even the younger classes had taken to harassing him), so Pip didn't even bother opening his lunchbox. Instead, he pulled a pair of tangled headphones from his pocket, connecting them to an old music player.
The songs blaring in Pip's ears were hardly what one would expect of a trained gentleman, but they were wonderful stress relief. And aren't we all entitled to a little privacy? Immersing himself in the music, he didn't notice the large figure looming over him.
After a moment of waiting, the figure caught Pip's attention by delivering a sharp kick to his ankle. A small cry of pain escaping his lips, he turned down the music and looked up to see the scowling face of Eric Cartman.
"Why, Eric, how nice to see you!" He fixed a pleasant smile on his face, resolving to keep calm, no matter what he was about to suffer.
The smile was not returned. "Shut up, Pip."
Pip nodded, immediately adopting a more subdued demeanour. "Right-o."
"I said shut up! You're such a Frenchie, always pissing people off!"
I will keep calm. "I believe we've had this discussion several times, Eric. I'm not French."
Cartman turned around, and Pip realised they weren't alone. An uncomfortable-looking Butters Stotch stepped forward, gulping before delivering a forced-sounding speech.
"I can't understand none of what you're saying, Pip, you know, 'cause you're French and all... You gotta speak English now, cause none of us want to learn your stupid language."
Pip clenched his fists, every effort going into maintaining his fake smile. He prided himself on being able to take most abuse. Physical pain, stolen possessions, exclusion, laughter, none of it was enjoyable, but he survived. However, calling him French was a completely different matter. "Eric. Leopold. I have no grievance against you, but I think it would be best for all of us if you desist at once."
Cartman had already been in a bad mood, and this uncharacteristic resistance from his punching bag didn't help. "God, I hate you so much! Why the fuck do you talk like that? Do you think anyone cares what you call yourself? You're a prissy fag with a stupid accent, so you're French, Pip!"
Too much. Everything was completely silent for a moment, save for the quiet music in his ears. Pip saw flashes of red, biting his tongue until blood started seeping out into his mouth. Before he could figure out how to react, an inhuman-sounding scream tore at his ears. What on Earth was that?
Pip looked around for the source, only seeing shocked faces staring right at him. Oh dear... I think that was me. In the same moment, he became aware of the blood dripping from his mouth and onto the grass. No wonder they're shocked, I must be quite a sight.
The brief moment of calmness didn't last. Pip's anger quickly resurfaced, propelling his body right onto Cartman. His fists were indiscriminate, only following the urge to inflict pain.
Everyone seemed frozen in place, still trying to comprehend the situation of Pip Pirrup beating up Eric Cartman- not the opposite.
Completely taken by surprise, Cartman put up very little resistance at first. After a moment, he started fighting back, but a direct punch to his forehead sent him into unconsciousness. Pip could have stopped there. He should have.
He didn't. The rage and adrenaline controlled him, crying out for more blood and bruises, more snapped bones, more broken teeth. Cartman was little more than a giant doll, existing to absorb the anger of others. Tell me, how does it feel?
The beating didn't last long. Physical exhaustion slowed Pip down until he stopped entirely, standing up and surveying the damage. Blood poured from gashes all over Cartman's body, torn open by a ring Pip had forgotten he was wearing. His face was bruised and swollen, his fingers were all bent at impossible angles, and he only had a few intact teeth left in his mouth. And he wasn't breathing.
Silence. Even Pip's music player (the headphones miraculously still in place) fell silent, in the process of switching to the next song. It appeared that no one knew how to react. After all, they hadn't exactly liked Cartman much, had they? Pip absently cleaned some blood and torn skin from his hand. Oh, what a mess. Good thing I wore a red jacket.
He intended to address the crowd of horrified teenagers, but as soon as he looked up, something stopped him. To his eyes, none of them appeared completely human- they were ghosts of their past transgressions. Hollow eyes reflected memories of pain and rejection, fueling the dying fire that had been Pip's anger.
Good night, sleep tight
Don't let the dead bite
They were all disgusting. Some had been kinder than others, but in a way, it only made them worse- if they had known not to push Pip too far, shouldn't they have known it was wrong to bully him in the first place? He blinked, trying to make sense of what he saw. They looked normal again, but the spiteful recollections clung to them like shrouds.
He reached into Cartman's blood-soaked pocket, knowing exactly what he would find there. Carefully adjusting his music player, a loud new song started as he pulled out the loaded pistol and removed the safety catch.
Johnny 3, and he's dipping in the four door
44 and it's pointing at your window
Ain't a good shot, here come four more
Getting hot, so I play in the snow
None of them were innocent enough to live.
The panic started as soon as Pip raised the gun. Students scattered in all directions, the air thick with their screams. Somehow enraged and curious at the same time, he fired several bullets into their midst.
Bodies fell to the ground, and it was just as stunning as he had imagined. He, Pip Pirrup, finally had power, and that was worth all the bloodstains in the world. He let the red fury blind him, following the screams and cries of his living targets. They could thank the whole godforsaken town for this.
In a town made wicked, made from these wicked things
See the dead on the cover of a magazine
See my smile, it was born from amphetamines
Better duck, 'cause it's war on my enemies!
They fell, one by one. Some went down without hesitation, the light already gone from their eyes. Others were brought down by injured arms or legs, their screams of agony piercing the atmosphere. Each of them reacted differently, but every living person had something in common. Their eyes held a kind of lost innocence, the question that if sweet, passive Pip could unleash this horror, what was the rest of the human race capable of? What kind of hidden darkness slept in their own souls?
Oh God, I think I lost it, oh no
Lost some and wanna watch the rest go
A mad man when I'm mixed with Soco
And who would've thought a man could sink to so low?
He was soaked to the skin with their blood, eyes wide and mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile. The crowd had dispersed by then, leaving behind the dead and injured. Leaving their friends to die... How horrible. The thought may have seemed ironic, but at least Pip hadn't betrayed anyone's trust. Nobody had ever liked him enough to trust him.
There was no sense in being sad about his lonely life now, while he still held his tool of revenge. He began to pace around the fallen students, checking each one for signs of life. The conscious ones all cowered when he approached, some begging for their lives. Yesterday, you made fun of my shoes. Today, you kiss them. Isn't karma wonderful? It was almost too easy to shoot them. After all, they were already immobilised.
Now who wants to die from the Mossberg shotty?
Putting holes in the hotel lobby
All you fake bitches are just another hobby
And I'll let you dig, where I dump your body
There he was, the only living soul in sight. Clutching a warm, empty gun, blinking drops of fresh blood from his eyes, he fell silent as he watched the scarlet-drenched grass. Anyone could have taken Pip's silence for horror or remorse, even numbness, but the truth was less complicated and perhaps more horrifying.
Surrounded by the bodies of his former tormentors, Pip was at peace.
What would you do if I told you I hate you?
What would you do if your life's on the line?
What would you say if I told you I hate you?
I've got something that'll blow your mind, mind
It did all look lovely. Placing the gun back where he had found it, he delicately resumed his seat under the tree, clasping his hands together and smiling sweetly.
"Pip!" Without warning of an approach, someone was violently shaking his shoulders. "Pip! Listen to me, asshole!"
He removed his headphones, looking up with his fixed smile. "Can I help you?"
"I called you a prissy French fag! What, are you just gonna sit there and stare at me some more? You're a fucking weirdo, Pip." Tired of the lack of attention, Cartman and the others left Pip alone.
Sometimes, he almost wished he could pull out a real gun, just to see the fear in their eyes, but what sort of person used cruelty to make their way through life? Not the person Pip was trying to be. There may have been nothing wrong with the occasional bloody-minded fantasy, but he would swallow his anger and bravely face each day, striving to make the world a better place to live for everyone. Even French people.
He let the blood and gore gradually melt away from his imagination, replaced by hope.
(Song used was Dead Bite by Hollywood Undead. Much like South Park, I do not own it.)