The blond boy gazed out his bedroom window, snow was already covering the streets and still falling heavily. It was mid-October. Everything seemed quiet, too quiet. His parents were at work, they wouldn't be home for hours yet. His eyes were drawn to his closet. As if in a daze, he wandered over to it, opening the door. He reached up to the top shelf, to a shoe box that was slightly heavy, despite it's size. He carried it to his bed, setting it down and taking a seat beside the box. He turned to it, gingerly lifting the lid and setting it across from the box.
Inside the box lay a six bullet revolver. The same one that had been shoved into his mouth when he was in fourth grade. It was still loaded, with that one bullet. He had never been made to give it back, and presumably everyone forgot about it. Everyone except him. He didn't remove it from the box, just gazing at it, lying there.
Seven years had passed, he was sixteen. Earlier in the year, he had come out as gay. His parents weren't exactly supportive, he was teased even more relentlessly by Eric Cartman too.
He mostly pretended to be the same as he'd always been, happy, innocent, carefree. It was getting increasingly harder to do that though. Glancing at the gun one more time, Butters put the lid back on the box and returned it to its shelf. He was done pretending. He dug in his closet, angrily ripping his brightly colored shirts and pants, throwing them aside, searching for something that would adequately show just how done he was with the world.
Turned out, he didn't have anything that wasn't obnoxiously bright and cheery.
He gathered the remains of the clothes and fit them into a large garbage bag, taking it to the garbage before taking a cold walk to the local clothing store. He found himself four pairs of black cargo pants, six different black shirts, some plain that he would do something with himself, and a very large black and red hoody. Due to saving for the years of part-time and odd jobs, he had plenty of money for his purchase, with enough left over if he wanted to pay someone to get him alcohol.
After returning home and changing, he looked himself over in the mirror. It was better. His slipped his hands into the pouch pocket of his hoody and went back downstairs to his boots. A trip to Benny's, a cup of hot chocolate, mindless conversations of strangers. A nice atmosphere.
The walk was uneventful, the place was moderately busy, but empty enough for him to get a seat at the counter and still have an empty stool on either side of him. He ordered his drink, quietly thanking the waitress after she brought it. He listened to the conversations happening around him, sipping his drink.
He noted a few times people from school remarked about who he was, but being unsure because surely it couldn't be Butters, all dressed in black. He smiled into his drink, no one knew him, that was for sure. They accepted the front he projected, he had no real friends. No one knew of the darkness within him, no one cared to know.
The wardrobe change made him feel better, now..., he would probably drop the act too. He was tired of pretending. Everything just seemed bleak, gray and lifeless. This life wasn't what he wanted at all. He never asked to be gay. To never let anyone in.
Life just happened. He had always been ostracized. From the time he was a fucking infant. His parents didn't help matters, grounding him for every little goddamn thing.
There was sadness, mixed with anger. But really, it amounted to nothing, didn't it? The world was fucked, and he was just as fucked because he was a part of it.
He ordered a second hot chocolate before taking a trip to the bathroom. Upon his return, the drink was sitting there, steaming. A small smile graced his lips for a moment before it faded, the blond took his seat again, taking a small sip of the warm liquid.
Snippets of conversation reached his ears, "It IS him."
"Wow..."
"The fuck changed?"
"He's probably just a poser."
"That doesn't look like he's posing."
It seemed the goth kids had noticed him, he recognized their voices.
He listened disinterestedly, sipping on the hot chocolate still. Eventually, their conversation turned from him and he stopped listening, having finished his drink. He probably needed to get home, unless his parents would try to ground him. He made a face but left the establishment. Standing in the semi-darkness of the exterior of the building, Butters snapped a picture of himself, walking and making that his new Facebook profile picture. He pocketed his phone, hands in the pouch pocket as he walked back home.
He arrived home, his parents already there. His father turned to yell at him for being out so late, but stopped, taking in his son's new appearance. His mother had come out of the kitchen as well, both stared openly. He offered a cold stare before trudging up the stairs to his room.
"Call me when dinner is ready," he yelled to them before shutting the door to his room, going to his computer.
Without much interest, he went to Facebook, he had notifications about his new picture.
Wendy commented, "Looks good!"
It also garnered a few likes and shocked reaction emojis. He rolled his eyes and soon logged off, Wendy at least, had always been nice to him, even if it was likely misguided.
He sighed, when had he become so cynical? It didn't matter, he was dropping all pretenses.
He went down for dinner, the air was thick with tension and unasked questions, but he kept his head down, focused on his food. He finished his food and washed his plate before returning to his room without a word to his baffled parents.
They exchanged worried looks, completely at a loss.
Butters brushed his teeth and changed into boxers to sleep. He laid down, finding a Stephen King book on the shelf beside his bed. He read until his eyes grew too heavy to stay open. Minutes passed in the darkness of his room before he finally fell asleep.
In the morning, he woke to his alarm, he tapped the off button and got up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He found himself clothes and went to shower.
He had a quick breakfast of toast and eggs before going to the bus stop.
As he suspected, Cartman started heckling him as soon as he saw the other teen. Butters ignored him and just waited impatiently for the bus.
News of his transformation swept the school. He was quieter, participated in class, rivaling Kyle and Wendy in their shared classes.
On lunch, after he ate, he went around the back of the school where the goth kids, stoners, and other smokers hung out. He wandered to Craig Tucker, asked him to bum a cig. Tucker stared at him a moment but shrugged and gave him one and a light.
Butters muttered his thanks and walked back to the building, smoking. He leaned against the yellow wall, enjoying his smoke.
That was when he was approached.
"What changed?" The one that spoke, was Pete, with his dyed black and red hair that he had to flip out of his eyes.
Butters exhaled smoke before saying, "I got tired of all the bull shit. This world is fucked and I refuse to pretend any more."
Pete looked at Butters, really looked at him, something was definitely off about the blond haired teen. It didn't seem as simple as he'd claimed. But he didn't know him, he had no right to ask, they had never really even been friends. So why did he suddenly care? Pete looked away, striding off with Firckle as Michael and Henrietta stayed behind to talk to Butters.
"You could come hang out with us at Bennys, if you want," Henrietta offered.
"I'll think about it," Butters said as he exhaled another cloud of smoke, turning his attention from them to the cloudy October sky.
They too walked away, wondering slightly at the change in the formerly extremely cheery blond.
He finished his cigarette and went back inside, going to his locker. He opened it and sprayed himself with some Axe Excite, before returning to the cafeteria for the remainder of lunch.
He was the talk of the school for a few days, before the shock wore off and everyone moved on to something else. His sleep increased, sometimes he slept for twelve hours.
Eventually, he wandered over to Benny's one night, sitting with the goth teens after ordering his hot chocolate. They greeted him and then resumed their conversations. He listened absently, zoning out, it took Pete a full five minutes to get his attention.
"Hm?"
"So what really sparked this change? You've always been about rainbows and shit."
"I'm tired of pretending to be something I'm not. As I said, the world is fucked, and I'm tired of pretending it isn't."
They nodded in agreement and the issue wasn't pushed further. Except Pete sensed there was more to it than the blond was letting on, he didn't push it then though.
Butters left around eleven, he didn't feel like listening to his parents yell any longer than he had to.
After the lecture he knew he was going home to, he went to his room and laid in the darkness, the only light coming from his phone. It cheerily told him he had a message in Messenger.
He unlocked his phone, surprised to see the message was from Pete.
'Cut the bullshit. Why'd you really change?'
He smiled slightly at the directness.
'I meant what I said. I changed because I'm tired of pretending.'
'Why else?' Pete pushed.
'You wouldn't understand,' Butters replied and put his phone on the charger and closed his eyes, ignoring it as it vibrated to tell him he had another message.
Butters continued to smoke and hang out with the Goth teens. Pete continued to hound Butters, though the blond rarely gave him anything.
Months crawled by. Soon, it was a daily ritual for Butters to get the gun down and look at it. He even started holding it in his hands and gazing at it. It would be simple. So simple.
Late February, Butters sat alone in his room, the gun sitting beside him in its box. He sent Pete a one-worded reply.
"Bye."
He tossed his phone up on his bed and reached into the box, his hand closing on the familiar cold handle of the gun. He exhaled deeply, eyes closed. When he opened them, he had pressed the cold barrel to his temple.
Seconds away from pulling the trigger, his door burst open and Pete yelled breathlessly, "Put the gun down!"
Butters jumped, the gun falling to his side, almost forgotten.
"Please, Butters, not like this."
Butters didn't look at him, but he continued to speak anyway.
"Not like this man. You're better than this. You can do this. You can show life it hasn't won. You can continue, with me man. We can tell life to shove it, together. I can't understand completely, but I think I get it. We're not so different."
Pete continued to talk, eventually taking the gun and sitting beside Butters on his bed.
Abruptly, Butters threw his arms around Pete and hugged him tightly. Pete returned the hug just as fiercely.
The gun lay forgotten, as the two sat there in silence, but the silence wasn't bad, just overflowing with emotion neither could bear to voice yet.