This is just…a one-shot I found myself writing after I saw Mysterion Rises for the first time. Matt and Trey actually made Kenny stand out as a character in the Coon episodes and I found myself almost reduced to tears at some points, simply because…Holy fuck…Kenny is alive. I loved how in the final episode they left everything open to interpretation which—I hope—will lead to some kick ass and imaginative fanfics. Right guys? 8D Anyways I dunno, this isn't a masterpiece or anything…although I still find myself liking it, and I know for a fact that I'll be writing much more angsty Kenny fics in the near future. So take this as you may, and don't forget to review, if I get enough I might add a few more one-shots!

~~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Candy, Nirvana~~

~~Mick~~!

Disclaimer: I don't own South Park [sadly] or the song Breathe by Pink Floyd [sadly]

Breathe, breathe in the air.

Don't be afraid to care.

Leave but don't leave me.

Look around and choose your own ground.

Long you live and high you fly

And smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry

And all you touch and all you see

Is all your life will ever be.

So you think immortality is a gift?

Tell me, have you ever died? Not just once. But countless deaths. Have you ever felt the rush of agony as your last breath leaves you? The flash of incredible beauty and horror that crosses your vision as you die…just…one…last…time.

Because I've seen the golden gates of Heaven and the flaming pit of Hell. And maybe worst of all; Purgatory…washed out white walls of apathy, an eternity of waiting.

I cannot die. I walk the fine line between life and death, skirting on the edges of existence but always—always coming back. I wake up on my soggy dirt drenched mattress with the filthy blankets around my ankles, my ratty orange parka covering my emaciated frame. My life—if you can even really call it that—is one long chain of continuity…and they don't even remember. It's always 'Hey Ken, why'd you bail?' or 'Dude, where'd you go?' or something of the like. What they don't understand—what they can never understand—is, I just want to live. This endless darkness, never quite reaching where I need to be, gets so meticulous. It makes every day monotonous and somber…just waiting for some comical incident to strike. I've always been the removable one…what would our town be without me? Would it even really change? Death makes you question it all.

What am I? Am I human? I've breached the path of mortality almost too many times to say I am. So…am I more? And if I am…why am I here? To live these brief moments of a meaningless life that needs meaning…and when I do find some tiny scrap of matter…its all ripped away just as quickly? What twisted higher power would even dream of doing that? Why, why, WHY?

Each dawn I know I won't make it to dusk. My will breaks a little more every time. I'm sixteen years old for Christ's sake—and already I've done what no other has—died thousands upon thousands of deaths. And came back. Like some sick Messiah reincarnate.

Those Goth kids make me nauseous. To have a mindset that-that says all living is pain—when really…they don't know pain. They watched me get gutted by the leader of the Cult of Cthulu and walked away like it was nothing. My deaths have no impact on the living. So why is it that I return to this plain of being every last time? With the same people? There has to be a reason.

Or maybe that's just wishful thinking. Maybe in a past life I was a murder or a psychopath or…Hitler (Wait, that's Cartman) and this is the price I pay. My very essence is this stupid, pointless enigma and I'm getting fucking sick of it. Because, fuck…it hurts.

Why bother falling asleep when I can simply tongue the barrel of a gun and kiss oblivion goodbye instead? Dying never gets any easier either. Every instance pain explodes before my vision in scarlet clots and I'm left thrown to the earth, my eyes wide and unseeing directly into the sun overhead.

Six years. It's been six fucking years since Mintberry Crunch dragged Cthulu back to The Nightmare City of R' lyeh—sometimes I find myself yearning to go back. To feel the cockroach brown tentacles play with my hair and watch an infinity of melting clocks tick away the everlasting seconds of my life.

Am I the Jesus of a far off planet scorned to Earth? A being from the freezing red plains of Mars? The compressed essence of every beautiful person who wasn't meant to die young?

At this point I don't even care. I just know that this is painful. And unfair. And if Kyle can die in a split moment I should too. Sometimes I cut my chest open and hold my heart in my fist, and before my eyes flutter closed I squeeze my last bits of life onto the dirt.

I'm tired.

I'm fucking tired.

The shotgun is cool in my palm.

I tongue the barrel.

And fuck oblivion goodbye.

Run, rabbit run.

Dig that hole, forget the sun,

And when at last the work is done

Don't sit down it's time to dig another one.

For long you live and high you fly

But only if you ride the tide

And balanced on the biggest wave

You race towards an early grave.