Ringing. That's all he heard, was a loud ringing in his ears. His head was throbbing and his body ached like hell. Slowly, Butters dragged himself out of bed and stumbled out to the bathroom.
His vision was was blurred and warbled, but he could see that the sun had risen. Luckily for him it was summer break.
"Oh thank God..." Quickly, the small blonde quickly slumped over the sink and turned the water on. It felt ice cold against his hot skin, and soon the aches went away. Butters suddenly gasped and took several deep breaths.
This was a new norm for him. Since the begining of high school, he'd begun to suffer from some strange brain disorder. But the doctors couldn't pinpoint what it was, so this was him most mornings. Plenty of cold water seemed to quickly alleviate the pain, but it only seemed to do so temporarily. Luckily for him, the aches throughout the day were much, much weaker than the mornings.
"Butters? Are you feeling alright?" Mr. Stotch asked, startling the boy.
"Ah! Y-yes dad. I-I'm feeling allot better..." It was a lie. But his parents didn't really care enough to notice. The events with Trent Boyett were pretty much proof of that.
"Good. Don't forget to get ready. You've got a baseball game today." How could he even try to forget? He was stuck playing the damned game all summer again, and the aches weren't helping.
As he thought about his situation, the aches slowly faded away, and a small buzz replaced the ringing in his ears. His hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white. The droning continued for several minutes as he prepared himseld for the day ahead.
"... I hope we lose..."
0o0
He was up as pitcher. He hated this position more than anything, but Stan needed a break and sadly he was the only one on the bench. He could hear his mom and dad making threats about punishment if he lost. Almost everyone saw Stans dad in another drunken brawl.
The batter came up, smirking. Butters just knew he'd mess this up, and they'd move on to the next game. But everyone knew what they were getting into when they put Butters, of all people, to pitch.
The windup and pitch.
Strike one.
Strike two...
The droning was deafening, and the aches were back. He felt sick and just wanted to go home. Cartman was shouting now.
"YOU BETTER NOT STRIKE HIM OUT SHITBALL!"
The droning grew louder and louder.
The batter grinned at him darkly.
"Got ya scared, don't I, freak?" Butters felt something break, or snap, inside, and he responded with a cocky smirk. He wound up, feeling his hands grow a little hot as he pitched
A faint streak of pale blue light followed close behind.
The batter layed motionless, with the blood stained ball rolling away from him. Cartman, who was stuck in the catcher position, felt like throwing up. Blood and bits of brain stuck to his uniform, and a small pool of blood began to inch closer to him.
All eyes were on butters now, who was standing straight, eyes locked on the now dead boy.
"D-dude... what the fuck?" Kenny, who stood a few feet behind him, asked, voice trembling ever so slightly. A grin formed of Butters face and a dark chuckle escaped him
"Bullseye."