"Let's imagine the end before we ever begin."
The air was cold and crisp, threatening to bleed his nose dry before the day was out. He had always had a terribly sensetive nose, even when he was a young boy running around Mr. Garrison's elementary class. It appeared that even though the world was upside down and turning inside out, some things never changed. Any other day it would of been a glimpse of comfort, but today he wasn't so fortunate. No, today reality had its teeth sunk deep into his face and wasn't about to let go anytime soon. Today he was forced to face everything head on and fuck the consequences, whatever they may be in the end. If there even was an end for them, at this point. It's not like they deserved some fitting closure that would make everything seem like it was worthwhile. The things they had done....the things they had seen...no, they didn't deserve a god damn thing anymore. But they sure as hell acted like it.
"Do you remember when we said that phrase?" It was a rhetorical question, and they both knew the answer to it clear as day, but it had to be said outloud. Right now, everything had to be laid out and reaffirmed to make sure that they knew exactly what was going on. No doubts, no second guesses, no faults. Black was black and white was white and gray never existed in their world; there was no room for muddled grays. Not anymore. "It was seventeen years ago." It was so quick to speak but felt so long to live through, and everyone involved felt its weight and toll. They looked older then what they were, felt older then what they were. Like walking corpses. They were as good as dead, they had been for quite some time now. Just speeding up the process, at this point. Every day, they were just marching towards their death. And today was the grand finale, extraordinaire.
At least, that's how Ze Mole would of said it, in that biting tone between puffs of clove scented cigarette smoke. Arched against a lamp post, dirty and disheveled, that bright gleam drawing you in and threatening to suffocate you in a moment's notice, like fire. "The grand fucking finale, extraordinaire, gentleman." He would of kissed the tip of his middle finger before raising it to the heavens, cursing every higher power that he could draw from memory. Yeah, that's how he would of said it.
"How has it felt, killing the people you once loved?" The words were biting and cold and dripping in venom but they weren't condescending. Not by a long shot. It was understandable, the situation he had found himself in when it had happened. In all reality, it had been a smart move, tactical and resourceful and an absolutely higher chance of survival then any other alternative. Complately and utterly sane in an otherwise insane world. But in some small way, some underlying form, it was unforgiveable. It wasn't even the fact that he killed those dearest to both of them. It wasn't even the fact that he felt no pangs of regret when he tore Tolken's head in half with the sheer power of the weapon he had been holding at the time, not knowing how delicate the trigger had been. It wasn't even the fact that they were standing face to face, watching him kill his last tie to who he had been. No, none of that mattered. None of it.
"Stan Marsh. Deceased. Leopold "Butters" Scotch. Deceased. Bebe Stevens, Clyde Donovan, Craig Tucker, Timmy, Tolken Black, Tweek Tweak, Wendy Testaburger. All deceased." He had the list in his head, laid out perfectly in scrawling ink and embroidered paper; the kind of list that they deserved to be put on. Not the nameless graves made out of old timber and rusted nails that they occupied instead. He didn't even know where half of those graves were located, and he doubted they would ever be found again, if everything would go according to plan. Their final crime together.
"Most of them are dead because of you." He lowered his head, imagining how things use to be. How could he not, standing on the roof of what use to be their Elementery School. Directly below where he was standing, was where Mr. Garrison use to hold his third grade class. Where this had all started, in some form or another. Unknowingly, unwillingly, and unbelievably rolling everything out to hold the stage they found themselves on. Certain areas of the roof were unstable, frail, and threatened to collapse under the slightest touch. Most places weren't even left standing, walls being crumbled away years ago. Graffiti littered the stones and bricks that were left, aimless homeless people using it as a shelter against the heavy storms that came through. "And you can't even say a thing, can you?" A whisper. "Say something." Louder. "Say something!" He was yelling now, fists clenched at his side, eyes tearing up despite everything. "Say something Kyle!" Startled crows took flight into the bleak distance, away from the two of them, leaving them completely alone now. Exactly how it should be. But it was wrong. So wrong.
Emerald eyes never once shifted away from him. They didn't blink, they didn't falter, they didn't waiver. It was like they were burning a hole through years of composure that he had managed to build up for this very day. And it was all being eaten away. His pulse was steady, his breathing even, the gun still aimed perfectly at his heart. A clean shot. But he hadn't pulled the trigger, this entire time. A stray bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face, catching perfectly on the tip of one of his reddish locks of hair. It glistened from the sun rising in the distance. Rising far too slowly.
"I remember." He finally spoke, a small sigh escaping his lips. "Let's imagine the end before we ever begin, that way we'll always know our destination." It was a concept they had all came up with standing at the bus stop one morning, when they were struggling with who they wanted to be and what they wanted to become. They made a promise, to themselves and to eachother, to never forget that phrase.
And...they had all kept it, in their own personal way...