Kenny the Hero
A cold breeze blew down the street, snowdrifts piled against corners shifted. Tall streetlights cast harsh shadows in their yellow rings of light.
Sitting on the outer edge of one such sallow glow, a park bench. One would easily walk past this bench, like so many others, without so much as a second glance at the small figure crouched upon it.
That was how Kenny McCormick was, invisible.
He sat there in the cold, snow beginning to fall around his knees, drawn close to his chest.
Kenny came out to the streets of his small town South Park, to think and to simply be on his own.
He thought tonight of his place in the world. Was he such a small piece in a much larger machine that no matter what he did he could never make a difference? Was every move he made dictated by an unseen force? Fate? God?
And what of his own Immortality? Something he thinks of just as often as he tries to forget.
Was he made this way intentionally? Or is he just one universal joke? A fluke in the game of living and dying.
Kenny liked to believe everything had a use, even things that seemed useless. He remembered the time he had seen a woman growing beans in a mismatched, hole filled pair of old shoes. Or when his father turned an empty soda bottle into a lamp.
This seemed enough proof that not only does everything have a purpose, but also that some things have many uses everyday.
Kenny wondered if, because he can never die if that meant he was worth any more or less then another person. It seemed most tragedies were measured in how many human lives they cost.
Was Kenny worth more because he has died so much more than anyone else, or was he of less worth because his life could never truly be taken from him?
Wasn't the worth of a man judged by his work on the lives of others? Kenny hoped so, that meant that the many times he sacrificed his own life for that of his friends ought to count towards something.
If someone saves one man does that mean that person's life is now worth that of two people? What if he had a daughter? Would saving him mean your life was that of three people?
What about heroes? How many people do you have to save to become a hero?
Maybe, Kenny thought, a hero isn't about how many lives they may have saved; it's how people look at you. If enough people look up to you to help them then you could be a hero.
Kenny watched as a cat jumped down off a rooftop and darted into the dark as the snow swirled faster across the sidewalk.
I could be a hero.
Kenny continued to look at the white flakes rushing past his feet.
Silently he stood and began the long walk back to his cracked home desperately in need if a hero.
Written at 2:00 am, hence the scrambled nature of the story.
Comments are always appreciated. :)