Mana here. This is based on something I wrote for my creative writing class. But in the original story it took place in 1920, and instead of Stan it was a young girl and instead of his grandpa it was a random World War I veteran. I was meaning for the story to be in the style of a German fairytale or proverb type of thing. The original sounds more like it though. This story takes place in 2003, k? Otherwise, Marvin wouldn't have fought in World War I.

Why Are You Wearing That Scarf?

As young Stan Marsh was returning home from playing with Kyle he spotted his 102-year-old grandfather, Marvin Marsh, sitting on a park bench by Stark's Pond. He raised an eyebrow at this; it wasn't like his grandfather to leave the house. He always thought he hated outside. But what was even more curious was his attire. Despite being the month of April, he was dressed in a trench coat, a fedora hat and a scarf. He had with him his hickory cane and a cherry pipe, which he had just taken a drag from.

"Grandpa?" Stan approached the senior, who looked at his grandson.

"Oh, hello, Stan," his grandfather said, "what are you doing here?"

This shocked Stan. Never before had his grandfather referred to him as "Stan."

"Going home," Stan said, "what about you? Aren't you supposed to be in the house?"

He breathed out the smoke from his pipe.

"I didn't want to be in the house today," he said, "will you come sit with me, Stan?"

Stan wanted to run away. This was not his grandfather. But something about him just was so pleasant in contrast to his usual behavior that he decided to take a seat on the bench next to him. He felt he might as well take advantage of this new change while it lasted.

Everything was silent for a while, but to Stan it was kind of nice. He had never willingly sat with his grandfather before, though his parents heavily encouraged him to do so. It was probably that time where he was constantly asking for Stan to kill him that creeped him out, but that was ages ago.

Going back to reality, Stan realized it was quite warm out for an April in Colorado. Sure there was still snow on the ground, but the weather was a little bit warm. He unbuttoned his brown jacket for comfort and then he looked up at his grandfather, who was still bundled up like it was the middle of December. Curious, he decided to ask a question.

"H-hey, Grandpa?" He asked, "why are you wearing a scarf? It's kinda hot, isn't it?"

But Marvin shook his head.

"Not at all, Stan," he said, "see, I gave my bandages to an Englishman who was struck with a bayonet."

Stan's grandfather was old enough to have seen (nonetheless, fought in) both World Wars and he often liked to talk about it as old people do. Stan knew quickly that he was speaking of his time during the war as an American soldier, but was not sure which war it was.

But what would wearing a scarf have to do with giving up bandages? It confused him, but instead he decided to be amazed at his grandfather's generosity. It was a rare thing.

"Oh," Stan said, "that's pretty cool of you, Grandpa."

Marvin shrugged.

"I did what I had to do," he said, "he was an ally."

Stan smiled a little at this. In his younger years, he realized, his grandfather was a kind man just like himself. He thought about the possibilities of Kyle getting struck with a bayonet if that ever were to happen and how he'd gladly give up his scarf for his super best friend to use as a bandage.

Feeling comfortable now, Stan decided to ask another question.

"So Grandpa," he asked, "why are you wearing a trench coat? It really is kinda too hot for a coat, I think."

"Not that hot, Stan," his grandfather said, "I gave my armor to a Frenchman, to protect him from the blast of a grenade on the Western Front."

The Western Front…Stan knew for sure that he was talking about his time in World War I now. And his eyes widened in shock.

"Whoa dude, wasn't the Western Front supposed to be really dangerous?" He asked.

"Aye, but it was," his grandfather said.

And he thought this was odd of him; the Western Front was one of most deadly places during the war. Why would he surrender his armor and endanger himself? Unless he was suicidal back then…he did remember his grandfather telling him gruesome stories about the Front.

"That's pretty badass of you, Grandpa," Stan said.

His grandfather brushed it away.

"I did what I had to do," he said, "the man was young. He had his whole life ahead of him."

And Stan smiled at him again, admiring him for his bravery.

"Whoa," Stan said, then noticing his pipe, "then why are you smoking that pipe? Don't you usually smoke it at night?"

"Stanley," his grandfather said, "I gave my mask to a German on the Western Front so that he wouldn't have to breathe the mustard gas."

At this Stan's eyes widened in shock. Germany was an enemy to the Americans during World War I. Why would he help an enemy?

"An enemy, Grandpa?" He asked.

"Yes, Stan," he said, "but his wife had just given birth to their first son. He couldn't bear to be away from them any longer, so he was to see them once he returned home from war."

Stan blinked, feeling kindness to his grandfather. But he didn't think too deeply about it.

"Then tell me, why are you wearing that hat?"

"I gave my helmet to an Italian, so he'll be protected from gunfire."

"Also an enemy?" He asked.

"Yes Stan," he said, "but he was to marry his girlfriend once he returned home from war. I'm sure she'd be heartbroken if he never came back."

Stan nodded in understanding of the logic, but he still didn't understand why his grandpa would care if someone got heartbroken or not. Then another question came to mind.

"But Grandpa, why are you carrying that cane? I don't think you even use a cane…"

"Ah Stan," his grandfather said, "I gave my boots to an Austro-Hungarian."

"Another enemy?" He asked.

"Yes Stan," he said, "he had to return home and play with his little brothers when the war ended. I'm sure they'd be saddened if he didn't come home."

"Jesus Christ, Grandpa," Stan said, "with everything you had to give up, how the hell did you ever survive fighting the war?"

"Ah, but I didn't give everything up," his grandfather said.

"Of course," said Stan, seeing truth, "you had your gun with you, didn't you?"

"No, Stan," his grandfather said, "that was stolen from me."

Stan looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Who took your gun?" He asked, "not a French dude or an English dude, right?"

"Of course not, Stan," his grandfather said, "they were allies."

"Then it was a German or an Italian or a hungry Austrian then?" he asked, with a hatred for the alliance in his eyes.

"Not them either," his grandfather said, "the one who stole my gun…"

He took a deep drag of his pipe before saying, "it was Death."

XX

I just had to have Stan say "hungry Austrian" instead of "Austro-Hungarian" XDDD

Terribly sorry if it didn't make sense...I just had to put it up here. I wish my grandpa was alive so he can tell me stories about his time in WWII...