Someone once asked me if it was scary, to think about dying, to worry if it was going to hurt, or come in the still of the night while you slept? Or if it were going to take a long time, and eat away at you until there was nothing left to take, and then allow you to pass on? Well, first I told them that no, most of the time I don't really even have a chance to feel scared before I die, and to worry about it is a waste of my time here. Admittedly there have been numerous cases I have wound up literally shitting myself before I died because I had the time. You can imagine Cartman's taunting after one of those death scenes. I do have nightmares about some of my deaths, but I don't choose to dwell on them. If I had to chose a way to die, it would be with some adventure or excitement to it, something I can go to hell laughing about. Dying after a long drawn out ordeal is the worst, because every second that brings me closer to it steals away part of my resolve and soul. The thing I hated the most about dying from terminal illness is that it hurts everyone else around me too. The last thing I ever wanted was a repeat. . .

South Park

Nine Lives

Chapter 1 – The Life and Times of One

Kenny McKormick

(Kenny's POV)

Hi, my name is Kenny McKormick. I'm 15 years old, and I live in the quaint town of South Park, Colorado. My house is little more than a shack on the other side of the train tracks in the bad part of town, or as my friend Eric likes to say, the ghetto. Every day starts out the same in my house. There is bickering between my parents, squabbles between me and my brother over the select few frozen waffles, and my sister curled up in her corner, hardly making her existence known. God, half the time I don't even realize she's around until I trip over her. The wrestling match over the waffles usually ends in my bitter defeat, and I end up trudging to the bus stop both hungry and sore.

Here's some things I have learned over the years. Usually it goes like this in the morning at the bus stop. I arrive last, and by the time I get there, I have missed one of two things, either Eric and my other friend Kyle kicking each other's asses over something dealing with religion or the size of Eric's gut, or Eric making fun of me behind my back, and offering up bets on how I would die today. Once to win a bet he lit me on fire, watched me run around screaming until I died, then collected however much the other guys owed him. I hate death by fire, I hate it so much.

After that, there is the bus ride to school. The driver's a bitch. School itself is a waste of time, though I do like art class, and lunch of course. That was the only time during the day I got to see all my friends. Oh wait, no, check that. Stan is in my eighth hour, but he sits on the other side of the room. After school, I usually end up hanging out with my friends, which as of late has involved watching football tryouts. That was fun until Eric tackled me into the bleachers. All in all, my life is rather boring. Well, except for the whole dying every other day, visiting heaven and hell frequently, and coming back to South Park the very next day.

So why did today feel so damn different?

A loud crash sounded in the living room, shattering my dreams and bringing me back to the world of the wakeful living. My eyes scanned the room quickly, telling me that I was alone, and that it was still dark outside. A lone snowflake floated down from the ceiling and landed on my nose. The holes in my ceiling gave me a clear view of the darkened sky above, the pureness only broken by stray snow flakes flitting in and out of sight, and infiltrating my room. My body shivered involuntarily and I sat up, draping my blanket around my shoulders, and searching the floor for my pants. I could see in the dim light of the room the small white cloud of steam that was my breath forming rapidly and dissipating in front of my face. "Damn, it's cold." When I finally located my pants, I shook them out, forcing out the rat that had taken to them to sleep for the night. he wasn't all too happy and ended up biting my hand. "Ah, you little fuck, see if I ever share my waffles with you again," I snapped at the creature as it scurried off to go hide itself. I pulled my pants on with one hand, the other securely in my mouth, in a lame attempt to stop the bleeding and soothe some of the pain from the bite.

I could see their glittering eyes as I tiptoed to the door of my room and listened. It sounded like my dad in another drunken fit, only just coming home after a good long night at the bar. Feeling it best just to avoid the whole thing, I quickly got back into bed and did my best to fall back asleep. That was when I noticed it, the change. It was very minute, so hard to pinpoint, but I knew deep down something was horribly wrong. I didn't get a chance to dwell on it too long because I slipped back into slumber mode.

My dreams were haunted by memories, most of which were pre-death scenes. One in particular stuck out for me though. It was when I had gotten sick when I was 9, and died. For some reason, my mind kept remembering how sad it made everyone, and how sad I had been I didn't get to say goodbye to some of them, including Stan. I woke up feeling cold, the sound of my cheap alarm clock blaring by my head, as though the louder it was the more likely it would be that I would come out of my near comatose state. I knocked the annoying thing to the floor, causing it sudden death, and I rolled over in bed. "So tired. . ." I mumbled softly, working up the motivation to get up.

A whole five minutes later, all I had managed to accomplish was flipping over in bed a couple of times, before finally getting into a sitting position. Finally I got to my feet, and stumbled to the bathroom, only to run smack into the closed door. "Damnit Kevin! Hurry up and get your sorry ass out of the bathroom! And you better not be taking a shit in there!"

"Shut the hell up in there! If ya gotta piss so bad, use a fuckin' bush!" I hear my dad roar from the living room. I bite my tongue and look in the direction of his voice. I could tell by the subtle slur in his voice that he was suffering a hangover, and probably had one hell of a headache, best to not piss him off. I was leaning rather heavily on the door when it opened, and I ended up falling inside, landing hard on the floor. "Son of a bitch," I hissed, and then looked up at my little sister, who was just staring wide eyed at me. I let out a sigh, and got back to my feet, "Get outta here. I gotta take a leak," I mumbled and closed her out of the room. After doing my business, I stood in front of the broken mirror for a moment, and ruffled my hand through my messy blonde hair. Man, do I look tired, I thought to myself, looking back at my half closed light blue eyes. "I gotta get a hair cut again." I made sure to clean off some of the dirt smudges that seemed to be way too attracted to my pale ghost white skin, and left the bathroom to go get dressed.

I pulled on a loose black tee-shirt, and then my parka. This one was a new one that the guys got me a couple months back since my orange one was small and falling apart. It was orange with black and white stripes on the sleeves and sides. It was a little big, but it was warm, and I could appreciate that. I left my room after grabbing my bag, and walked through the living room. Dad was sleeping on the couch, snoring noisily with an icepack in one hand and a S'more Schnapps in the other. Figures. "I'm gonna eat later, see ya," I called from the door, and stepped outside. I close the door, and snicker softly to myself as I hear a stray bottle of alcohol smash against the closed wood barrier.

As soon as I stepped on the path leading away from the house, I felt dread in the pit of my stomach, the kind of dread I always felt right before I died. I wasn't even to the train tracks yet when the pain started, first starting in my legs and arms and quickly traveling through my whole being. I thought I was being electrocuted. Electrocution was faster though, and there wasn't anything near here to get electrocuted on. Finally, the pain hit my chest, and my breath seized, and I went down to my hands and knees in the snow. Oh God, what the hell is this? I thought, my breath nothing more then ragged, pained gasps. Everything seemed out of focus and dark. I could hear voices, but they were distorted and so far away. Then there was nothing.

---------------------------

I could hear someone crying, sounded like my mom.

I winced slightly, and cracked my eyes open. I could feel a hand brushing through my hair, and I shook my head slightly. I hated it when people did that, even if they are my mom. "Mom, why are you crying?" I asked, wincing again at the sound of my voice. It sounded so strained, and it was almost painful to speak.

"Kenny, yer awake, thank God," she said, pulling me into an awkward hug, "the doctor told us you might not wake up at all, but you showed him didn't ja?" I looked straight ahead, wondering what happened, and why she would be freaking out so much, then just figured that was how she was, and placed my hand on her arm in a lame attempt at returning her hug.

"It's ok mom, I'm up now. What happened?" Man was it hard to talk, and I could tell I was wearing a breathing mask.

Mom pulled away and looked me in the eyes, though hers didn't stay on mine and kept shifting as though she were scared to talk to me. Finally, she flinched slightly "they said you had another one of yer seizures Kenny."

"Seizure? That was no seizure mom." She's lying to me?

She shifted nervously, then looked up at Dr. Doctor came into the room, looking over a chart. "Ah, I see he's woken up after all."

"Maybe you can tell me what is going on here?" I ask.

"Perhaps. There are still some tests I want to run, but as a preliminary analysis, I am afraid things don't look good." What else is new? "It appears that you suffered a mild heart attack, Kenny, though the reasons why are still being tested."

"A HEART ATTACK?" I blurted out, then immediately regretted it as my yell hurt not only my voice, but also just about everything else. My chest felt like fat Cartman was sitting on it. I gulped back a sob and laid back against my pillow, gasping like a fish out of water.

"I'm afraid so," the doctor continued, "you really shouldn't strain yourself though. Mrs. McKormick, may I speak with you outside a moment?"

"Of course," she said and stood up, "You stay right here baby, I'll be right back." I nod and she leaves after the doctor. The door closes behind her, and from where I was laying, I could see shadows through the crack where the door met the floor. Three sets of shadows, dad must have been there too. I leaned back against my pillow, tentatively fingering the breathing mask I was wearing. It seemed so surreal, impossible really, but then again, so was dying multiple times and coming back the next day.

I looked up from my thoughts when I heard my mom let out a wail of sobs. That can't be good, I thought to myself. I pushed myself up a little, to hopefully catch wind of what they were saying, but the door and the fact the doctor was talking way too softly muffled the words too much to decipher. Sitting propped up as I was started hurting incredibly and I laid back down.

I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes, it was dark outside, and I was alone in my hospital room. Someone had been in there because there were flowers on the little table next to my bed which had not been there before. I reached out and pulled out the little card that was stuck in amongst them and held it out in front of me. scratched on the inside was three distinct hand-written notes:

You bettah get well soon or else I'll kick you in the nuts; Eric

Don't listen to Cartman, he's a sorry fat ass! But you get to feeling better ok? You were sleeping when we came by, we'll be back tomorrow; Kyle

Try to get better soon Kenny, we miss you; Stan

I could almost imagine the three of them standing around the bed, passing the note around to sign it, Eric and Kyle fighting and Stan trying to get them to shut up. I was amazed them being there didn't wake me up. I set the note down on my chest, a faint smile on my face. For all the times they didn't really seem to notice me, they always seemed to pull off something that convinced me that they really did care.

True to their word, at about 3:45, Kyle, Eric and Stan all came into my room. Kyle and Eric were fighting over something, which from the sound of their argument stemmed from the usual 'Fat ass vs. oppressed Jews'.

"Hey, you guys," I said softly. My voice was almost back to normal today, but I still sounded a bit groggy.

"So what the hell is wrong with you this time Kennah?" Cartman blurred out, disregarding his argument with Kyle for a moment. True to his word, Cartman had indeed finally grew into his body. His fat had been replaced by muscle, and he was one of the more popular freshman, even amongst the upperclassmen girls. He had recently cut his light brown hair and had it spiked, and his brown eyes were almost a mix of worry, almost.

Kyle made a face, "the doctor already told us they don't know what's wrong with him." Kyle had stayed the smallest of the four of us, and next to Cartman, he looked rather puny. He was one of the smartest kids in South Park, but he was no athlete, nor was he as popular with the ladies as yours truly, or Stan and Cartman. He was wearing his ushanka, one which he had bought before school started that was grey rather than his usual green. Small curls of red hair were peeking out underneath the fabric and spiraling across his forehead. His green eyes were ablaze, still showing the affects of his quarrel with Cartman.

"Doctors are fuckin' liars. They lie to get more money."

"I don't think you can argue there," I said with a smirk.

"This isn't like before right? You're not really that sick, right Kenny?" Stan said softly, a saddened look on his face. He was holding his poof-ball hat in his hands, wringing it out. Of all of us, he had made off with the best luck. He was a star athlete through elementary and middle school, was on the foot ball team, and had a steady girlfriend, plus the entire female student body was lusting after him. I'd be willing to bet part of the male student body was too. His raven black hair was hanging messily in his face, and his dark blue eyes held his sadness clear to see.

I looked back at him confused for a moment before remembering when I was nine. I had been really sick, and died. My last memory of that life was Stan not being there, and I left asking for him. I winced, realizing that was where this was heading, then smiled at him reassuringly. "I don't know what's going on really. They haven't told me much. They did tell me this morning though that I can go home by Friday if I keep improving."

"That's great dude!" Kyle said.

"Yeah," Stan said, relieved, then he looks down at the note they had left, which I had placed on the nightstand next to me. "So you got our notes huh?"

"Yeah, I thought it was kinda gay," I said with a grin. We all shared a good laugh, and Cartman started telling about how he managed to manipulate one of his teachers into not giving him any homework for the rest of the year, and wait on him hand and foot.

True to the word of the doctor, I was released come Friday. . .

---------------------------

Please read and review, chapter two will be out soon!