I stagger out the back door, run as fast as I can past a vomiting guy, jump over the fence, fall onto my face, get up, and start running again, away from the music, away from the laughing drunk faces, away from everything. No one notices me leaving. I'm invisible.
Why am I running?
I should be at home there. I'm always the partyer, the person who can down the most, the one who always hooks up with the hottest girl. I'm a legend, according to my friends. I should be happy, I should be at the centre of that party.
But I'm not
Instead, I'm here. A random, snow covered field. Empty. I'm alone. I've never been truly alone for months now. Even when I sleep, I sleep in strange beds next to strange girls. I'm called a manwhore, but that's better than them knowing what I really am.
A coward. A liar, a weakling, a waste of space.
I groan. I knew I should have stayed at the party, downed enough shots to forget my own name, and pass out upstairs. Spend another night blissfully forgetting who I am, the memories, the long painful nights where all I could do was shake silently, because I had run out of tears. I look up into the stunningly clear sky, shining with a million stars. Its so beautiful it makes my heart ache.
I don't belong here
I don't belong here. Its too beautiful. Too good for someone like me. I don't belong at the party, with all the drunk teenagers. I don't belong among the people of south park, laughing and talking about Christmas. I don't belong anywhere.
Because anywhere, anywhere at all, reminds me of her.
"Merry Christmas Kazzie" I say to her, ruffling her hair just to annoy her. She sticks her tongue out and dodges round me, to where the tree waits.
That was back when our parents tried to make a big day out of Christmas. This year, they're just sitting in front of the TV, blindly staring and drinking. Just like any other day.
"Aww, thanks ken." She smiles at the one-armed doll I fished out of the toy stores trash for her. Its not good enough, its never good enough, but stealing is wrong. Our parents, our church, everyone taught us that if you steal, you don't get into heaven. So we have to make our Christmas out of other peoples off-casts. A second hand Christmas.
"This is for you, son" my dad hands over a hunting rifle. Brand new, and the coolest thing in the world to a fifteen-year-old boy. I gaze up in awe.
"But dad, how can you afford-"mum cuts off my sentence with a look
"Don't ask" he grins ruefully, patting my back "Now, hows about you come shootin and get us some Christmas dinner"
"Sure!" I jump up and help dad get his coat on. Every Christmas him, mum and sometimes Kev go shooting, and every Christmas they come back with a turkey big enough for all of us. This time, I'm finally allowed to go with them.
"Can I come? Can I come?" Karen pipes up, tugging at my coat. I laugh at her
"No, you're too young. Just stay here with Kev for now" I smile down at her, pouting with indignation that I'm allowed at the shoot and she's not. "Maybe next year" I say, and I'm rewarded with a radiant smile as she lets go of my coat.
"Maybe next year" I repeat as I walk out the door, gun in hand. And, silently, I make a promise
"NO!" I scream out, my voice cutting the threads of the memory that have been trapping me. My voice rings out through the field breaking the silence for a few sweet seconds, before it returns. I curl into myself, trying to hide from the stars, from the silence, from the memories. "No, no, no no no no no" I whisper to myself, keeping a litany. As if denying it happened would turn back time, go back to that crucial second, and change everything. But it doesn't happen like that. The stars, so beautiful a few minutes before, are now laughing. Laughing at me for wishing things differently, crying like a child for the past.
I hate the memories. I've spent the whole year controlling myself, keeping myself with other people so they cant attack me. But I've been stupid. I've run from the party, from the people, from the alcohol that helps me forget. Now I'm alone, unprotected, curled up in the snow. I only have myself to blame when the threads slowly, irresistibly, bind me again
"I wish mum and dad could be here" she sniffs, hugging the old one armed doll I got her last year. I miss them too, but I owe it to Karen to make this Christmas special
"It could be worse. They're only in prison for a couple of weeks, and we could have been sent to the foster parents" I shiver at the memory. Thank god Kev is old enough to be our legal guardian now.
"But still…" she sighs before she tails off, knowing she doesn't need to explain everything she's feeling to me. Knowing I'm feeling the exact same things.
"Hey, Kaz?" I grin at her, trying to make her smile too. "Don't you want to open your present?"
She takes the package from me halfheartedly, still depressed about not having our parents here. As soon as she opens it, though, her red-rimmed eyes sparkle, and she smiles at me, her first proper smile since our parents got locked up. She carefully holds it up, looking at the small numbers on the side.
"a browning '81 stainless takedown" she says in awe. "How did you get this?"
I smile, hiding the guilt in my face. Jimbo Kern, the man who adopted me as an honorary nephew, and possibly the adult I'm closest to except my parents, is notorious for having too many guns and not enough security around them.
Stealing makes you go to hell, but seeing your little sister smile for the first time in a long time is better than any heaven I can imagine.
"C'mon, lets go shoot ourselves some dinner" I help her into her coat and shrug mine on, yelling goodbye to Kev on our way out. He always hated hunting.
"Stupid…" I say to myself, still trying to change the past with words. Still trying to chain the wind. My eyes are blurry, unfocused. They don't see the shimmering stars, the glinting snow. They're still engrossed with watching the memories unfold
"So where exactly are we going?" she asks excitedly, tripping along every step in the deep snow, stumbling and clutching on to me for balance. Soon, she just gives up and clings to me for the entire journey
"It's technically a farm, but the turkeys are allowed to run round wherever they want" I repeat the words mum and dad told me last year. "It's anyones game, but if you see someone, run as fast as you can, ok? And once you've got the turkey, get the hell out of there." we're both wearing our white coats and trousers, so no one looking can see us. Technically, its stealing. To me, its Christmas tradition.
We trudge along silently, not because of awkwardness, but because a word here could cue an alarm. We slip easily through the electric fence, and stick to the treeline, where our footprints wont be spotted. Karen is buzzing with excitement, but she does a good job of staying focused. If it wasn't for the massive grin on her face, you'd think this was her job
"Stop"
Stop it now, before it becomes unbearable. Go to bed Kenny McCormick. You're too young to see this.
I wish I was. I wish I was young enough that my parents could send me away, protect me from the scaryness, the sadness. I want to be five again, when none of this had happened. When Karen was a baby and we all had our whole lives in front of us.
"Kenny, look at that" she whispers in awe, pointing at the biggest turkey I've ever seen, perched on a tree like a king on a throne. "Can we get that one?"
"If we can…" I say, doubtful. The biggest turkeys are usually the fastest. But I cant deny her this. And besides, this turkey could make us meals for a week. That would help Karen take her mind of our parents
"Ok" I say "line it up so the prong is in the middle of these two, and the turkey is in front of them" I line up her shot for her before lining up my own. "We both shoot on three, ok? One… two…"
A shot rings out, scaring the turkey away. I turn to Karen, preparing to cuff her jokingly for getting too excited.
"no, no, no"
Stop. Stop before it gets out of control. Stop, or something bad will happen
I see the gun fall out her arms first. Then I see her shocked face as she falls to the ground. Then, I see the blood soaking through her white coat, a vivid contrast. A man runs up just as my mind puts the pieces together
"I'm sorry, I couldn't see her against the snow, I was aiming for the turkeys" he panics.
He has a gun with him. I hit that out his hands before punching him square in the jaw.
"Don't you fucking talk to me. Call an ambulance if you don't want me to kill you right now" I turn back to Karen, ignoring the man dialling behind me. "Kaz?"
I apply pressure to where the blood is coming from, but she's losing a lot, too much. She's making gurgling sounds, like a death rattle, and spasming. I hug her, wrap myself around her. I don't know anything about medicine, but I know that death cant get her if I'm in the way.
I collapse on my back, willing the snow to cover me. Smother me. Drown me until I'm blind. I was stupid then, thinking something as small as holding her could protect her from the irresistible force of death.
But it did
It didn't. holding someone doesn't stop them dying. Death isnt a physical being
She didn't die until I let her go
I let her go
They took her from me
But I let them
I hold her close to me in the ambulance, through the doors of the hospital, and it works. She keeps breathing, even though her breaths are rattling in her throat, she keeps breathing. But I cant keep her to me. They attempt to take her out of my arms. I cling to her tighter, knowing that if I let these men, these strangers in masks have her, death will take her. These people know death, they'll allow death here, they wont protect her the way I do. So I hang on.
But they force her, they force her out my arms, and two orderlies restrain me so I cant run after her
"NO!" I scream after them "THAT'S MY SISTER! DON'T TOUCH HER!"
I shake off the orderlies and run after her bed, and for a breathtaking moment I'm close, so close, and her breaths are still rattling, and I know if I can just get there quick enough, shell be ok, everything will be ok, and this will be a story to tell next Christmas.
And death chooses that moment to strike
I can see it, I can see the second all her dreams and schemes for her future leave her body. She's still breathing, but she's dead. I can feel it. I can feel the emptiness next to me.
"KAREN!" I scream after her, but I don't run. Its useless to run now. I just collapse in the hallway, and hope to god I never get up.
My fault
I stole the gun for her
My fault
I took her to the turkey farm
My fault
I let her go. I never should have let her go.
The snow starts falling again, covering me. I let the whirling drifts rest by my legs, my chest, my face. I don't deserve to have comfort. I killed my baby sister. I deserve to be tortured by the thoughts of her. I deserve to go to hell. I stole, I drank, I've sinned. I tried to forget. But nothing works
One thing might
Deep in my bag, I draw it out. A browning '81 stainless takedown, still loaded from exactly a year ago with the bullets that she never shot. I look at it. Somehow, it killed her, even though the bullets were never shot. Somehow, I killed her, even though I never pulled the trigger. Somehow, I put her in heaven, even though I loved her
"She's dead" I say flatly to the orderly kneeling beside me. "She's dead, isnt she?"
"She's in surgery. Were doing the best we can" she says. Wendy, I heard someone call her.
"But she's dead. I know it" I sigh at the impossibility of explaining it. Instead of probing, she takes something out her bag
"One of the paramedics picked this up." She looks at it, and sees the initials carved on the base: JK. She holds it for a second.
"I stole it from Jimbo. It was her Christmas present" I say, too tired to lie. She puts it into my hands anyway, her ink-black hair swishing along with the turn of her head.
"All I heard is that it was her Christmas present" she says. She smiles at me before leading me into the sitting area. She waits with me until one of the doctors comes out with the news we both already know. He looks at both of us, my tired, tear-tracked face, and Wendy's concerned eyes
"I'm sorry" he says simply
I look at the gun. It still has the initials on the base, JK. Proof of my stealing, of my sin. She was good, she was too good to end the way she did. Of anyone in this town, she was the most likely to go to heaven. I'm not destined for that. I'm destined for the deepest pits, as far away as I could possibly be from her. She'd hate me now. Hate me for killing her. Hate me for letting her go.
I let go of everything in the end. That's why I don't belong.
I put the barrel of the gun in my mouth, sure now of what should be done.
I don't belong here
I don't belong up in heaven with her
I don't belong here
I don't belong on earth with the girl with the ink-black hair and concerned eyes
I don't belong here
I belong in the fires of hell
A/N Thank you to L, Phantom Nini, Raining Skittles, And LoveHateDrama for your awesome reviews on my old stories.
Ok, I might be biased. I hate this time of year. I'm the grinch. But to all you lovely people who like christmas, merry christmas