Disclaimer- I do not own South Park.

They call me Kenny. They see me in my orange parka and think 'Oh it's just Kenny. Nothing special about him. He's just one of the boys.' They see my eyes, but they don't read them. They don't know about my lies.

They are Stan Marsh, Kyle Brofloski, and Eric Cartman. Together we make up 'The Boys.' To other people eyes there's something special about the three of them.

Me? If I wasn't one of them I'd be like Dogpoo and The Boy with the Blue Cap. I'd be nothing. Even now the only thing special about me is 'The Boys.' Oh yeah and my curse.

I know what you're thinking 'This twelve year old nobody has a curse?' But yes, I have a curse. You see, I can't die. I know how it seems cool, but it's not. It's complete hell. I suffer every day from a random death. Then the next day I return and even my friends are always like "Oh hey Kenny."

They don't even remember, my countless deaths. Even if they saw me decapitated right before their eyes, the next day they don't remember. And added to that it seems like every death is more gruesome than the last. I've been hanged, stabbed, shot, spontaneously combusted, you name it I've done it!

But of course, no one knows. So I'm just the last of 'The Boys.' The one with nothing special about him. And they don't even know my lies. My numerous lies. My life up on Earth isn't my life. I have a much better life down in Hell, where at least they understand my curse.

Satan is like a father to me, and Damien is a brother. I'm considered more famous that Eric Cartman, when I'm in Hell. And I have to say Cartman's pretty famous here. I have my own room in Satans mansion, and my room is the size of an average house.

On Earth, I'm the poorest of the poor. My family are drunk bastards who only dream of when they'll get another bottle. They get high every night and drink every day. I eat frozen waffles and pop tarts for dinner. So which is better, Death or Life?

If I could chose I'd live in Hell permanently. But of course that's not how my life goes. I have to come back up into this hell hole, where no one fucking remembers.

I guess my story starts when I first died. I was only five years old, and hanging out with a not-so-fat Eric Cartman, a weaker Stan, and a younger Jew. Cartman was munching on a popsicle stick, yelling at Kyle about the best flavors of ice cream.

Typical.

Stan was just walking, ignoring me. He was completely engrossed in the fight. A white light flashed down the street, but I ignored it. The fight was too interesting to care. The honking of a horn. The squeal of tires breaking too fast. The impact.

It was too fast to understand what had actually happened. Five year old Kenny McCormick was going to die.

"Oh my god! You killed Kenny!" Stan said pointing at the driver.

"You b-b-bastard!" Kyle stuttered.

Meanwhile I was lying in the street, after falling face first onto the ground, as the light slowly began to fade and darkness took its place. I stared up, at nothing silently praying, not trusting my own voice. The driver rushed to my side. I felt him pressing his fingers against my throat. "He's gone." And as if his words were a sign from the heavens that was the moment that I died.

That death was followed by countless others and only rarely did I receive more acknowledgment than a "Oh my god! He killed Kenny!" and a "You bastard!"

I don't know, but two lines don't exactly make me feel fine after I just died. Call me crazy. You know what, Stan once even said "Well who didn't see that coming?" After one of my deaths. Talk about insensitive! Little bastard.

Yeah I know, you're wondering if this will be a story or an endless rant. But let me tell you, i could rant for hours about this stuff, but of course no one will believe me. Well I'll get to the story for you impatient readers.

"Yo Kenny what's wrong?" Kyle asked me.

"(You wouldn't understand.)"

"Ok then, Kiiaaalll give me the damn cookie!" Cartman said.

"Kenny, what's wrong?" Kyle said ignoring the fat boy.

"Kiiiaaaaalllll give me the cookie! Or I'll kick you in the balls!"

"SHUT THE HELL UP FATASS!"

"(Nothing Kyle.)"

"But…"

"Let it go Kyle." Stan warned him. Great now the star football player is the only one sticky up for me.

"Wait, I have to talk to him in private. Come on Kenny."

"(Shit!)" I said angrily, but I followed him.

"What's wrong Kenny?"

"(What the hell Kyle? Nothing. Is. Wrong. With. Me. Now go back to the table!)"

"Fine you don't want help, then I won't help you."

'Thank god' I thought. That kid's too pushy. My life is too filled with secrets for me to be an open book. Since I was a five year old, my story has been a sad, lie filled, tale. One of adventure and one of countless tragedy's. But no one remembers any of them. And telling Kyle even one of my secrets wouldn't help me at all.

"(Good! Maybe then you'll leave me alone!)" I yelled back at the retreating boy.

He just flipped me off as he walked away. Always the one to have the last word.

I followed his trail, defeated. When I made it back to the table the other boys stared at me. Even Cartman had a confused look on his face. "What the fuck Kinny? What's wrong with you today?" He asked me.

I pulled down my parka's hood. My dirty-blond hair pushed out into the open. "Everything Cartman. Everything." I dug back into my lunch, as the others stared at me silently. I was a mutant. A boy who couldn't die, and could somehow manipulate memories unconsciously. I wasn't like them. And they would never understand the difference between Me, and them.

I sometimes hoped that I'm just insane. That this stuff never really happens to me. But I was foolish. It was just a dream to be insane. I was immortal.

I really don't know where i'm going with this. It just popped into my head and I wrote it down. R&R.

I have major writers block on this. It may just be a one-shot. I'm still deciding.