The service was boring. I had listened to every one of them speak as though they cared. It was all right though; I hadn't cared about any of them. They all sprouted lies about how they would remember the good times and how they would never forget me.

Bullshit.

Oh, yeah, my name is Kenny McCormick, and I'm dead.

I heard the crowds leaving, much to my relief. I must have spaced out there. Whatever, nothing I needed to hear.

As the people left, I heard soft footsteps make their way to my coffin. "I'm sorry" He muttered, and I immediately knew who it was. Funny, I didn't think he would even show up. I wanted more than anything to open my eyes and look at him, but I knew very well that I couldn't, so I just listened to him say those two words over and over and imagined how he would look dressed all in black. I hadn't seen that since his goth days. I really hoped he was crying. He deserved it.

Stan Marsh. The only person I had ever loved.

I had realized how I thought differently of the animal-loving football quarterback when I was thirteen. After three years, I finally told him. He smiled sadly at me and told me he was sorry, but he didn't feel the same, and asked if we could still be friends. I said yes, of course we could. Then it happened. One day after school, he had found Kyle and Wendy, his best friend and his girlfriend, making out in the bathrooms. He ran all the way to my house and collapsed in my arms. It would have been a dream come true if he hadn't been so miserable. I don't recall exactly what I said, but it pissed him off. He stormed out of my house, yelling at me and calling me a faggot. He told me he never wanted to see me again.

I cried. As faggy as it sounds, it was what I did. I knew he was the type of person to say something rash, and then apologize for it the next day, but it still hurt. I grabbed a couple of my dads beers from the fridge and drank myself into a stupor. It was all hazy after that, but I recall the headlights, then searing pain in my abdomen, then darkness.

I knew I wouldn't be coming back this time. Everyone knew it.

I felt his tears fall on my face. He was right above me. "Kenny, I'm sorry" he choked out. He didn't take my hand, or brush the hair away from my face. He didn't tell me he loved me. He only walked away, still sobbing.

Really though, what did I expect?

He did not love me living, but once dead he pitied me, and very sweet it is to know that he is still warm, but I am cold.

xXx

All right, this is my first fanfic in a couple years, so I'm still getting into the swing of things. I've been meaning to write something like this for a while; I just never got around to it.

This was based off a poem: 'After Death' by Christina Georgina Rosetti.

Please review. :) It would make my day.

Thanks.