A/N: ...Welcome back. 8D I can't believe I'm updating this thing. I can't write anything else, gah! I just had a burst of inspiration when I saw The Lovely Bones. :D Don't you love it when that happens?
Hm, I don't know why this is the kind of fic I can write in one sitting. ^^; These chapters are short and fast. I just don't really feel a need to drag them on, for some reason. It's kind of easy, but kind of not really, do you know what I am saying? Kenny's slang was actually harder to keep up here than in the intro. Which is weird because I've actually been hanging around some people who actually talk like that lately - definitely more than I was when I had written the intro. o_o I'm trying to keep his slang to a limit where he doesn't sound like he has a foreign accent or something. XD Because there is a difference between slang and just plain ridiculously incorrect English... kind of. XD

So, these first few chapters are so are all going to be introductory. I know, I know, I already posted an introduction, but I want to bring in all the characters one by one. This chapter, for instance, is Kenny introducing our first appearance. The next chapter is going to be in that character's point of view, and they will introduce the next character after that, and so on and so forth.

So, yeah, not much else to say about this, I think. (: Oh, and it's a Thursday. I believe I posted the intro on a Thursday as well. I remember because I always brainstorm this in P.E. o_o ANYWAY...

Read on! The story's been developed so much more now in my head, and I'm excited... :3

Don't make me tear it up,
You know I don't give a fuck
And I ain't here to shake things up
But I got my hand on my gun.
(Undead!)

—Tear It Up by Hollywood Undead

I. Poison

Kenny's POV

All I do is watch my moms cry.

I think it's gotta be the most fucked up thing in the whole world that I can see her cry from here. I can't change the channel. When I'm sitting on that ledge, I can see everything. Everything is made of trash. The ground's all dirt. But there be a fucking shitload of trash lunged into it; them piles is stacking high, of dirt, sand and just junk. This world is a fucking junkyard, 'cause we thrown our lives away; our souls is just worthless, trashy junk. This is where we belong, what we deserve.

Sitting on the highest point there be, I can see everything. And ain't nothing uglier than what I see.

My moms. I see her, but it ain't like some HD television - shit's got bad reception, but she still visible. Somewhere in the sky, or beyond that, maybe - fuck if I know exactly where I see her. But only I can. She's still crying. What's it been, six months? Five? Seven? I don't even know no more, 'cause there ain't no sunrise or sunset. Losing track of time is a bitch. With nothing to do but watching your own moms cry, time gets meaningless, if you catch what I'm saying. She's lying on her bed, which is sorta more like just a mattress chilling on a hard wood floor. She ain't crying about me, she can't be - she got other things to cry about. Could be my brother dropping out, my dad going to court for shit. She got so many things to cry about, I be worrying if she wasn't crying.

She gets up. But just a small bit; she leaning on her knees, in the darkness of her bedroom. Just choking up. These faint lights is seeping through the doorway of her room. Some shadow comes up, and I know who it's gotta be.

"Fuck, you're here again?" My pops demands while he stumbles into the darkness, holding that familiar copper bottle of poison in his right hand.

My moms don't respond to him. She just starts whining more, like a cat, what was something my pops always hated about my moms. She's whiny, and weak, but she got a reason, and pops don't even understand that. He only takes advantage of her.

Pops chugs the beer. I want to yell at him. I want to kill him, I want him dead like me—

"You gotta be shitting me." Pops is fuming, you can see it in his face - red, like blood, sweating like it be a thousand degrees. You can tell, he gonna repeat the habit of his. That habit that got my moms cleaning up shards off the wood floor, every day, every night.

The bottle hits the doorframe, loud, hard, fast. My moms is screaming now. Pops grabs her by her hair, and he be screaming up a fucking storm—

And ain't no way I'm fucking watching this.

I left to escape that, and it's here, too. It followed me here, to the place where I try to escape what I left.

It's 'cause suicide's a sin.

And you don't get rewarded for sinning.

I put my head in my only available hand, to look away. It ain't no surprise that even when I try to cover my eyes, I can still see the scene in the center of my palm. When I close my eyelids, I still see it. No escape. I wanna cancel it out, kill it, get away from it. I've been here too long, but I'm not used to it, like you think it be like. Every time I remind myself, I'm dead, I'm surprised to be here. Every time.

I can still hear her. My moms, crying under my pops' control, and my pops screeching cusses all over the goddamn place. I'd run away, but I know it's gonna tail me.

I watch it happen. I have to sit here, and watch my moms get beat. It's punishment. It's the consequence. It's the poisonous sight you wish you never had to see, and left life just so you didn't have to see it. Now it's all I see.

But there's a third scream.

Aside from my internal ones, there be a third scream that ain't sounding like anything I heard before.

At last, the scene fades away, the sounds of moms' and pops' yelling going with it - it's over, for the time being. And all I be hearing is that third scream, which now be the only scream.

It cuts off.

I don't see nobody, nothing. I look around, and the scream come up again. But it ain't even, like... a scream no more. It's like a choke. A wheeze, or a cry. Or all three smashed into one.

Then, I look down. A couple yards below the ledge, and across dunes of dirt, there's a kid.

I can barely see the kid, but it's fucking spinning. It's going crazy, hollering and choking all at once.

But it all cuts off again, and I ain't seeing the kid.

It was there one second, and gone the next - shit's impossible to describe.

So, what I do is, I jump down from the ledge, and skid across a couple lumps of dirt. When I'm at the bottom, the kid's nowhere.

"Come on." I grunt, 'cause I'm pissed now - someone's fucking with me? Hope not.

Standing in the center of five high piles, I'm waiting for the kid to show up again. And apparently, it does - but I only catch a short-ass glimpse of it, before it turns the dirt red and disappears again.

I walk up to this puddle of red that the kid made. I lean down, and I know it's gotta be blood. It vomited blood.

It vomited fucking blood, and now it's gone again... it was just another split second without seeing the kid, then it flashes by again.

And it's on top of me.

Its eyes is wide. Fucking wide, bloodshot, dilated, staring into me. It's clinching my shirt for the dear life it don't have. Besides its mouth, which was ringed with the blood it just threw up, the rest of its face was covered with colors. Not painted all clowny like at some kid's birthday party, it be messy as shit, splattered and smeared. What, did the kid die getting high sniffing paint or something?

"Hhhh—eee—hhaaah—"

Either way, it's mad scary.

And I can't even tell if it's a dude or a chick.

"Hhhu—"

It keeps on wheezing on me. I'd say it's breathing, but it sounds like it don't even got the ability to breathe. Hell, I don't need to breath neither, but I don't wheeze.

The grip it got on my shirt loosens, 'cause it's fading away again. Like it can't make up its mind, slipping back and forth between here and some other place... is it tripping between life and death? Hell, son, I think so - he's a new kid. I can tell.

I can't even imagine the pain of flashing between life and death so fast; when I got here, it hurt enough for it to happen once. 'Cause I shot myself, right smack in the heart, which ain't what most suicide kids do. They usually put the gun to their head, or their mouth, but they don't know that it's the heart that's the fastest. You don't die right when your brain stop working. It's the heart.

But it's still gonna hurt like a mighty bitch when you get here.

Obviously, this kid chose a slow method, but it's flashing by quick. It's already seen this place, it's gotta snuff it some time in the next few seconds.

It appears, again, pretty much pushed up against a load of garbage on its hands and knees. It coughing up blood, again. But it's stayed longer than it has before - probably, like, eight seconds, it'd be.

"Yo, you here to stay?" I call.

Its only response is, "ggguuaughh," because it keep on vomiting. It gonna finish soon, it can't last here forever just throwing up blood that it don't even need.

Now, I think I can tell that this "it" is a "he." And it ain't even the hair that throws me off, it's his face. His face, beside the blood and paint, is mad fem.

The vomiting finally come to a stop, and he looks up at me. If he's done being alive, this is how he gonna look? Blood around his mouth, paint stains all over his face and clothes? He's not even gonna change if they bathe him at his funeral.

His eyes is squinty now, but not dilated no more. Still bloodshot.

Before he can say anything, I gotta be the guy to ask the questions here. I'm like, "How you die?"

He looks at me like I got balls hanging from my chin. Pretty boy here's going wide-eyed as he stands up all slow and shaky. He's like, "Are you… God?" His voice is... odd. It sound like he talking underwater. It must be his throat, since he just spewed an ocean of blood.

The boy's definitely a newbie. He don't know what to do with himself. "Kid," I'm like, "you mistaken. There ain't no God around here. This look like Heaven to you?"

He stares around, clutching his arms around his stomach. He must still be in pain. "Where am I?"

"Not Heaven," I break it to him. "Sorry. You must'a taken a wrong turn."

He sinks down again, only on his knees this time. "Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. Oh, no... oh, geez." He twiddles his thumbs nervously. Something expected, I mean, no one really takes a death so lightly. Especially if it your own. "Jesus, no! I... I thought — ! No! Is... Is this what's supposed to happen? Am I in Heck? Oh, geez, I knew it. I knew..."

Ahem. Did he just say heck?

"No, you're not in Hell." I emphasize Hell for him, because he's gotta know that cussing is the smallest thing he got to worry about now. "You're here with the rest of us. You sinned, and now you here."

He covers his mouth, shocked, I guess. "No! I was, I was supposed to be gone! I... I — !"

"I know how you feel," I say. I try to be kinda comforting, sorta, but I got to remind myself that with my voice, it sound kinda awkward, if not creepy, when I try to be... caring. "You—"

"Who are you?" He demands. "And why are you here?"

The typical questions. "The name's Kenny," I say. "And I'm here 'cause I'm dead like you." I point to the bloodstain on my chest, where my heart used to be, with my gun. "That's why."

From what I seen, which ain't even much, I think this kid got a case of poison. He died slow and painful. I didn't wanna ask him, but it ain't nothing but a hunch for now.

"Kenny," he repeats. "Kenny." And he's shaking again. "Kenny..."

"Yeah," I'm like. "Your name? Unless you didn't have one? Can't remember it?"

"Oh, oh, my name? Yes. I have one. I have two. Wait, three. Two and a half, maybe..." He trails off, muttering something and twiddling them fingers again. Them fingers got the most paint on them - hardly any skin be even visible. "Yes. My name. It's, um... I actually don't know which one is my real name."

I'm having a hard time following this kid. "You don't know which one's your real name? What you talking about?"

He look like he about to break down again. "Please, um, I - I don't want to talk about this. I don't, I, I'm so confused... this... this is all a dream! Yes, I'm just in an imagination land... If I just imagine myself back, then..." He shuts his eyes mad tight, and clenches his fists. Like he really think he can just imagine himself back now?

"That ain't gonna work, kid."

He opens one eye. "...eh?"

"This is real shit," I'm like. "You killed yourself for some reason. You wanted to get away from your shitty life. And now you here. And it ain't gonna be fuckin' better, 'cause even though this ain't Hell, it's like Hell - it might be like a fuckin' sub-layer of Hell, but let me tell you, this is not Heaven, and it's never gonna be Heaven. You know all the people that tried to talk you out of it? Not to jump, not to shoot, not to burn, cut, stab, hang? Well, they're fuckin' right. You took a wrong turn, and you fucked up, just like me. Welcome to the world of What Didn't Happen and What Could've Been. Enjoy your fuckin' stay."

Now I know I got him crying, blubbering into his paint-stained hands. I could tell he already regretted it. Everyone does. But this guy? He's a pussy. Only God knows what made him work up the guts to come here, but whatever guts he worked up, he spewed 'em all out. So, he got no more, I guess.

"I just — I... K-Kenny?"

"What."

"Do you — do you —" He's hiccupping his words, and it's mad annoying. "—Do you, w-want to know my — my — my name?"

I kind of don't care anymore, but it could be useful. "Sure, if you can spit it out without chokin' up."

"Okay." He nods. "J-Just remember... no matter whose side I'm on, I'm always Butters."

Butters? With a name like that, it ain't a wonder why he killed himself. "Butters. Yeah, okay."

"A-And Kenny? I have a question. It's... it's..." Oh, man, he gonna start crying again? Goddammit. "It's important."

I didn't have no answers, that's for sure. "Shoot."

"What do I have to do to get to Heaven?"


A/N: Teehee. :3 I hope that wasn't too confusing or anything. And just so you know, I love ending my chapters like that. Neur.

THANK YOU to Imajinacion Reinbou for the junkyard idea. :3

And thank YOU for reading! Please review, I love reviews like you don't even know. I check my e-mail on my phone like once an hour and I get unbelievably excited when I see a FanFiction e-mail, so, make me happy! :D