Life, the concept of life is a strange thing. People, made of flesh, bones, and blood, all materials formed by the arrangement of cells, somehow have a sort of force within then that allows people to experience consciousness, thoughts, and feelings. Maybe that's what a spirit is, that force that gives you that connection to the world around you. Life is the essence of everything in theory, without it, there would be nothing. Then why do people try to hurt or end the life of others? What does that achieve?
I could see words. Words? Why was I seeing words? Groggily my eyelids opened, and I realized I was staring half awake into the pages of "The Odyssey," which apparently made a better pillow than it did an engaging piece of literature. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, stretched, and glanced over my shoulder to window. It was dark, I must have dosed off for a couple hours. Shows how interesting Ms. Garrison's homework is. I felt uneasy, as if I had forgotten something, or as if there was something I needed to do. As I stood up, the worst possible feeling hit me like a ton of bricks. My stomach writhed in my body, and I swear, my heart stopped for what couldn't have been less than four seconds. Kyle…Stark's Pond…Fuck….What if I was too late?
I knew turning to look at the clock could turn out to be devastating if I had indeed missed the crucial deadline. Pivoting slowly, my heart sank as my eyes locked onto the unassuming hands of my clock, which read 8:35. I could get there, but I'd have to haul ass. Maybe it wasn't too late.
It's times like these when I'm happy I typically never take off my coat and hat, even when I'm lounging around my house. Definitely saves time in critical situations such as this. I sprinted down the stairs, faster than I had the previous morning and even faster than I had that afternoon. The streets of South Park seemed empty, only scarcely illuminated by a few street lights that were few and far between, and the iridescent glow of the moon that cast a dim light over the desolate town. The sound of my feet smacking the pavement ricocheted off of the houses, although my body felt more like it was flying than running.
As I approached the pond and surrounding pasture, I saw nothing but the empty field, glowing softly with a fresh layer of white snow on its surface, and the luminous reflection of the moon on the pond's icy surface. As I got closer, I could vaguely distinguish a group of people, crowed near the woods. The silhouettes indicated they were my age, and the sight of a singular silhouette than appeared larger than the rest left no doubt in my mind this was Cartman with his posse.
As I approached, anger built inside of me. Around the center of their huddle, I could see Kyle, who stood with his back against the tree, his chest heaving heavily, his eyes wide with terror. His Hat lay several yards away, and his mass of red curls spewed over his face, and it was difficult to tell his hair apart from the streams of blood that ran astray across his forehead and cheeks. The boys, most of which were armed with switchblades, circled him, insulting him and throwing snow at him. Several of their knifes gleamed with freshly drawn blood in the moon light, and as I got closer, I saw large red patches in the snow. This wasn't good.
"What the fuck are you doing! Leave him the fuck alone or I'll shoot you!" I yelled. True, I didn't have a gun, but it was dark, and I'd pulled a gun once or twice before, so who were they to think I was bluffing? The mob of boys scattered, throwing back a couple more chunks of ice and snow, one of which hit me in the cheek which I would later realize left a bruise.
However, that was a paper cut compared to the wounds I saw on Kyle. I grabbed his hat from the ground and ran up to him, looking over his injuries as he lay awry in the bloodstained snow. He looked at me best he could, tears streaming down his bride red cheeks. It was only now realized the extent of his injuries. Four long, deep gashes ran across his head, on his cheeks, forehead, and neck, and the stitches of his previous injury hung out, resembling an old warn doll that a dog had ripped to shreds. Both of his eyes were surrounded by large, blue circles, and were barely cracked open. His body itself was saturated in blood, and his coat was ripped open exposing large slashes to his upper body.
"Kyle!" I yelled, realizing I myself was crying. Instinct told me to take off my coat, which I promptly did and began to wrap it around his larger wounds on his body.
"Stan!" He cried. He burrowed his head in my body as he began to sob. I hugged him tightly, feeling his blood saturate my t-shirt.
"You're ok now. They're gone." I told him. I so wished that we were at his house, possibly playing video games and having fun like we should have been. I had promised myself I'd never let anyone harm Kyle again, and I failed.