South Park © Matt & Trey.

Eric's POV

Surprise, surprise, there's yet another stupid party. I swear it's all these idiots do. Drink, drink, drink… and don't forget the drugs and humping. They're all a bunch of hippies. I fucking hate hippies. They rant about changing the world but all they do is smoke pot and stink up the room with their bad hygiene and joints. Gross.

I have all these stupid, shitty assignments due on Monday but all I can hear is the fuckin' music coming from the common room. I'm currently seated in a reading room, but I can't even think straight with fuckin' shitty dance songs playing on maximum volume. "Fucking Christ," I murmur, standing up. I wander outside and into the common room, where there are crowds of people grinding up against one another. Sick! I don't need to see this crap.

I scan the area for a familiar face, but all I see is that bitch Craig… Kenny's stupid, little boyfriend. It's fuckin' weird as hell that they're together. He's in the corner of the room chatting with a few kids I don't know, but also looking like he'd rather not be in a social situation. For once, I can't blame him. Parties are pretty gay, especially these kinds of parties.

"Hey," I call as I approach him.

He looks at me and nods his silent greeting.

I don't waste time. "Where is Kahl?" I ask.

"I don't know," Craig states flatly. He's not being very helpful.

I let out an impatient sigh. "Well, have you seen Stan or Kenny?"

He shakes his head.

Christ, where the fuck is everyone? "Where's Clyde, then?"

"Studying," Craig says.

"Tsk, you're no fuckin' help at all" I murmur before wandering off. I begin asking around. "Have any of you seen Kyle Broflovski?" I ask impatiently, approaching a group of people.

"Who's that?" one questions.

"He's pale, short and thin with a red Jewfro," I explain impatiently.

"Oh, I think I saw a guy like that," another says, nodding at my description. "He disappeared with Trent. He looked fucked out of his mind, stumblin' around 'n shit."

"Who the hell is Trent?" I question, raising an eyebrow and definitely not liking the sound of this.

"Trent Boyett."

Well, shit. Suddenly my eyes bugger out of my head as realization. "Oh, fuck my ass," I hiss, turning around. I bet that twisted fuck gave Kyle a Mickey Finn and the damn Jew probably didn't even suspect foul play. This is bad. Trent's even more fucked up than I am, and that's saying a hell of a lot. This is fuckin' weak. Actually, it's more that weak. Jesus Christ. After five years past and there was no sign of that bastard, we all thought we had gotten rid of him for good. I guess not. He just took his sweet fuckin' time. God dammit, this is bad. This is really, really fucking bad.

I start walking like I'm on a mission and Craig catches me on my way out, asking, "What happened?" He looks strangely concerned, as if he can tell something bad might be going down.

"Trent Boyett happened," I murmur, though I doubt the name means much to him.

"Who?" he questions. Called it.

"No time to explain," I tell him as I walk briskly down the hall. "Just know this much: he's bad fuckin' news."

Craig doesn't ask any further questions, he just follows silently behind me. I go straight to the dorm I share with Kenny, knowing the stupid hoodrat is probably in there. I'm going to make him help me look for the Jew. I swing open the door and open my mouth upon arrival, only to immediately close it once taking a second to scan the room. Jesus. Nothing seems to be going right. "Oh, fuck," I spit loudly, knowing this can't be good. Kenny is lying limp and lifeless on the floor next to his nightstand. There is blood on the wooden corner and there is blood seeping from behind his head. His eyes are also still open. It looks like his skull got knocked off the sharp edge. Lame. Fuckin' lame. At least he died quick by the looks of things.

Craig's eyes widen once he notices and it's the most expressive I've ever seen him. Were this a different situation, I might have laughed in his face. "No!" he shouts, pushing past me and sinking to the floor next to Kenny. He shakes him and shouts his name, but there's no reply. Craig slowly leans down and puts his ear to Kenny's chest. Then he starts sobbing and I know that means he's dead. "Fucking do something!" he screams at me, agonizing desperation evident in his voice. It almost makes me feel bad. Almost. Not quite. "Oh, God…" he croaks, staring back down at the corpse.

"He's dead," I say insensitively. "There's nothing to be done." But Kenny will be back soon enough. I won't bother giving Craig the reassurance, though, since I'm not especially fond of him. Even if I did choose to tell him, he probably wouldn't believe me anyway. He'd only get angry at me for saying it and at himself for wanting to be hopeful.

I watch him lean over and sob into his dead boyfriend's sweater for a minute, overcome with a sick sort of satisfaction and joy. I bet I'm one of the only few people in the world who have seen him looking like this. But I can't stay and watch the whole damn show, so I let out a sigh and say, "I need to find Stan. You coming or not?"

If he hears me, he doesn't say anything. So, I leave him alone with the corpse. I'm not going to waste time. By the looks of things, I can't afford to. I close the door and run to the dorm Kyle shares with Stan. I prepare myself for another body and when I swing the door open, I'm greeted with Stan's. He's lying on the floor, bloody faced with his head tilted to the side, but I can see his chest slowly moving up and down. He's alive. I call Clyde and tell him to take Stan to the campus nurse, which he agrees.

"I'm on my way over, but… why does Stan need to be taken to the nurse? What the fuck's going on?" he asks. He has questions, but I hang up because I haven't the time to answer them. Next, I dial Kyle's phone number at a whim.

A voice answers, but I know it isn't Kyle's. "Kyle can't come to the phone right now," the smug baritone states, "he's a bit, er, preoccupied… if you know what I mean. By now, you probably do."

"Who the fuck is this?" I ask angrily.

"I think you know," the voice sing-songs.

"Lemme talk to Kahl!" I shout.

"I told you," the voice states tersely, as if he's annoyed I didn't get the message the first time. "Kyle is busy." He hangs up after that and I don't hesitate to dial again. This time there is no answer. I didn't really think there would be.

I walk down an empty hallway, distancing myself from the sound of the dance music playing in the common room. I start dialling Kyle's cellphone yet again when suddenly I hear it ringing. I follow the sound until it gets louder and I'm lead to a door a few feet up the hall. I try to open it but, of course, it's fucking locked. I knock a few times, but there isn't an answer. I let out a sigh and take a step back. With as much strength as I can muster, I kick the door in. It opens with a bang and the first thing I spot is Kyle.

I see him unconscious on the floor while a broad, blond male hovers over him. It's Trent. I should have realized it sooner, then maybe we could have prevented this entire fucking event. I see the tattoos on his shoulders.

Never forget and Vengeance is mine, sayeth the lord.

My gaze wanders back towards Kyle and I just about shit myself when I notice exactly what it is Trent doing my Jew. "Stop!" I demand, rushing towards them.

Trent doesn't budge. "Don't come any closer," he says in a soft and even tone. He just keeps doing what he's doing. He just keeps sliding his stupid fucking "kill all betrayers" switchblade down Kyle's face.

I halt, knowing that this is a sensitive situation. If I make the wrong move, he might remove the blade from Kyle's face and stick it in his neck. "Stop… Seriously, stop," I try once more, shaking with anger and probably a range of other emotions I'd rather not recognize.

Trent removes a cigarette from between his lips before speaking. "I don't want to," he murmurs, almost as if he's mesmerized with what he's doing.

"What the do you think you're doing?" I ask, voice wavering.

"Making art and putting what they taught me in group therapy to use," he says. Then he puts the cigarette out on Kyle's forearm. Kyle doesn't budge. He's still out cold, but I have a feeling if he were awake he'd be screaming. I'm kind of glad he's not. "So, don't come any closer. I'm not quite finished."

"Why did you kill Kinny?" I ask.

"McCormick put up a fight," Trent says. "Unlike Marsh, who was down after a couple hits… but he'll be dead soon, anyway…"

"What the fuck do you mean by that? He was fine… just knocked out."

"Drugs, you stupid fuck!" he shouts loudly and angrily. "Just like fun-loving Kenny, that moron Stan will be dead followed by precious Kyle and then you," he adds, finally stands up. I get a good look at Kyle's face and I want to grimace at the damage. There are three deep cuts in his left cheek and a plethora of cuts on his left forearm along with the fresh cigarette burn that's dirtying the wounds.

"What did you fucking do?" I whisper.

"I already told you," Trent says. He drops the bloody blade and turns around. "He's dying as we speak."

Fuck. For once in my life, I don't know what to do. "Why are you going after Kyle?" I ask evenly.

"He tried to make me look like an idiot," Trent states. "He thinks he's so much better than I am. You all do… but you're not. You're not better than me."

If this were any other circumstance I'd probably disagree with him. I'd probably rile him up and tell him that, yeah, we do think we're better than him. I'd give him proof of it by saying if he was so great, then why did we succeed in putting him in Juvenile Hall twice? But I don't say that. Instead, I'll try to use sense. "We were kids," I attempt to reason with him, but to no avail. Ah, I didn't really think it'd work anyway…

"You took ten years of my fucking life!" Trent screams. "You took my fucking childhood!" He's panting, probably out of anger and hatred and whatever else he's kept bottled up. "Now, I'm going to give you all what you deserve! I'm going to take something from each and every one of you. Your lives!"

"Oh, yeah?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, pulling a gun from his pocket. Before I can hardly register the action, he pulls the trigger. I guess I'm fucked now. Maybe I was fucked from the very start. Maybe we all were. How lame.

I feel it cut through me and words cannot describe the pain. I fall backwards and Trent immediately makes a run for it once I hit the floor. There's nothing I can do now. I turn my head and stare at Kyle. There's blood running down his face and arm. I stare at him with intent, feeling like I'm trying to will him into consciousness, though I know that it's stupid of me. It's desperate.

I let out a loud, pained groan, unable to find it in me to move. It hurts. It hurts too much.

More than anything I want to kill Trent, but it's too bad because he's probably just killed me.