Death isn't any easier than life. You still have to be a certain person to fit in. You want to go to the cool parties? You have to be a jock. The same applies to the afterlife. Do you want to go to Heaven? Sorry, but you have to be a Mormon.

Death is painful and life is a blur, Kyle thought to himself.

Death is painful.

Beep.

Life is a blur.

Beep.

Death is a blur.

Beep.

Life is painful.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Is he awake? He's not moving, are you sure he's even alive?"

No, Kyle answered. I'm dead. Is this Hell? Kenny didn't do a very good job at describing it. Speaking of which where is he? Did he already come back to life? And why is Hell really cold? Isn't it supposed to be super hot and fiery and shit? And where's the Lord of the Underworld? Where am I?

"He's moving. He's shaking."

"Get him some blankets!"

Why is it so cold here? Why is it so fucking cold? It's too cold for Hell. Too cold…

"…for Hell."

Everyone in the room paused what they were doing to stare at the supposedly unconcious boy. A doctor stood nearby the bed with a set of paddles in his hand. Kyle hadn't been very loud and the effects of the drugs were still wearing off, so nobody really knew what he was saying, but everyone had heard him mumble something. And nobody cared what he had said, but Stan-who for some reason had been allowed into the hospital room. This was South Park, after all-had leaned in closer to his friend.

"What did you say?"

Kyle muttered his reply and tried rolling over, but stopped because he felt an oddly familiar tugging sensation in his arm.

"It's too cold for Hell."

"He's awake! He's awake! Oh God, Kyle!"

The doctor quickly pulled Stan away, seeing that he had suddenly attached himself to the pale boy on the hospital bed.

"He's weak."

"Don't…talk…about me…like…I'm not…here," Kyle gasped out. "And…don't…fucking…call me…weak."

He started to sit up but was pushed gently down by a pair of hands that didn't belong to the doctor. It was okay, though. He didn't think he'd be able to make it all the way, anyways. Everything was numb and his head was throbbing. He really could go for a couple pain pills right about now.

And that thought reminded him of why he was here in the first place.

"Why am I here?" he said quickly. He blinked a couple times, hoping it was a dream. Can you dream in Hell? When the sights around him didn't change, he realized what was going on. He shook violently. "I'm not supposed to be here. This isn't right. I shouldn't be here!" He started to sob and Stan reached out to tenderly stroke his hand.

"Relax, Mr. Brofloskvi. Try and stay awake, though." The doctor waved at the others. "If you would all be kind enough to leave?" They walked out of the room, quite unwillingly. Kyle didn't even know half of them. They were probably new interns or something like that. He turned back towards Kyle. "There's someone here who wants to talk to you."

He furrowed his brow. Who was it? His parents? The person who caused him to do this in the first place?

The figure sat down silently in the chair next to the one person bed. Kyle groaned inwardly.

"Hello, Dr. Barnes," he said quietly.

"Hello, Kyle. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind?"

"Yeah, I mind, but you aren't going to give me much of a choice, are you?"

The shrink ignored Kyle's snippy attitude and pulled out a sheet of paper along with a pen. He clicked it open and began. "What exactly happened?"

Well, that was blunt, wasn't it?

"I blacked out and woke up here."

He sighed. "Before that. What happened before that?"

"Nothing," Kyle shrugged. "I went shopping."

The man's ears seemed to perk up. "What were you shopping for?"

"I wasn't shopping for anything. Stan was."

"And Stan is the raven-haired teenager?"

"Yes. Can we be done?" Kyle asked as politely as possible.

"Not yet. We can stop for a few minutes, though. How about I turn on the television?"

Before Kyle could resist, the remote had made it's way to Dr. Barnes' hands and the machine had come to life.

"Oh Jorge! I love you so much and I only slept with David to make you je-"

Kyle shook his head and the channel changed.

"Just look at those abs! Who doesn't want these ripply-"

"God no."

"…just in from the small community of South Park. We go to a black man in women's clothing for the full story."

The scene changed from the inside of a news studio to a group of houses close to where Kyle lived.

"Well, Tom," the black man said in surprsingly light voice, "It seems that some recent break-ins have the townsfolk acting up." The camera panned to a group of bored adults. "Let's see what they have to say."

"Well, I don't really see what the big deal is. I heard that some cute Antonio Banderas guy was doing all the robbing. Or should I say rubbing? Because I'd let him rub-"

"Shut up Mr. Hat! Nobody wants to hear your gay fantasies about having Antonio go down on you in the hot tub!"

Kyle gagged at Mr. Garrison's outburst. He couldn't believe he still had that stupid hand puppet. At least he didn't teach with it anymore. Saying that it would be awkward would be the understatement of the century, hands down. Excuse me...Hand puppets down.

"What's got these people so riled up?" the news reporter asked no one in particular. "Well, a man has been seen around this neighborhood and lately, people have noticed things missing. One woman can't find her fuzzy handcuffs-"

"-They're cheetah print!-"

"-And someone else said his medicine cabinet was raided. Are these the doings of the same person? We hope not, but with out any evidence, all we can do is wait for an answer."

Wow, Kyle thought. We really need some new newscasters. The one's we have now suck.

"Also, a young boy has died today." A photo flashed onto the screen. "Kenny McKormick was seventeen. He leaves behind his mom, dad, brother, sister, uncle, cousins, second cousins, aunt, step-uncle, second uncle…"

Jeez Kenny. Got enough people living with you? Where the Hell do you keep them?

He let out a small laugh. Dr. Barnes glanced over at him with confusion in his eyes.

"What do you find so funny about this, Kyle? A young boy has died!"

One look at the doctor's expression only caused Kyle to crack up more.

"You don't understand!" he huffed. "Kenny dies all the time!"

"Kyle, you're delirous. I'm going to call in the nurse so she can give you some sedatives."

"I don't need them. Just let me explain," Kyle somewhat begged. The shrink bobbed his head. "Ok. I've known Kenny for as long as I can remember. He's one of my best friends. Ever since he was little, he would die and come back to life. Die. Come back. He has been to Hell, which is pretty crowded by the way, since only Mormons are allowed in, and he's been chosen, I guess, as a messenger or something for Satan and God. He's never gone for very long, except that one time when we were eight and he had a terminal illness. I think he was dead for three months or so. Except he wasn't truly gone. Wherever Car-Eric went, Kenny went too."

"Like a guiding spirit? Gaurdian angel?"

"Fuck no. His spirit was trapped inside the fatass because he drank his ashes thinking it was chocolate milk mix. It was freaking hilarious!" Kyle giggled madly and the memory. "I'm not lying. I swear it on my dead grandmother's grave. Just ask Stan. He knows what I'm talking about."

"Maybe I will. I still think you're delirious, Kyle, but I'll ask anyways." He walked out of the room and Kyle listened as he made his way to Stan.

Some words were exchanged and the doctor came back into the hospital room. Kyle saw that his face was a little paler than usual.

"Told you," Kyle smirked.

"Yes, yes you did. Such a strange occurrence. Can we play a game?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"What game?"

"I'll give you a theme and you tell me your favorite section. Like if I say 'Color' you'll give me your favorite color," he explained. "Make sense?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Don't worry. You'll catch on. Food."

"That doesn't make sense," Kyle told him. "You'll catch on food? Something about that sentence doesn't really click."

"Food is your first word, Kyle."

"Oh, I feel stupid now," Kyle scolded himself. "Uh…food. Um…favorite food. Fave food-"

"-You're taking too long to answer, Kyle."

"-Favorite food. I don't know. Pork," he finally decided.

"Pork? Aren't you Jewish?"

Kyle paled. "Yeah. Don't tell mom? Please?"

"Patient confidentiality," the doctor confirmed. "Color?"

"Uh…teal…Yeah. Teal."

"Getting better, Kyle. Song?"

"Stinky Britches."

It was a stupid, outdated song, stolen from Chef, but that's why he liked it. It reminded him of the big black man who would always be there for them and seemed to have a song for every problem they had. Even if they all had to do with sex. It was still nice to know that at least one adult in South Park was somewhat sane. But he was dead now, for almost ten years and all Kyle had were stupid, fading memories. He couldn't picture the school chef anymore, but he could remember almost all his songs word for word. How's that for whacked up?

"Hm. How about your favorite person?"

"Stan."

They'd been Super Best Friends for as long as he could walk, so of course Stan was the first name that came to mind when he thought of his favorite person. But he had yelled at Stan. He made him cry. And yet Stan was here, at Hells Pass. But it wasn't like nothing had happened between the two. Normally, Stan would've barged in by now, demanding to see Kyle and yelling at the doctors for neglecting to let him do so. This time Stan was out in the waiting room, sitting in a padded chair, glaring at the receptionist as if this was all her fault. Kyle knew it wasn't anyone's fault but his own. Why did he have to be a caring human being? Why did he have to try and help Cartman? If he hadn't he wouldn't have had hot dogs with Cartman and the man wouldn't have attacked him and everything would be normal. But Kyle couldn't know that for sure. After all, the man had said, 'Do you know how long I've been waiting for this?' So this was planned and couldn't be blamed on past events. Kyle groaned loudly.

"I'm done," he announced.

"I'm not. Tree."

Kyle stayed silent.

"Favorite tree, Kyle," the doctor prodded.

"Shut up. I said I'm done. Done. Done. Fucking done!" he yelled. "I can't fucking do this anymore! I can't act like everything's fine! People are being blown up to promote world piece, which I just know my mom has something to do with, and my problems are fucking miniscule compared to that. But I can't fucking to it anymore. Tell Stan I'm so fucking sorry. I was a complete ass to him and I was only trying to protect him. Tell Eric that I keep my goddamn Jew gold in the third tile to the left of the bathtub. And when he comes back, let Kenny know I'll be seeing him in Hell. Now, please leave. I don't care if you call in a nurse, so long as you get out of my sight."

Kyle expected some sort of response. For the doctor to put up a fight. Something, anything. If he had done just that, Kyle wouldn't have thought twice about his plans. But the doctor obeyed his command and left. He didn't call anyone in.

When the coast was clear, Kyle ripped out his IV. Who cared? He wouldn't need it where he was going.

He made his way to the cabinets where the medications were usually kept. Kyle opened up the mirrored door and searched silently, not hearing someone come up behind him.

"Where is it? Where is it?" he muttered.

The figure behind him spoke. "Well, well, well. I always thought I'd be the one to kill you, Kyle, but it appears that you have other plans."

Author's Note: Not my best work, but I'm happy with it. I might end up changing things around after I finish.