South Park © Trey Parker & Matt Stone.

And if I had to die today
Scatter my ashes on this place
And I live on in your grieving heart

Patrick Wolf

Kenny McCormick – Daddy

I only slept for a few hours last night. There was too much on my mind. I laid my head down on the pillow and found that I couldn't sleep. It's funny… Whenever I can't sleep I just end up thinking about things. Some sad things that I'd prefer not to think about but the thoughts force their way into my head and then soon they're all I can think about. Last night I tried and tried not to think about Mum's dead body, Kevin killing me, and my dad almost doing the same… But I couldn't help it. I felt disgust piling up with each ugly memory. Before I knew it, even more memories were rising to my mind's surface. I can recall every string of angry, desperate, haggard moans I've ever let out… Every painful death… Every drink, every drug… Every stupid thing I did when I was a kid.

I can recall one particular time… When I was fifteen this guy called me a faggot. The way he said it… I don't know. It was different than when Eric throws the word around. It bothered me. The intent and the meaning behind it bothered me, so I punched him square in the face and we got into a bit of a fight. I ended up sitting on top of him, getting the upper hand, but rather than throwing more punches, I just started grinding myself against him. So many ridiculous things. Ah… Well, like I said, a bunch of shit I'd rather not think about.

Kyle just picked me up from the hospital and now we're riding in his dad's car. I'm sitting in the back seat with Karen, who is listening to Kyle's iPod. I guess she approves of his taste in music.

"Kenny, do you need to pick anything up from your house before we head back to school?" Kyle asks.

"Hm," I mumble, "I probably should… but later. I'll let the cops know."

"Of course," Kyle says.

"Thanks."

"Sure," he says. "So, how did you sleep last night?"

"Not well," I admit.

"Why's that?"

"I don't know, I just kept thinking about things I didn't want to be thinking about, you know?"

"Yeah," he says, "I know."

"How about you?" I ask, "How did you sleep?"

"I didn't sleep too well either."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he chuckles, "The doctors kind of scared me when they told me you had to stay overnight. I don't know..."

"Aw, Kyle," I coo. "You were worried about lil ol' me?"

I snorts. "I just kept thinking, 'what if he falls into a coma?' or something..."

"Yeah," I say quietly. "But I'm here and I'm okay."

"So, are you sure you don't want to head back to my place and sleep, or take it easy?" he asks.

"Naw," I say, "I want to get back into the swing of things. Some normalcy would be nice."

He nods, understanding. Always understanding.

After school, we head up to Kyle's room to play on the okama game sphere. "You know what?" I say, pausing the game.

"Hm?" Kyle looks over at me.

"I always used to wonder what would happen when I got old," I mumble. "Would I die of old age and then just keep coming back and dying and coming back and dying until I shrivel up into a pile of dust?" I shrug, "I never knew it was related to my ma…"

"Yeah…" he frowns, "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," I laugh. "It isn't your fault, is it?"

He shrugs, "I wasn't there at times I should have been. You were alone for a long time."

"It's okay," I assure him, "You're here now, aren't you?"

"I suppose…"

"Heh," I snicker. "Now that I'm mortal, I could get a tattoo."

Kyle smiles, "Yeah, you could."

"Maybe I will…" I consider.

"Any ideas?"

I shrug, "I'll have to think about it. If I get one, I want it to mean something."

He nods, "It's silly when it doesn't."

"It is."

"Kenny, I've been wanting to ask you something, but I…" he pauses, "I don't know when would be the best time."

"What's up?" I ask.

"What are we exactly?" He turns off the game and looks over at me. "We haven't really discussed labels… and… well…"

I pause for a moment, "What do you want us to be?"

"If I'm going to have you like this, then no one else can," he says.

I nod, listening.

"That sounds selfish of me," he frowns, "Sorry… But I can't have it any other way."

"It doesn't sound selfish. Not at all," I say, "I feel the same way about you."

"So… We're together?"

"We're together."

He grins, "Okay."

The first dinner with Sheila and Gerald wasn't half as bad as I thought it would be. It was still awkward, which I had expected, but it wasn't so bad. No one really knew what to say, so no one really said anything. We just sat and ate in silence, the only sound being the clatter of cutlery. I could tell that Sheila wanted to say something to me, but she couldn't find the words. Maybe that's for the best. I thanked Sheila for dinner and then offered to help with the dishes. I'm trying to be as polite as possible. If me and Kyle are going to do this, she'll find out eventually, no matter how hard we try to hide it. I want her to accept me… but even if she won't, I suppose we'll manage. Karen didn't eat much. I tried to get her to eat more, but she wouldn't. She's probably still feeling shy.

"Kyle," I say as we exit the kitchen.

"Hm?" He glances at me.

"I guess I can't put it off any longer," I say, stopping at the bottom of the stairway.

"Put what off?" Kyle asks, turning around to face me.

"I need to go home," I frown, "I need to fetch some of mine and Karen's things."

"I can come with you, if you want?"

I shake my head, "It's okay."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm just going to grab a few things," I tell him, "I'll be right back."

"Are you sure I can't drive you?" he asks.

I nod, "I'll be fast. You won't even notice me gone!"

"What if something happens?"

"Nothing will happen," I say surely, "Police have been patrolling, they're… waiting to arrest my dad."

"Okay," Kyle whispers.

"Tell Karen not to worry."

"I will…"

I wave before leaving the Broflovski residence. I know that Kyle would prefer to tag along, but to be honest, it's easier this way. If I do end up running into trouble, at least I can take comfort in knowing that Kyle's safe here. Once I reach the end of the Broflovski driveway I begin to run. I want to get this over with as soon as possible, so I try to calm down and let my legs do all the work. It's cold… and as I approach my house it is quiet. There is a cop car stationed outside, so I knock on the window and point to the house, "I'm going in there."

"What for?" one of them asks after rolling down the window.

"I need clothes and things…" Fucking true, I have been wearing the same outfit for a little too long.

"We'll take you in."

I nod and the three of us make our way into the house. It's even quieter in here. The cops wait by the front door as I run straight upstairs, not allowing myself to glance into the living room, where everything had happened. I grab a travel bag from my closet and put as much clothing and necessities in it as I can.

"Kenny," I voice says from behind me.

Ah, fuck. My head whips around so quickly I feel my neck crack. "Dad…" I say weakly. "How did you get in here?"

He doesn't say anything. Though, I suppose he doesn't need to. He probably slipped past the oblivious cops all too easily because everyone knows the cops around here aren't exactly the most capable people. Shit, this sucks.

"Where is it?" he asks, walking towards me. He looks worse for wear.

"No, Dad…" I whisper, holding my hand out in front of me. "Don't fucking come near me."

"Boy," he spits out, closing my bedroom door. He was waiting for me to come back here…

"Seriously, Dad," I say, trying to sound as calm as I can. "There are two cops downstairs and they'll probably kill you if you try anything."

He ignores my warning and continues to approach me. "Where is it?" he repeats. What happened to the backyard?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, even though I know what he is referring to. The meth lab.

"You know exactly what I mean," he hisses. "What else have you been telling the cops about, boy?"

"Nothing," I cry, taking another step back. "I wasn't saying anything! They searched the house, I didn't tell them anything!"

Not completely true… I did tell the cops a few things, but he doesn't need to know that. I suppose it doesn't matter either way. He isn't in the state of mind where he can listen. I can see it in his eyes. I know that look. He's crazed. He needs a fix and he'll do anything for it. I've seen that look in his eyes many times before, but never like this. As his hands wrap around my throat, I'm once again faced with the possibility of dying. It seems sadly familiar, only this time there is one important difference. If I do die, I won't be coming back. Satan told me, though! He told me I wasn't going to die… But maybe it was stupid to trust someone like him.

That realization causes me to begin to struggle wildly against my dad's hold, kicking and writhing, like some sort of animal about to be ripped apart by a violent predator. It's just like the day Kevin killed me. It feels the same. I don't want to die…

He forces me onto the floor, hovering over me with violent intent as I struggle to breathe, digging my nails into his hands. And then it stops.

I gasp for breath, sitting up and coughing.

The door is kicked open and the two cops are now standing in the doorway. "Stuart McCormick, put your hands in the air!" one of them says, pointing a gun.

"He's reaching for something!" the other one yells.

I feel my eyes widen as I turn to look at my dad, gunshots ring, and then –