A/N: Fuck. Fucking Microsoft Word sucks ass! In this chappy the times are all different. I modeled this part after Stephen King's "Carrie," not only in writing style but in content. (In other words, lotsa flashbacks and flash forwards)
LOTSA GORE, BIOTCH!
Meh, anyway, on with story.
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Kyle sighed as he walked to Stan's house. Around him, darkness silhouetted his figure, huddled against the rain. He knew whatever Stan wanted was important, but didn't really care. The rain pouring down over him further added to his headache and terrible mood.
Finally he stopped in front of Stan's house. He squinted through the monsoon at it, just to be sure it was really there, and started towards it. As he did so, he took his hat off to wring the water out of it. A door snapped open in front of him, and someone grabbed him and pulled him in.
"Stan?"
"Shh…" Stan was leaning up against the door, locking the twelve locks running down it. He wore a look of paranoia that scared Kyle a little. "Go up to my room and-"
"But Stan, I left my hat outside-"
"Forget it!" Stan turned abruptly, and he looked a bit like Tweek, having had a bit too much coffee. He clutched Kyle's wrist and pulled the redhead towards him. "Listen, you're not fucking safe out there! Now go up to my room, stay there, and don't ask and Goddamn questions! Do you hear me?" Stan tightened his grip.
"Fine! Just get your fucking hand off me!" Stan let go and watched Kyle stumble up the stairs.
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Kenny didn't know why he was walking fast. The hoodie he'd always felt so comfortable in may have offered him protection from the rain, but his many deaths had always been in that hoodie.
Sighing, he quickened the pace until Stan's house came into view. The rain started coming faster, in sheets, as he wandered through Stan's muddy front yard. He knocked on the door and waited until it opened to act bewildered.
"What's this all about?" He asked through the hood.
"Sh!" A person pulled him inside and locked the twelve locks on the door. "Kenny, go up to my room. I'll be up in second," Stan said in a calm voice strained by fear and frustration.
"Stan, what the hell did you make me-"
"Just do it!" Stan violently shoved Kenny towards the steps.
"Fine! God…" Kenny complied, stomping up the stairs. The last thing he wanted was to fight Stan, and not because he was a chicken. He couldn't kick Stan's ass simply because Stan was bigger than him, like everyone else.
When he opened the door to Stan's room, he raised a skeptical eyebrow.
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"Butters? Are you ready?"
"Y-Yes, Ma'am," Butters answered solemnly, sitting down at the dinner table. His light eyes kept to the table for fear of what he might see if he looked up.
"Here, sweetheart. This is your last meal here, so enjoy it." A decorative blue and white plate heaping with mashed potatoes and steak entered his line of vision. He picked up the steak knife without seeing it, and started cutting the meat. The scraping of a chair on floor was heard, followed by another.
"Butters, don't forget to say grace," his father reminded him.
"Y-yes, sir." Setting the knife down, he clasped his hands together, but did not pray.
I'll show you. I'll show you all.
As he picked up the knife again, he smiled.
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"Ready?" Wendy asked, glancing at Stan.
"Yup. Let's go," Stan agreed, starting up the stairs to his room.
"Ok." Wendy followed him up, watching him prepare for what he was about to do. "You're so sexy when you're saving the entire town from sure destruction."
"Wendy, if there weren't a hundred people in my room right now, I'd totally do you." Grinning, he twitched his raven-haired head towards the door he stood outside of, and started in with her.
The crowd quieted at his arrival, all eyes going towards him. He swallowed all of the apprehension he could, and started explaining. "Ok. We have to get out of South Park. I called the bus driver and he'll pick us up soon, to take us to North Park."
"Why?" Kyle asked from his place sitting on Stan's bed along with five other people. His arms were crossed, and had evidently not enjoyed the few minutes spent inside Stan's room along with most of their classmates. As he glared at Stan, a tired hand kept tangled into his revealed red curls, annoying him. The hand belonged to Kenny, who leaned drowsily on him, staring at Stan through half-opened eyes.
"Because I said so. Besides, if we stay in South Park, we'll be in serious shit. Now everyone come downstairs or I'll kick your assess."
"Oh, Stan, you're so sexy when you're angry!" Wendy giggled, hugging Stan. Seeming to awaken suddenly, Kenny hopped off the bed, ripping out a good portion of Kyle's hair as he did.
What he said was a muffled rant at Stan that few even understood. Those that did started laughing. Timmy and Jimmy joined him, and Craig and Tweek joined them, all of them undoubtedly swayed by what Kenny had said. Soon the only person still not convinced was Kyle.
"Come on, man," Stan begged, not really wanting to beat up Kyle.
"Why the hell did you make me walk over here in the rain? Now you want me to go to North Park and you're not even saying why! Goddamn it, Stan, you're wasting my time!" Kyle grumbled, glaring at Kenny as he rubbed the section of his hair that had been uprooted.
"Kyle, can you please trust my judgment, just this once?"
"Why?"
"Because! I swear, we can't stay in South Park!"
"But what about everyone else?"
"The other bus drivers are picking them all up. Now, please, Kyle, come on!" Reluctantly Kyle got off the bed. The crowd was disappointed at not seeing a fight that Stan would have easily won. "Alright, let's go downstairs and wait."
Stan led the pack down the stairs.
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"Did you enjoy your supper, Butters?" Mrs. Stotch asked over her shoulder, while she and her husband rinsed their plates with a jet of warm water from the faucet.
"Yes, Ma'am," Butters answered, clutching the knife. He prepared himself for what he was about to do as he walked slowly towards the two at the sink, plate and fork in one hand, knife in the other. "I liked it a l-lot."
"Great, Butters. Go get your bag, ok?"
"Yes, Ma'am." Stopping behind them, he raised the knife. His hand trembled, he hesitated, and knew he didn't want to do it, didn't need to, but, even so, his shaky hand smashed down.
Immediately his dad fell down. Mrs. Stotch turned to see why and caught a fork in the esophagus. She gagged, trying in vain to pull it out, staggering backwards and into the counter. Wide-eyed, Butters watched the river of blood starting to trail down her white apron. When she fell, the back of her head hit hard on the sharp edge of the counter and the flat, smooth linoleum.
"M-Mom?"
"Butters!" His dad grabbed at Butter's ankle, but a plate smeared with the remnants of mashed potato and steak dropped on his head, quieting him instantly. Angered, Butters knelt down to pull the jagged knife out of his father's shoulder muscle.
He cocked his head, examining it. A bit of muscle still hung on it's teeth, and the flat part of it shone red in the light. He glanced at his dad, laying there staring up at him, writhing in pain, one hand crossed over a thick chest to hold the injured shoulder. An eerily happy grin spread on his pale face, and he knew what he wanted to do.
(1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10...11… I could do this all day)
When his dad's screaming coughed to a halt he frowned a little, glaring down at the cadaver that had been his father. The seventeen stab wounds littered all over his abdomen all seemed to ooze gallons of blood, which flowed silently onto the white floor, splaying out from the body. His face hung in a permanent open-mouthed stare of surprise, and the dark blue eyes were colder than they ever had been, watching the crimson lake grow, but not seeing it. The knife lay somewhere in the pool, drowning in the tides it had caused.
"N-no…N-NO! Shit… sh-shit!" Butters scrambled to his feet, realizing what he had just done. Stepping delicately behind him, he breathed heavy with the rush of adrenaline. His boot crushed something, and when he looked he saw his mother staring up at him, whimpering at the hand caught under his foot. "M-mom?"
She gurgled a terrified answer, causing the blood running out of her nose in thick blobs to slide down her cheek faster. Beside her, her only son dropped down to his knees next to her.
"S-sorry, mom, s-sorry…" Butters sighed vaguely, groping around behind him for the knife. A single tear dripped down his chin and onto his mother's arm when his hand closed around it.
In a swift movement he slit her throat. As he stared down at her, dying an agonizing death, he wiped away one more tear, smearing blood all over the side of his face.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, s-sorry…" Trying not to sob violently, Butters stood up. He refused the strong urge to glance down as he surreally dug through the silverware drawer for a butchers knife. He finally found one, and was preparing to slip the cold steel across his own neck when a knock at the door sent the knife clattering to the floor. Picking it up, he inched towards the door with it hidden behind his back. His left hand closed around the handle of the door and slowly pulled it open.
"Hello, Butters," Officer Barabrady said in his usual stupid tone. "I got a report that someone heard screams or someone being killed or something. Mind if I take a look inside?"
Shaking his head, Butters moved to let him in.
"Hmm, it sure is red in here. Did you spill some paint out in the kitchen and walk through it?" The officer asked, staring down at the bloody footprints Butters' boots had made on the rug.
"Y-yeah. That's what I did." Butters watched him walk ahead of him, then decided where he would stab him first. He readied the knife and then struck, severing the spine of officer Barabrady.
As he watched him fall he took the gun from the officer's holster. Aiming it at the back of the lone cop's head, he fired. A mix of blood and brains flew everywhere, mottling everything.
"Eww…" Butters growled, pulling the knife out and slowly standing back up. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and shot at it, frowning crossly. Throwing on a coat, he stepped out the front door, nearly smiling at the slow drizzle. "I'll show them. I'll show them all."
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Glad that's finished….. Anyway have a kickass Christmas everyone, and a yee-haw new year. I hope everyones Hannukah was hell-raising, and for those of you celebratin' Kwanza, may it kick ass!!!
(Next chap up soon….)
