I apologize, yet again, for the length of time my lazy ass has taken to get this story updated. Summer started, and... I basically forgot about it. Until the other night when I dug out the notebook this story is written down on, I hadn't thought of it.
I read my ending. It sucks. A lot. So I decided to chop, hack, slash, and then burn the evidence. New ending, more meaty details of the blood and gore. Today I read the story in its online format, and it beats the written version, for the most part, with a lead pipe. I'm not bragging, and am still somewhat dissatisfied with my "this happened, then that happened, cut and dry" writing style.
Someone asked about Wendy being horny to a degree of desperation. I had planned for this to just be an odd quirk of her, but it turned into much more. Let's just say, in the end she still loves Stan and regrets pressuring him so much for sex. coughgianthintcough
on with story! (finally)
Stan found no ability inside him to converse with the boys on either side of him. The three of them sat in silence, although the rest of the world partied, keeping hearts and minds off of the predicament they were all in. The three teens all leaned their heads against the wall, letting the chillingly fitting music of The Cure pulse through them. The mosh pit, whose singular form they watched with a distracting little interest, danced somewhat soberly to the song playing.
Burn red burn red burn red burn red and gold
Are the deep dark colours of the snakes I hold
Burn red burn red burn red and gold
Are the deep dark colours of the devil at home
"She pulls me down just as I'm trying to hide
Grabs me by the hair and drags me outside
And starts digging in the dirt...
For a not so early bird its the only way
For her to get the worm..."
Kyle scoffed, and made a half-hearted attempt at breaking their silence.
"That song sucks."
"You're goddamn right it does," Stan agreed, cradling his head in his hands and regretting everything. Maybe he was even sorry he was ever born... not that it mattered. What was done was done, and he had realized it far too late to take it back.
He looked up at the exact moment it happened. What had actually happened, he didn't know. It sounded horrible, a million and one people, all rushing to save themselves, although they had thought they were already saved, like people waiting out a hurricane in a shelter.
Did they know their shelter wasn't safe?
Of course they did.
Did they think the hurricane would get them?
No one does.
Butters didn't know who he stabbed. Whoever it was screamed bloody murder, which turned the crush of bodies into even more of a lethal weapon. People scattered everywhere as Butters sneaked into a corner, watching the slivers of light from the hallway illuminate a select few.
He saw faces he knew. Faces he didn't know. Faces that had wronged him, the small handful that had treated him decently. He saw Bebe, exacting pity and provoking terror from her wounds, inflicted by a "mystery" attacker.
She held her left arm as the arms, legs, and torsos of her classmates swirled around her, like ants in a anthill that had been assaulted by a child with a stick. The figure of Wendy comforted her, trying to take her towards the nurse's office. Butters watched, as though he were the child with the stick. He contemplated poking the anthill a few more times, but decided on waiting for the ants to calm down first.
As he watched, he pulled out a random gun from one of his jacket pockets. It was a cold, dark mass in his hand, and it just being there made him realize he was not dreaming. He wanted to use it. He could, anytime, and more than likely hit someone.
Butters grinned, and aimed the gun at someone. He couldn't tell and didn't care who. He followed the person's movements with the gun, watching her run back and forth; following her running back and forth, two and fro.
She had no definite direction. She would sprint until she ran into someone, then go back. Despite the increasing mountain of guilt building on his shoulders, Butters laughed a bit. The music was still playing. The gym's lights were still shut off. It was at that moment that he decided that these people were too stupid to live. Anyone but a complete idiot would turn off the music, turn on the lights, and investigate.
Finally he fired, and the girl in his sights fell. The sound of it caused everyone to rush for the exits, suddenly realizing the seriousness of the situation.
Craig made it to one of them first. He pushed it, and pushed it some more, but to no avail. Craig panicked as he pressed his entire body weight against the door.
Another shot rang out, more people screamed. Even more people rushed towards the exit doors.
The last thing Craig saw was a hundred bodies stampeding towards him.
Stan jumped up, fearing the worst. He blamed himself. To say he didn't would be lying, and he hated lying.
He also hated knowing what was going to happen, and not being able to change a thing.
Beside him, Kyle bit his lip as he looked around.
A barrage of gunshots smattered around them, hitting everything and everyone, except for the teens. Kenny swallowed hard, trying to melt into the gym wall.
"Shit! Shit! Son of a Bitch! This is all my fault!" Stan exploded, slamming his fist on the wall until he was sure his hand was broken.
"Stan, stop!" Kyle struggled to pull Stan's muscled arm back before his friend could punch the wall again. He made Stan face him, firmly squeezing Stan's shoulders, attempting comfort. "Don't beat yourself up. It'll be fine." Kyle thought his kind words insincere, but they apparently they worked. They tasted funny in his mouth, like one saying I love you to someone they did not love.
Kyle had done that many times.
Stan leaned forward and hugged Kyle, trying his best not to melt down completely. Kyle hugged back, not really understanding why Stan needed him for comfort. Behind him, Kenny watched the scene, arms crossed, a half formed sly smile on his lips. Kenny sensed Kyle getting a bit uncomfortable after a few seconds, and cleared his throat. Stan shot back, encouraged.
"We need to get out of here!" Stan grabbed Kenny's arm violently, making Kenny follow him. Kyle walked after Stan, not wanting to be handled like Kenny had been.
The shots continued. People around them dropped more and more often. They all tried to block it out, but cries of pain got through their mental barrier. One or two, maybe all three of them, might have shed a tear or two. Maybe they knew why. Maybe they didn't.
Kyle felt his foot slide in something. He lost his balance and fell down, next to a person who grabbed at his shirt, begging for him to end her life.
He got up as quickly as he could. The liquid he'd slipped in was blood. The blood of someone who he couldn't help. He could offer sympathy, but it wouldn't do any good. The words of comfort would sting the insides of his mouth like mouthwash, even though he really felt the feelings he expressed.
All three of them avoided looking at the bloodbath. However, Kenny couldn't help but steal an occasional glance.
"Hey, Stan, isn't that-"
Before his question was finished, Stan had darted out into the middle of the gym.
Butters aimed at one more person and pulled the trigger. When no sound came out, he threw the gun at the person, missing completely, and fished another of Jimbo's guns out of his pocket. The people still scattered mindlessly in the dark.
A few had bumped into him, but had not even realized just who he was. Again, as he took a step back, Butters looked at all the destruction. The few people left were running for the exit doors. He had no idea he could kill that many.
The thought of death made him nauseous, especially when thought of at his own hands. The air had the distinctly metallic smell of blood. Under his feet, the gym floor was red. From the slices of light coming in, Butters watched the crimson pools glint and glisten, much like a lake beneath the spell of a light wind. At his right, someone yelled.
Butters looked in the direction of the sound, and saw figures. Figures still standing, rushing no doubt to the aid of a beloved. The figures had disturbed Butters in a personal moment.
For that, the figures, who were indeed people, would pay.
"Ah! Shit!" Stan grunted, falling. He slid to a stop near the person he had been rushing to save.
Wendy.
"Stan!" Kyle and Kenny yelled, falling with him when they both slipped in a puddle of blood. Kyle landed on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Behind him, Kenny had not been so lucky. Kyle turned his head, and crawled to Kenny's aid.
"Kenny? Kenny, are you okay?" Kyle asked almost hysterically, lightly shaking him. Kenny's head wobbled back and forth, almost as if he were saying no. Horrified, Kyle let go of Kenny and turned back to Stan, hoping to save at least one of his friends.
He slid easily through the blood. It sloshed around him, thoroughly wetting his shirt and pants. It felt warm against his skin, and clung to the hairs on his arms. He noticed that it was thick and gooey, like a giant spill of rich hot chocolate. Gulping down the vomit rising in his throat, Kyle stopped next to Stan.
"Are you okay?"
Stan shook his head. His expression was pained, and every breath he took labored him. Kyle moved Stan's hand away from his chest and saw a growing circle of blood staining Stan's shirt. Stan's hand was soaked with his own blood. It ran down the underside of his arm in little streams, branching off endlessly to join the ocean on the floor.
"Holy shit!" Kyle place Stan's hand back and applied a little pressure, but stopped when Stan squirmed underneath him. "Say something, Stan!"
Stan opened his mouth, and Kyle, horrified, watched a slow trickle of blood flow down his chin.
"Holy shit... Forget it. Don't say anything."
Butters watched all three figures fall. He was sure he'd only hit one of them.
Sighing, he slowly stepped out from the shadows. What few people he saw standing, he walked over to and either stabbed or shot.
"Stan... you'll be okay... It's gonna be okay..." Kyle bit back tears as he saw Wendy laying, clearly dead, next to Stan. He wasn't sad. He was angry at her. He blamed her for what had happened.
At least, that's what he told himself.
He glanced behind him at Kenny, whose arms and blond hair were covered in blood. He laid peacefully on one of the few spots on the gym floor where someone else hadn't fallen.
Kyle's attention returned to Stan when he heard the other teen cough weakly.
"Stan?" Some of the blood Stan was coughing up splattered on Kyle's face. "You... Are you okay?"
"No..." Stan answered, obviously pained to do so. He gave as truthful an answer as he could. He wasn't "okay" in his mind. In his mind, he was a fucking dumb shit. "...not okay."
"Don't say that! You'll be fine!"
Again Stan shook his head. His hair was wet and stringy. There were cuts and nicks and bruises all over him, and every one of them hurt. "I'm gonna die." He said it as quickly as he could to make it hurt less, like ripping off a Band Aid.
"No! Don't say that!" Kyle commanded, angered suddenly.
"Kyle..." Stan grinned despite his condition. The grin disappeared long enough for Stan to cough up some more blood, then it returned. "I've been... meaning to tell you... something."
Butters was going to do it.
He took the knife he'd just used to finish off Bebe and held it up to his neck. A cough startled him, and he noticed Kyle and Stan amongst a fairly large gathering of dead bodies.
Scowling, he began to trek towards them.
"Kyle... you remember what Kenny said about me, right?"
"Yeah..." Kyle answered, suspecting the direction in which the conversation was going.
"Well... he was right. I do like you. A lot."
"What... why didn't you say something?" Kyle lifted himself up on his elbows.
"I thought you'd be mad."
"Duh." Kyle's eyes narrowed at Stan. He was mad. Mad at what, or who, he couldn't say. Some of his anger was placed with Stan. A little with Kenny. Maybe his mother. Overall Kyle found some reason to be mad at most of his friends.
He didn't like being lied to, and Stan had lied to him, in a way. Although he couldn't blame him, it still stung a bit.
Stan looked away, insulted. He regretted it all. Although he had told Kyle only on his deathbed, like he promised himself, he hated the way Kyle had reacted. Kyle had made it seem like Stan had suddenly contracted an infectious disease. Grunting a little, Stan resolved not to think anymore. It hurt too much, and he didn't have the energy or time for it.
Sighing with great pain, he directed his hazel eyes back to Kyle's green ones. "Come here." He motioned with his left hand for Kyle to lean closer. "More..."
Kyle did as he was told. Already his disgust at Stan for keeping such a huge secret from him had subsided. That disgust was replaced with guilt for not understanding Stan's feelings.
When Kyle was close enough, Stan put his hand behind Kyle's head and pulled the redhead's lips towards his own. At first Kyle resisted, then slowly gave up the fight, knowing that tons of sports had made Stan strong enough to hold him down, even injured and with his left hand.
He didn't mind the metallic taste of Stan's blood in his mouth. He really didn't mind as much as he thought he would that Stan was kissing him. Maybe he actually liked it. Maybe he actually kissed back.
Stan felt Kyle's hand run through his sopping hair. In spite of himself he smiled, closing his eyes and burying his other hand in Kyle's red curls. The two of them went on kissing, among dead bodies of girlfriends and comrades and maybe the occasional declared enemy. Among moms and dads and brothers and sisters.
They never noticed a thing. It was a last hurrah, but it was a damned good one.
The hand in his hair went limp, and the lips still pressed against his own parted.
"Stan... are you-" Kyle stopped midsentence when he looked down at his friend, whose eyes stared, unseeing, into his own. Kyle watched as Stan's head flopped over against his shoulder. His eyes welled up with tears. "Stan's... dead..." he told himself, still staring down in disbelief.
"Y-yes, he is," Butters agreed, looking down at Kyle, knife ready.
Butters was the last person Kyle saw before everything went black.
Wow. I did it. Go me.
Next chap up soooooooooooon... before summer ends!
