I Told You I'd Kill You
Warning: This fanfiction contains scenes that could be considered mature and with descriptive gore. There is also much coarse language.Reader discretion is advised.
Eric Theodore Cartman stared down at the shining silver utensils on the tray in front of him, picking up one after the other periodically to make sure they were still shining perfectly. His reflection appeared each time on the silver, showing a male in his early twenties. This male had lost some weight from his childhood, or perhaps his body just grew into this weight. Even still, he bore a larger stomach and had one or two extra chins hanging off of his face.
The boy had gone through school, as well as high school being called a fat boy. He was still convinced, even after all these years and the confrontation that sent him to fat camp, that he was big boned. It was just something that was burned within him to give him an excuse not to worry about what he did and ate. Like he would have given a shit anyway if he did know he was simply fat. He was the kind who always did what he wanted.
Yet, though he always did what he wanted, there were always those who were ready to bring him down with their moral ideas. He hated being told what to do and why he shouldn't do things, but he was frequently faced with people who did just that. Why couldn't they just mind their own god damned business and let him do whatever the hell he wanted? That would be all too simple. Of course it would also be all too dangerous on the 'suppressers' part, however he didn't see it that way.
Dark eyes filled with malicious intent turned to the other male in the room. This other male, too, was in his early twenties, and Cartman had known him for as long as he could remember. Not only that, but Cartman had hated him for as long as he could remember. He was one of those suppressive ones. He was one of those always flinging his opinions and moral ideas about. And as far as Cartman was concerned, he was the worst.
The heavy set young man began to wheel the cart with the tray of those shining utensils over to the place where the other man lay. The cart made no noise on the floor since Cartman has ensured that the wheels had received some anti-squeaking fluids and the floor was smooth and lacking notches. Even the shoes on Cartman's feet made no noise, though he wouldn't have cared if they did.
"Wake up," Cartman cooed to the other male, standing over his form, which lay on a table, and tapping the side of his face. He watched as said other male stirred a bit, but refused to wake up entirely. He wouldn't have that. "Wake up, you son of a bitch!" A strike across the face was issued, surely to awaken the sleeping one.
The other stirred fully this time, snapping out of the comfort of sleep and opening his eyes to the world around him. The room was dark, or maybe it was just because he was still sleepy? No, the room was definitely dark, the only light standing to the side of him somewhere. This matter was trivial though. As his form attempted to rise to look around the room further, he found that he couldn't move at all. Whatever he was lying on, he was strapped to it, and pretty damn tight, too. This caused him to awaken more.
"What the hell is going on!" he demanded to know, still making tries at jerking free of the restraints. He found that he could turn his head from side to side though, and he did that to see who the hell was behind all this. His movements stopped and his expression fell from anger to a pale state of shock when he saw who was there. "Cartman?"
"That's right, Kyle. It's me, Cartman," the larger man said, nodding slightly while starting to form a gleeful grin. "Are you comfortable, Kyle?"
"God damn it, no! What the fuck do you think!" Kyle yelled with a snarl, his anger returning in a flash. "Stop fucking around, fat ass!"
"What makes you think I'm fucking around?" Cartman's grin grew. This was going, in his opinion, very well. When he heard no reply from the Jewish man, though, he continued with a sigh. "Don't you see? I've very, very serious right now."
"What the hell are you planning!" the red-head yelled some more, though he wasn't sure why he was yelling. There was no doubt no one there to hear him besides Cartman.
"I told you before, Kyle," Cartman began as he turned to his side to pick up something from the table that stood there.
"Cartman!" Kyle's eyes widened at the sight of what was in the larger male's hand. He'd seen the light glimmer off of the blade of what looked to be a small knife, and the panic instantly rose within him.
"Kyle, you didn't let me finish!" Cartman snarled, though calmed and grinned again. "I told you before… that I would kill you, you god damned Jew!"
"Have you lost whatever fucking mind you had!" his voice squeaked as it became higher pitched with fear and he once again began struggling against the restraints that held him. If only he could get a knife himself and cut them away, but he knew there was no chance in that.
"I'm surprised you're not asking me why I'm doing this. Isn't that what all soon-to-be-murder victims ask, like in the movies?" Cartman spoke, stalling to watch the one he hated so deeply struggle some more.
"I know why you're fucking doing this!" Kyle snapped savagely, hoping desperately that someone would come and save him.
"Good, so you know that you've pissed me off all these years with your tries at controlling my life," Cartman said while tapping the knife absently on the tray where other utensils sat. It clanked and clicked against the metal of the tray and cause the other utensils to jump around a bit and make their own sounds as well.
"What do you want from me, Cartman! You want money!" Kyle was now trying to buy his way free, though his panicking mind told him that it wouldn't work in the least. Cartman's vengeance wasn't so easily swayed by money.
"Hell no. I don't need your Jew gold, Kyle, and I don't want it either. I just want to kill you," Cartman smiled devilishly, now raising the knife once again.
"God damn it! Stop this!"
"No thanks."
Blood hit the table first and then the floor while little splatters speckled themselves onto Cartman's clothing. He observed the severed finger between his own fingers while screams of agony erupted through the room. Chuckling with seeming satisfaction, he let it fall to the floor as he looked back at the male he'd just cut that finger from and wiped the blade clean again on his own clothing.
Searing pain shot up through Kyle's arm and waved through the rest of his body. His wails were accompanied by tears that came through clenched eyelids. His mind felt numb, unable to truly grasp at what had just happened, but the pain was real enough to tell him that it had indeed just happened. His other hand clenched at his side, as if it would stop the pain while the rest of his body tensed for the same reason. The pain didn't leave though, and even through this pain he was sure that Cartman had indeed lost his mind.
"Don't cry, Jew boy," Cartman mocked. "It can't be all that bad."
"Fuck you, Cartman," Kyle snarled through teeth that wouldn't part and in a fashion that was very strained. He knew there would be a whole slew of other obscenities had he been in a normal state, but right now, it was anything but normal.
"Eh? What was that?" Cartman snatched up the red locks attached to his 'friend's' scalp. He forced Kyle's head to rise off of the table and the large man brought his ear closer to the male's face. "Was that a 'how bout you cut off my tongue'!" Cartman laughed loudly, watching as Kyle struggled even more now.
"Don't do it!" Kyle screeched again, using any strength he could muster to get away from Cartman, but all he managed to do was have his hair feel like it was going to be pulled out.
"Why not? I want to!" Cartman continued laughing. "That would shut you right the fuck up, now wouldn't it! No more, 'Cartman, stop doing this!', 'Cartman, stop doing that because it's wrong!' It's about time you shut right the hell up and stopped telling me what to fucking do!"
Despite his attempts, Kyle couldn't stop Cartman from 'shutting him up'. Despite his attempts, Kyle couldn't free himself from his enemy's grasps. Despite his hope that help would come in time, it didn't. All that did come was another cycle of pain brought on by his jaws being forced open and then by the muscle that allowed him to speak being severed. His own blood gurgled in his screams and caused him to choke upon his reflex to draw more breath through his mouth.
Cartman stood and watched as this happened, but once again he was shining the blade he'd used. It was an obsessive thing with him to have it be absolutely shining perfectly, though he didn't know where or why this habit developed.
In truth, he was a little disappointed that he'd resulting in killing the Jewish man so quickly. He had wanted to torture him some more, perhaps cut off a few more fingers and some toes. Perhaps he would have even stabbed him a few times and cut him where it would definitely hurt a whole shit load. But he'd gotten caught up in the exhilaration of the moment, in the fear that Kyle reeked and in the idea that he was finally killing the one who pissed him off the most.
The end result was the same, either way. He stared a moment, observing that it was how he'd imagined it would be. Kyle's eyes were wide, though now rolled backwards in their sockets, his own blood caked his face and neck, but the most important part was that he was dead.
Of course Cartman didn't expect to walk away from this as if nothing had happened. No, now he would just sit and wait for the police to arrive. He was sure that that bitch who called herself Kyle's mother had already gone and called the police since he didn't make contact with her. Yes, Cartman knew that each day Mrs. Broflovski checked up on her son through a phone call, and if he wasn't there and not responding to his cell phone after several tries the police would definitely hear about it. Somehow they would be able to trace it to him, he was sure. Somehow.
He walked into a separate room, which acted as a den and sat himself down on the worn sofa. The seat of the piece of furniture sagged into the middle where Cartman always sat and there were several bags of Cheesy Poufs sitting close by as well for him to 'dine' on. At present, he grabbed one of these bags, opening it without even thinking and reaching for the remote as he stuffed some in his mouth.
The television clicked on, revealing a television show that was more or less for children that he'd been watching ever since it'd begun airing. Of course said show was continuously reruns now, but he still watched the likes of Terrance and Phillip all the same. While the show had once sent him into fits of laughter, it now only caused him to smirk and chuckle every once in a while, but that didn't matter to him. It was the only thing good on television, in his opinion, besides news about wars, terrorists and basically other people's suffering.
Before long, he heard the doorbell being ring upstairs, both the room he killed Kyle in and the one he currently occupied being in the basement. After several un-responded-to rings, he heard the door crashing into the house as well, which caused a grin to flicker across his face. He'd actually expected them sooner.
It had been the night before that he'd kidnapped Kyle from his own bed. That had been easy as shit, breaking into the young male's apartment and getting him out unnoticed. Chloroform did wonders for knocking people out, even though his victim was already asleep; it was just to make sure that he didn't wake up. And the people in that town didn't give a rat's ass about who did what and why, only caring about their own well being and about people on the other side of the fucking world that they had little chance of helping. They'd made his job too easy.
He heard utterances of "Oh my god," and other shocked and horrified phrases from the room where the dead body lay before others stormed into the room where he sat. Even as they went through the process of arresting him, he was barely paying attention, still watching Terrance and Phillip, though pinned to the floor, and attempting to reach for some more Cheesy Poufs. None of them made it into his grasp though.
After even the single knock on her door, Mrs. Broflovski was already there, a worried look clouding her face as she dreaded whoever might stand there. Maybe it was her precious son, though it could just as easily be the police with some horrible news. All the same, she wretchedly threw open the door, aware that her guests -- the Marshes -- as well as her husband and younger son had gathered behind her.
She did indeed see the police standing there and she poked her head out the door to see if her oldest son was anywhere in sight and when she didn't see him, her eyes blurred with tears. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the door frame for support.
"Where is my son!" she screamed out at the police officers standing in front of her.
"Mrs. Broflovski, may we come in?" one of the officers asked, his face filled with worry for the woman.
"Not unless you have my son!" she screamed some more.
"Sheila," her husband laid a hand on her shoulder to try and get her to calm down. It didn't seem to be working too well, and he fully knew and understood as to why. He was feeling the same fear, after all.
"Mrs. Broflovski, we have some terrible news," the first officer spoke again, bracing himself for any lashing out he might receive with these words.
"He's dead, isn't he!" Sheila screeched now, her sorrow wrought face contorting further.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Broflovski…" he trailed off. Anything else he might have said would have been drowned out by a wailing woman as she buried her face in her husband's chest and clutched her other son tight, as well as the sobs from others that were standing in the house.
"He's dead?" Stanley Marsh found the voice to say, his entire form numb from hearing that his best friend was killed. He saw one of the other officers nod and he found voice to continue further. "How?" he felt this voice hitch in his throat as he said this, the knot refusing to leave even as he tried to swallow it away.
The officers slowly made their way into the house at that point, closing the two families off from the eyes that could be lingering on the scene from outside. Those same officers tried to usher the families into a room where they could sit down, but they all refused to move. At this, the officers sighed quietly.
"Kyle Broflovski has been murdered-" the officer began, though was cut off.
"By who!" Stan demanded to know, noting that his body was still continuing to numb with each time they bore some more horrible details about his friend.
"The culprit is a one Eric Cartman…" the officer said slowly, seemingly un-offended by being interrupted, and continued speaking.
But anything else he said wasn't heard by the dark haired male, as it was drowned out by a deep and incessant buzzing in his ears. He wasn't sure if he himself was even still alive, for he couldn't feel anything. His best friend was dead… Kyle was dead… and it was Cartman's fault…
END
Well, there it is. I would have done this author note at the beginning, but that may have ruined it. I'd just like to say, I don't hate Kyle (hell, he's probably my favourite character). This fic came to mind when I thought, hmm, what if Cartman finally made those promises of killing Kyle a reality? And thus this ensued.
I have a feeling that some may say, "How could you end it there!" or something like that. The answer: easy. I stop typing and give it at least a mild sense of conclusion to the writing. Apart from that smart ass remark, I also ended it there because while I know I could have made it longer, I really didn't want to. So, poof. Ending.
T'is all. Reviews appreciated.