All rights and privileges to " South Park" are copyrighted trademarks and property of Trey Parker, Matt Stone, Comedy Central, and all peoples associated. The characters of these fictions are used WITHOUT permission for the entertainment purposes only. This work of fiction is not meant for sale or profit. As if anyone would actually pay money for this thoughtless drivel. And even if they like it, it's right here and money is not required. So there! Bottom line: I don't own them I just like to play God with them. Like an ant walking back and forth across my feet for what seems like miles upon miles. Or a bug with a magnifying glass as it slowly burns into nothingness. Ahem Yes, I don't own them. Never have. Never will. Sigh…

A/N: Slash! That's right. This story contains slash. Don't like - don't read, that simple. And just so you're aware, I have no idea where this came from. NONE! I just started writing and this came out. And I haven't seen this pairing before, and I am all about the nontraditional pairings.

This is just the prologue, the actual first chapter will be posted as soon as I type it up.

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A False Sense of Forever

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There is a feeling I associate with being on top of a mountain. I call it "forever," but that is only my word for it. The euphoria of being on top of the world, looking out over everything is astronomical. When the wind is blowing, I sometimes feel like I weigh nothing, like I can fly if I just jump off the edge.

Sometimes when my rational side tells me that I cannot fly, I want to jump anyway, just so that I can end up as a bloody smear on the rocks and snow below. I always stop myself at the last moment, as I envision myself careening through the air and colliding solidly with the ground. I know I would not come back to life like Kenny miraculously does. I have my whole life to change this god-awful world; I might as well try and not give up so early.

I blame this town for my contradicting thoughts of childish immortality and suicide. Kenny doesn't help much either. I had escaped this town. I had finally escaped, but it – this town – is the only thing that accepts me: it should, it made me. I had attended school in Boston: M.I.T. The city had tried to break me. There were too many people too close to each other. They didn't care about anyone like the people of South Park do. They are out for themselves like the people from home… well, the people of South Park mean well, and I know how to handle them. While I was at school, I took a weekend trip to New York City – being from the west it's a given when visiting the east – and I found that even worse than Boston. I'm a country boy, not cut out for the city: I need my wide open spaces.

I lasted a semester before I came running home with my tail between my legs. Everything at home was so familiar, and I knew that I couldn't change. For the spring semester I'm going to be attending a small university in northern California.

The thing about South Park is that once someone escapes its clutches they never return; I am the sole outlier. So I met up with those who had stayed behind: Kenny, Terrance, Butters, and Rebecca.

Kenny couldn't afford it. He is saving up for his chance to escape by working two fulltime jobs. I rarely see him, and when I do his sanity is barely there.

Terrance was too dumb.

Butters… I actually feel sorry for Butters. He doesn't have even half the chance of escaping that Kenny does. Before he even knew fully what sex was, he was having it. He knocked up Lexus when we were all fourteen. She had refused to do anything about the thing that grew inside her. Butters was completely shocked. He had no idea where children came from, and he was going to be a father. He had to drop out of school to earn money so that he could support his child. It's actually quite scary how great of a father he actually is and his boy is exactly like he is only with confidence that comes from the love of a parent.

Lexus died of a heroin overdose a year and a half after giving birth.

Rebecca suffered the same fate as Butters, only her child has no father. Seriously, no father. Doctors examined her and determined her to still be a virgin. Even a karyotype was done: the results pointed to both sets of chromosomes being identical. The kid is like the second Christ or maybe the Messiah we Jews have been waiting for. The only problem was that the kid happened to be female. People of any given faith are adverse to female religious icons – other than the Virgin Mary. I mean, look at Eve. So not only does the kid have no father, but the mother has now been labeled as the town's latest whore, taking over Lexus's position after she died. Rebecca might have been able to handle it if she had not been in South Park or if she had not been sixteen. Her parents disowned her.

Everyone else escaped, more or less. Some people were able to handle the outside world, even wanting it, craving it… Others like myself couldn't deal.

For a small town we sure have a lot of problems. There were two pregnancies in our class alone, which I know doesn't sound like much, but that's about eight percent of our class. We also had heroin addicts and other nasty things.

My junior year there was a massacre… kinda. Pip went mad. He obtained a gun, I'm assuming from Stan's Uncle Jimbo, and he brought it to school, tired of being harassed. He just went crazy, shouting, crying, waving the gun around, and scaring everybody shitless. And he only fired one shot: he shot Cartman in the arm. After the shock of actually shooting someone wore off, Pip desperately wanted to die. The police were on him before he could put a bullet to his head, but he told them if they tried anything he would kill himself. The police sent Damien to negotiate. No one heard what was said, but Damien tore open the earth and took Pip's hand as they jumped into the ground. Pip smiled tiredly.

What hit closest to home was Stan. Senior year, in May right before the prom, he told me in confidence that he was having a secret affair. I was astonished. He always wore his heart out on his sleeve; he always voiced his opinion when he thought something was wrong within society; he was always the "cute" one of us all; he was the star quarterback for Christ's sake! That is my best friend. He should not have had to keep his affair a secret. By convention he should have been swimming in cheerleaders, but honestly he had not had a date since middle school, and he is not the type for casual sex.

Stan not only told me that he was in a secret relationship, but that relationship was with another guy. Needless to say, I was shocked. I guess I should have suspected something when I started dating Wendy junior year, and Stan said absolutely nothing negative about me or Wendy. The relationship didn't last that long, just long enough to test our friendship.

Stan wanted to go to the prom with him. He didn't like secrets and not standing up to convention. He wanted my help; he had pleaded for my help. He had been hysterical – and shit-faced. So I told him what I thought: I told him not to go with his boyfriend as a date but to go separately and just hang. South Park is too conservative for their relationship and they would end up being hurt even more. Mr. Garrison and Mr. Slave were a different matter; they were adults from the outside, but Stan was a product of South Park.

Stan didn't talk to me for a week. He ignored my advice and took his boyfriend to the prom. If Stan had not been a jock or had me fighting by his side, he would have ended up in the hospital. He never mocked me again for carrying a hunting knife everywhere.

After graduation the two eloped to Vancouver where they were going to attend school. I haven't heard from them since.

I have heard from Cartman. He's in LA: University of Southern California. He's majoring in business. Of course. He's doing really well – even has a GPA of 3.7. And LA is the best place for business. His business sense outgrew South Park when we were in seventh grade. He'd been counting down the days until he could leave since then.

At least he's happy. He's even dropped all his witty remarks about me being Jewish. I guess that's fair because I can no longer quip about his weight. He lost most of it when he had a huge growth spurt our freshman year and shot up nearly a foot or so. He's now about six and a half feet. He's not exactly a normal weight, but he's not obese any more.

I told him about my transfer. He called me a pussy. I told him to come visit and I'd buy him a beer. He accepted.

My musings are interrupted by the shrill call of the telephone. I have been lying in bed all morning trying really hard not to climb out. It is a little after noon on Christmas Day.

It's my cell, so I can't rely on my parents or Ike to answer it.

I grope for the phone and answer with a cheeky "Hag Sameach."

"Clever." It's Stan!

"Dude! What's – "

"Carl's Warehouse. Half an hour." He interrupts. He then has the balls to hang up.

Of course.

Ass rammer.

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"Hag Sameach" is Hebrew for "Happy Holidays."

If you would like me to continue, please let me know!