Chapter One: Stan

There was something about this town that was…well, different. It just didn't make any sense. Five years ago, Kyle and his friends had had so many good times together; always going on a new and exciting adventure, where, at the end, Kyle usually had to end up saying, "You know, I learned something today…", and then give a big speech to get him and his three best friends out of trouble.

His best friends…Kyle remembered what it used to be like when they were just kids in fourth grade. It wasn't so easy now. Kyle was only fourteen and in eighth grade, but he had gone through more in his short life than any adult should ever have to. Maybe all of his friends had. Maybe that was why they all turned out the way they did…

Kyle was taking a walk to the park to clear his head. There was about three feet of snow covering the ground, but that's the way it always was in South Park. The wind was blowing lightly, but it still stung Kyle's almost frostbitten face. He zipped his orange jacket up further and fixed his hat on his head so that it would cover up his curly red hair.

'I hate my hair,' Kyle thought as he struggled to stuff a stray curl into his hat. When he got to the park, Kyle sat on one of the swings while still fighting with the piece of hair that seemed to be so persistent. Finally, he just gave up and let some of his auburn hair fall in his face. He just sat there, for who knows how long, thinking about nothing unparticular, until he heard a voice.

"Hey, dude," it was Stan Marsh, Kyle's best friend in the world.

"Hey, Stan," Kyle said, finally looking up. Stan had changed so much since they were little. He was standing in front of Kyle, his hands in the pockets of a brown jacket he was wearing. He also wore his blue hat that he had worn since preschool. The hat still had a very worn out red puffball on the top of it. That hat really didn't fit Stan's personality anymore, but he still wore it, probably just for sentimental reasons. Stan had black hair that sort of stuck out of the almost-too-small hat, and he was sort of tall for his age. He wasn't really any more athletic than any of the other boys in town. He stopped playing sports when they were in sixth grade. Right about when he started…well…

Stan sat down on the swing next to Kyle and sighed. "So, what's up, Kyle?" he asked.

"Not much," was all that Kyle said. He had a lot on his mind. Kyle looked over at Stan, then looked at his friend's hands, which he had taken out of his pockets to hold onto the chains of the swing. Stan wore wristbands on both arms…Kyle knew why. Stan was completely over the Goth phase he had gone through in fourth grade, but he was still sick. Stan had started cutting his wrists when he was really depressed about three years ago. Kyle had gotten into a fight with his friend when he found out, but had given up completely after Stan broke down crying and admitted to his friend that he knew he was sick and needed help. Kyle had spent all that night with Stan, soothing him and telling him everything was going to be all right. The next day, Kyle had taken Stan to a professional and gotten him some help. It worked for a little while, but then Stan's mother was diagnosed with cancer and died about a year later, and he started cutting again.

Stan noticed Kyle looking at his wrists, and he quickly stuck them back in the pockets of his jacket. Kyle slowly looked away from his friend and gazed down at his snow boots. Stan did the same and felt his face turn red. He was embarrassed when he remembered what he did almost all the time, and angry at himself for doing it. Kyle continued looking down at his boots. He was thinking about what the angel faced, innocent (okay, maybe not completely innocent), children he used to know had become.

"Stan, what happened to us?" Kyle asked his friend quietly. He felt like crying. Stan looked up, a little confused by his question at first, but then answered.

"…I don't know, dude." he said. Even though Kyle's question had been a little vague, Stan knew that he was talking not just about them, but all of the people that they knew. "I guess we all were just forced to grow up too quickly… I-I don't know what to say."

Kyle looked up from his boots to meet Stan's eyes. The blue eyes that used to be so bright and full of life were now cold and almost dead looking…the eyes of an old man. Kyle looked down again, staring at his boots. He felt tears start to form in his eyes. The wind that was blowing directly in his face wasn't helping him hide it too much, either. Kyle sniffled. He felt Stan's eyes on him.

"I'll-I'll talk to you later, Stan. I've just…I've gotta go think for a little while." Kyle got up and started towards his home before Stan even had time to answer.

Kyle walked against the wind to get to his house. He put his arms around himself in a sort of hug to keep warm. Hot tears stung his face as he walked. By the time Kyle had gotten to his house, his mom and dad had left for work. Since it was a Saturday, Kyle didn't have to go to school. He walked into his house, and didn't even acknowledge the fact of how much warmer it was in there than it was outside. He simply took his coat off and let it fall to the ground instead of bothering to hang it up. He thought about taking his hat off, but he changed his mind.

Kyle trudged up the stairs and into his room. He collapsed onto his bed with his face in his hands and let himself cry freely. There was nobody watching him, so why not? Kyle thought about Stan and how much it must hurt when he cuts himself. Kyle could never do that. He could never really take any kind of pain, and that would just be too much for him.

Kyle wanted Stan to get more help. He didn't want him hurting himself anymore. He just wanted things to go back to normal. He wanted his childhood back. He sobbed into his hands. "Wha-What the hell happened to m-my childhood, huh! It's n-not fucking f-fair! It's not fair, god dammit!" Kyle wanted so badly to be eight years old again. He wanted all of his friends to be eight again. Maybe then he could stop them from becoming what they were now. They all had so many different problems… Stan wasn't even the worst of them. There were so many others…

While he thought about Stan, his thoughts slowly moved to his other friends. Kenny. How long had it been? Four years maybe? Yes, that was it. Four years it had been since Kenny stopped coming back to life. That unexplainable phenomenon just stopped one day. Kyle wiped his wet, red eyes, and laid down on his back to let his thoughts travel back to that day.