A/N: Hi, I'm back :) The semester is over now so I'm hoping to start updating this weekly. Thank you for reading! -Kyle, Your Local Garbage Gay
...
Stan Marsh journal entry (date unknown)
I want to listen to your body living outside of me but also inside me in my chest and neck and toes, legs like beams of moon, and all your hair in my mouth and your eyes in my stomach, peels lurching and when I kiss you I taste sickness and when I see your face, I think your tongue and your teeth and my tongue and my teeth on a bible on a bridge in the river in the sewer in the sand cursing names and caskets bred into lonely pipes of dreaming to caress the lobes of your ears and hold your head against my chest so you can feel, feel how much my heart hurts and hear how fast it raptures when you come near and the moss in my ribcage-
I just want you to know.
The eye of the forest is the eye of my heart, mapping out my faith, watching the birds in my stomach and their drenched wings of acid, beautifully useless, now concerned with vitality and the color red, glass beads coated in sugar-
Did I dream last night?
I don't think I did.
…
Kenny lies belly-down on the mattress, feet in the air, hugging a stained pillow. His right foot is cramping from squeezing his toes together. He rolls his ankles in circles until the cramp goes away. But now his left foot is cramping. He keeps his feet still, suspended in air until they go numb. He finally sets his feet down, shifts his weight so the left half of his body is immersed in sheets and his left foot is hanging off the side of the bed.
(who owns this body)
He glances out the window, debris floats over the grass with the wind. In the distance he can hear dogs barking, neighbors yelling. He wants to get out of this small room, with its shag carpeting forever stained by marijuana smoke and beer stains and bad memories.
He wanted to feel alive again, amidst all this death, sourness like the breath of a sick child. Breathing heavily, he flopped onto his back and grabbed his phone. Anything. He would do anything.
2:48 am- Kenny: You up?
2:50 am- Bebe: I WAS sleeping. What do you want? I have a feeling I already know tho
2:51 am- Kenny: Come over. Or I can come over there. Or I could pick you up and we can go somewhere
3:06 am- Kenny: Hello?
3:07 am- Bebe: Another time
3:08 am- Kenny: This is something that needs to be taken care of right now
3:08 am- Bebe: Yeah I can't help you with that. And Wendy's staying here now so that would just be hella rude
3:10 am- Kenny: Oh… well… What's Wendy up to?
3:10 am- Bebe: FUCK OFF
3:11 am- Bebe: It's you and your hand tonight dude. Sorry not sorry
3:12 am- Bebe: But you can come sometime this week. I need to talk to you anyway
3:13 am- Kenny: Oh god
3:13 am- Bebe: What?
3:14 am- Kenny: If you're pregnant please just tell me now
3:14 am- Bebe: Haha, not pregnant
3:15 am- Kenny: Not something to "haha" about regardless
He throws the phone aside and runs his hands over his face, digging his palms into his eyes. He tossed and turned in the blankets, pulling them up between his legs, holding the pillow on his face.
He itched.
It was a deep itching, crying into the walls of his ribs and into his groin and back to his heart, his insides a map of intimate wounds and breaks, his outsides a skin suit of bruises and places that had been torn but never kissed, dead but alive, pulling on his hair and feeling the scalp sting, his heart slow and dull, pushing the pillow into his face until his chest shrunk.
The phone screen lit up as he threw the pillow to the side, his nostrils burning and chest aching. Maybe it would be Bebe changing her mind.
To his surprise, it was Kyle.
3:18 am- Kyle: Hey Kenny… I know that you probably won't see this until you wake up, but I just want you to know that I'm so appreciative of everything you've done for me the past couple of months, and even before then. I remember when you tried to comfort me when I didn't make the all-state team. I remember when you tried to take my books so I could tie my boots. I remember your face when you dragged me out of the shed after that fucking raccoon attack. You said that I don't remember everything, but I remember those moments. I remember a lot. What you do doesn't go unnoticed, and I honestly wish there were more people in the world like you. Thank you… for everything. I don't know what I'd do without you.
He read and reread three times before trying to type a reply.
"Come over." Backspace. (really kenny you thirsty fuck why would he want to sleep with you when stan-)
"I love you." Backspace. (fuCK no)
"Haha thanks dude." Backspace. (not something to haha about backspace space backspace just say what you mean asshole)
3:21 am- Kenny: I don't know what to say… thank you 3 You really didn't have to say those things but thank you.
I don't know what I'd do without you either.
3:23 am- Kyle: Whoa holy shit I didn't think you'd be up… and well I mean it :) so just take it lol
3:24 am- Kenny: Lol yeah I just kinda randomly woke up, idk why
3:25 am- Kenny: But don't worry, you didn't wake me up or anything, you're gucci
3:26 am- Kyle: Lol okay welp get some slep
3:27 am- Kenny: :)
He wonders what it would be like to have him there at that moment, sharing the body.
"Just take it," he smiles to himself, gradually reaching into his boxers and feeling the wiry area before the pronounced echo of sirens and crimson and blue lights filled his bedroom.
"What the fuck," he mutters, pulling his hand out, the snap of elastic hitting his skin. "Here we fucking go again."
He rolls off the mattress and pulls a long-sleeved black shirt over his head, black sweatpants, and finally, the black mask, covering all of his skin. He hasn't been able to fix the hole and bloodstains on his suit yet, and if he had to look like typical trailer trash running around at 4 am, then so be it.
He slips out the window and into the streets.
(ive never owned this body)
…
Skeeter's Bar was so loud sometimes that Kenny figured, if he set up camp on the roof, no one would notice. And he was right. It wasn't much, but he had a plastic bin with some blankets and pillows, so if he didn't feel like going home just yet, he could lay out and look at the sky. He didn't care how frigid it could get. It was better than World War 3 at home.
He leans over the side, lays his head down on his crossed arms like a cherub on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, and watch the various drunks waddle their way out to their Uber or just walk home. Turned out that that night he wasn't needed. He didn't even get shot this time. Just two drunks messing things up at the 7-11.
Among that night's waddling drunks, he recognizes a yarmulke. Without thinking, he jumps down in front of Gerald Broflovski and pulls him into the alley.
"What the fuck, who the fuck, what the fuck are you doing, asshole?" Gerald's eyes are swollen, dehydrated, and red; Kenny can tell even from the dim streetlights. He whips out his dagger, the one Kyle had found in his box, points it at Gerald's throat.
"I will only say this once you piece of shit, so open your fucking ears. If you ever lay a hand on Kyle Broflovski again, I will fucking kill you. I don't care if it's even a shove. If it happens again, I'm slitting your fucking throat."
Gerald smiles, his hands up by his head, "Broflovski? He won't be a Broflovski much longer. Little shit is changing his name to Marsh."
Kenny hesitates for a moment. He knew that that would happen someday, but wasn't sure when. He shook his head and brought the dagger closer to Gerald's throat, "Whatever. If you ever hit Kyle Marsh again, you're dead. Got it?"
"Jesus, fuck, okay." Gerald throws his hands over his face.
"Good." Kenny slowly backs away, turns on his heel to leave the alley and finally go to sleep. He's had enough for today.
Gerald calls after him. "Hey, aren't you that Mysterion kid? You're still around?"
Kenny stops, looks out at the quiet street, the towering trees in the field ahead, "Yes."
"Well, what kind of hero threatens to kill people?"
(ive been wondering that myself)
Looking back over his shoulder at the intoxicated middle-aged man, he can't help but wonder how similar Kyle will look when he's that age, "What kind of father beats his kid?"
Gerald says nothing, leaning against a trash can for support.
Kenny looks back out at the trees, the black sky, "I think we both know the answer to each other's questions."
Before Gerald can say anything else, Kenny scales the wall of Jimbo's Guns and disappears to the next roof.
…
Kyle Broflovski's journal
June 16, 2017
Did I dream last night?
I know I did but it felt so real.
I think I talked to Stan yesterday.
I talked to Stan yesterday.
He sat on the edge of my bed and got mud everywhere and wires were poking out of his mouth and the furrows in his neck fluctuated as he spoke. He was barefoot and his fingers were bony, his nose was gone.
Then he said he was happier now than he was with me.
He's better off without me, I knew it, I've always known it.
I looked down at my own wrists and they were cut open with strings coming out, like puppet strings and I pulled and they were bloody and I pulled more and I saw the white fatty tissue clinging to it and I just kept pulling and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulled and I pulle ed p u lled I pu llledd I pulled an and I