Disclaimer&Warning: Chapter one my lovers

Notation: More on this story you people seem to love so. Short and bare bones. That is my style for this one. Take a look at the song Clint Eastwood by the Gorillaz for this chapter, it was on repeat for the whole thing. Seriously short for one of my chapters, but this fic is a deeper meaning one and i find those harder to type, plus not a lota inspiration for all this heavy shit. Tweeky's POV is next. Hopefully once i set up the stage i can fire these off better.

Read. Love. Be inspired!

I'd aways wondered when I was younger what made me able to die and reanimate. Even in a town like South Park it was a pretty remarkable thing. I used to sit in my room, the sounds of mom and dad fighting and screaming flowing in from the other room, and think of all the fantastic explinations.

Maybe I was an angel. That was my favorite. I had blond hair and blue eyes and that matched the discriptions of aall the angels I had heard of. I dreamed I had been sent down to earth to save the world from evil. When I began playing as Mysterion I almost felt like I was fulfilling my life goal.

Prehaps I was a demon. It was easy to contemplate, seeing as I went to Hell far more often then heaven. I was a creature from Satans army, a vicious beast with no remorse or regard for others. That thought comforted me, let me do crule thigs. I fallowed Cartman and felt vindicated for a while being a bastard to everyone.

Demon or Angel thoughts like that were my most pleasant options. They at least meant I was real. Some time around middle school I began to fall apart. This constant dieing, what if I wasn't really dieing? I could have een blacking out, hallucinating. Anything.

When I thought more about it I began to realize how much more likely that seemed. The idea I was in some fucked up dream or some sort of matrix creation became more believable with each death. Everyone around me acted like it was normal. Sure Stand would say "They killed Kenny!" and Kyle would respond "Those bastards!" but thn life went on.

If I missed school it was assumed I was dead. If I was missing I was assumed dead. But there was never a funeral. Never any sort of acknogldegement at all.

So I got hooked on drugs for a while. It didn't help that my tolerance was wiped out every time my body was reanimated. Sometimes I'd OD and sometimes I suffocste on my own vomit, no one was there to care either way.

I think that eighth grade was the last time I could call anyone my friend in good concionse and mean it. That was when I lost the last shred of a life I had held on to. Sure I still hung out with the guys, sure I played basketball for high school (as Cartman was constantly pointing out "Po'boy got that gettoh game in the bag") but I was never really into it.

By tenth grade I had given up on everything. I never did my homework, what was the point when a bus wa likely to hit me on the way to school anyway? I never went out of my way to hang out with anyone, I dobt they even noticed y absence. I went to most basketball games and the coach was content with the minamil effort of that.

I had faded from view of them all completely.

StarGuide2011