Gun in hand, the heavy-set, dark-haired, dark-eyed man sat on the swing.
He could see it, a nine-year-old Kyle Brofloski, green hat shrouding his headful of red curls. His laughter echoed throughout the place, and he pointed and exclaimed, 'Be careful not to break the swing, fatass!' The ex-Nazi was about to get up and take the Jew in his arms, engulfing him in all of his love, but then the fragment of his imagination vanished.
Just like everything else.
Eric Cartman looked down at the ground. He was tall and strongly built and he was tall, big to the point where it was hilarious, looking at him in the swing, his weight pressured to the bottom, his legs in an awkward position. He had such fond times with his body in the past. Sweat dribbled from every pore, his forehead gleaming with sweat, lubricating his body, and in the boys' locker room, sixteen-year-old Cartman eyed Kyle Brofloski's ass. And then there were the times he was even more fond of, when Kyle's knees were up and above his head, and he was moaning as Cartman thrusted in to him...Thinking of these times, the times he loved, almost made it less painful. Almost.
Crying didn't do Cartman any good. He cried and he cried and he cried until his body was empty of water. Now he had no tears to spare. And now, it really didn't matter. If he'd have heard the story beforehand, of how invaders came down and killed this world, killed everything in it, he would have laughed, thinking of it as something out of a comic book. But now, after being the only human left on the face of the earth, after escaping and seeing all of the awful, tortourous things that he saw, he just thought of it and never thought he'd ever feel anything deeper than sorrow.
He once hated Kyle. But he had grown to love him; he didn't care about opinions or words, he loved Kyle and that was that. So he gave him everything he had to give, which, in Cartman's opinion wasn't enough, but Kyle loved him and thought of it as wonderful anyway.
And then he conceived in Kyle a child. His name was Jacob Cartman, and he looked and acted just like Cartman. He missed his son, he truly did, if the word 'missed' even cut it. He missed how he'd constantly smile stupidly and get cramps in his hands from messing with the video game controllers all day long, he missed how he used to babble on and on and on about nothing in particular, he even missed the calls from the principal's office. He missed everything.
And he missed his daughter, Marie, who was just a four-year-old when she died. She was this cute little red-headed girl with the biggest, most hazel eyes and she was a ginger - a big freckle face, that is. But Cartman was delighted with his ginger child, and he remembers her dragging around her teddy bear, Kaji, and he used to walk for miles with her on his back. And again, there was so much to miss.
He left his childrens' rooms just as they were, as if they would someday come back. He just shut the door and let the dust build up, not touching anything else, never looking in the way of the rooms. He remembered the last peek, and he was happy he didn't have to look at them every again. He even put his and Kyle's room on lockdown - he could still smell his husband in the covers, and he eventually went and camped out in the living room. Not that it did any good. There was no television, no electricity, no refridgerator, none of that good stuff. He was the only one there. And he lived off of what he could find.
It came to the point that without them, the only remaining member of the shattered family had to live in total dysfunction, and he thought he went crazy. He was tired of waking up at seven at night and having to stare out the window for an hour to remember who he was or what he was doing. He was tired of constantly seeing hallucinations of his family; Jacob playing baseball with him, and then he waited patiently for the ball to come back only to discover later that the ball wasn't coming back to him. He was tired of being paranoid, thinking he was being watched. And he was tired of thinking. Tired of living.
A memory.
He didn't know who these people were, what they wanted from him. He was left for days to starve and to suffer in this place they called a crypt, and he was strapped to a table. His ass was numb and every day he worried. Cartman could hear bloodcurling screaming not far away from him, and he could picture the room, solid white around him being splattered in blood. He wondered if he was next to be tortured.
The day came when he managed to get out of this hell, only to find an even worse one ahead of him.
First was Kyle. He was nailed to a wall, blood pouring from his hands, which were over his head, and he was beaten and whipped repeatedly, slashes and marks scattered across his body, his nakedness revealed unwillingly, casturated, feet cut off. Then there was Jacob. He was dismembered, and Cartman didn't know how he died or who did it to him, what he had to see, if he just died from being cut apart or...that was just the aftermath. And his daughter, Marie.
Her death had to be the most heartwrenching for him. He just broke after that, seeing his daughter skinned, red muscle revealed, all bloody, skin ripped apart. And in a corner, he found the only thing that remained of his daughter: Kaji, her little teddy bear.
He made a little alter for his family inside. Written in glitter on a black, flat stone was In Memory of the Cartman Family: Kyle, Marie and Jacob Brofloski. Just remember that even in death, Daddy loves you. It was leaning on the wall in the kitchen, and right next to those writings was Kaji, because Cartman knew his daughter loved that teddy bear and would want him to be there.
He gripped the simple handgun tighter in his hand. Cartman's hand turned red from the pressure he was putting on it. He was all sweaty, but he knew that this had to be done. Eventually his hand gave in to his brain, and slowly, he took the gun and put it in the proper position so that it was pressed against his head. His finger on the trigger, he thinks his last thoughts.
I'm coming to be with you guys.
It was a quick, unpainful death, Cartman's brain scattering on the ground bloodily, making the green grass much less appealing. These were the last thoughts of Eric Cartman before he was lifted off of this earth, being removed from his being, and, he thought, was leaving this horrible place called an earth forever.
He thought when he pulled that trigger, positive things would come. He thought wrong.
Unaware he was of the fact that only the good were rewarded in the afterlife, and soon, when he was dropped in to the fiery depths of hell, he realized that he'd never see his family or his friends or anyone he'd ever cared about again. He worked for Satan now, worked serving all of his demons in the 'nicer part of hell' where they lived. But when his shift was over, when he finished working, he'd saunter back in to the torturous part of hell where he got his four hours of sleep and repeated the same thing again.
He sometimes got to see Master Damien, whom he had met before, and his husband, Pip, who he was familiar with, together having dinner with their son, Leo, and sometimes he'd even serve them, and then Damien would laugh about 'the good old times' he had with Cartman. Sometimes it even made him a little happy, looking at his Master, realizing that he was happy and he had what he once had, and it reminded him of his own family and comforted him in a way.
Never did he think he'd ever get that all back.
And again, he thought wrong.
FINALLY got this done. Sorry if it was too sad.