Kids With Guns

Yes...YES...I can feel it. His body's warming up beside mine. There's no doubt about it – he's definately alive now. Realising that I've travelled a long way – about a kilometre or two get here, I've found it best that I follow the road back to where the helicopter landed instead of trying to make my way across the hills and slopes again – no, that's too hard, I mean, I'm carrying Stan on my back here like I'm giving him some sort of piggyback ride. But hell, either I've gained a lot of strength or it's just that Stan feels much lighter now. I'm sure there's an obvious reason for that decrease in weight huh. I stop just as my left foot annoyingly plundges into a giant puddle on the road. I know it's a uddle coz' my goddam left sock is starting to feel wet now. As I look down, I can see my reflection – looking up at me...and someone else.

"Hey good looking." I say not to myself, but him.

Realising how Stan is at the moment, I look back up and rotate my head slightly to see Stan's got his head leaning on my right shoulder. That smile stays on my face for a few seconds as still gripping them with my own hands, I quickly kiss his own hands and continue walking. "Don't worry Stan, I'm here – you're gunna be fine."

But then...my smile...it disappears all of a sudden. My memory flashes back to the fact that Stan was a soldier – a young soldier – a young innocent soldier turned into something that he isn't.

Kids With Guns, Kids With Guns!
Taking over - They won't belong.
They're mesmerized……skeletons.
Kids With Guns, Kids With Guns.

The reality of it hits me bang on the face. This isn't what Stan is – he's no killer...I know that and he knows that. But I guess that's what happens when you enter a cold and bloody war. Trained to kill, assigned to kill and then……you wait to kill. I guess that's the dark side to army. And yet the Government and all the main forces say that you fight for your country and for your honor. No……you don't. Killing……murdering……slaughtering……brain-washed by people who think they know what's right for you. I should have expected so many dead bodies to be here. They didn't know the reality of war – hell; those people in the hole were all of those between 16 and 22 years old. Youth……wasted in what the army thinks is right.

Easy does it, easy does it - they've got something to stay mental.

Drinking out…pacify.
Vitamin souls…street desire.
Doesn't make sense too…but it won't be long.
Kids With Guns, Kids With Guns.

My poor dear Stan Marsh – he was a victim. I realize that now. I knew he wasn't born to be a killer…and so did I. On that day 10 years ago, I could tell by the look on his face that he thought he was going to die on some eventual battlefield – it was just a matter of how many years before he suffered the pain of this whole reality. I flick my upper body – lifting Stan higher up onto my back and I continue walking. Who would have thought that the very place we both grew up in would be the very place that brought us back together – even in the situation that I had found him in. Well, at least I know that he's safe now……with me.

Easy does it, easy does it, they've got something to say no to.

My confidently-assuring journey takes a dramatic turn for the worst by what I'm seeing right in front of me. JESUS CHRIST…what is this!? I……I……this is unreal. They're dead……they're all dead. Right in front of me, covering the entire span of the visible road and connecting fields………they're bodies……MORE DEAD BODIES. But…it's not just soldiers who I see. The shock on my face ignites to the level of non-belief. Civilians – members of the public – men, women and……

"Oh God!" The shock's so great that my weak hands nearly let go of Stan. Nearest to me, dead on the dark roads…………I can't even say it………children………innocence……DEAD. Bullet holes and bloody stains all over their bodies. It doesn't take me long to notice these bullet holes were caused by gun and rifle fire…from the very weapons the soldiers still have with them by their cold sides. But……the kids……and the rest of South Park's public society. There they all lay……with guns in their hands too. I can't believe it. It's what I feared ever since I knew Stan was part of this corruptive cult of the Government.

And they're turning us into monsters!
Turning us into fire!
Turning us into monsters - it's all desire, it's all desire.

It's ALL desire!

"Where the hell is that friggin' helicopter?" I yell to myself – surprisingly not waking Stan up from his injury-filled sleep. The horror of what I've just seen is scaring the shit out of me literally and I don't want to spend another extra minute here. I resume my journey following the road as it twists and turns its way around the laughable steepness of the hill. But, I have to go past it all – the thought that I'm too late to help even one of them is something I have to painfully live with. Tip-toeing and carefully making my way around the huddle of bodies scattered across the ground like paper litter, the road returns to its dark black stare into my view.

Great! My memory can't seem to erase all those horrible pictures from my head. Looks like I'm stuck with them for quite a while – hopefully, the knowledge and image of Stan awake and well will clear away all this chaos in my head.

Drinking out, pacify.
Sinking souls - there you are.
Doesn't make sense to…but it won't be long.
Coz' Kids With Guns…Kids with guns.

Now that I think about it – my worry turns to the fates of two others who I knew back in my childhood. Strangely enough, those two had disappeared just before Stan left for the army and we never heard from them again. Yeh, sad huh? The ones I'm talking about is the little mister filthy mind of the road, Kenny McCormick and……yeh…fat-ass…Eric Cartman.

Kenny was a great friend – he may not have brought that warmth and welcoming friendliness that Stan did, but he was a great buddy to have – even if he DID have more porn magazines than brain cells……and I mean that as a compliment…well, the brain cell bit. When we four were about 10 years old, Kenny would always be the quiet one of the group – hardly saying a word…whether it was because he was shy, or we just never gave him the chance to speak still remains unclear…but I felt sorry for that guy. No, I really did. When we were 14, Kenny came 'round my house to discuss something he described as important. He talked to me about how he believed that our friendship was breaking up – me, him and Stan. He said that he believed it wasn't long before we'd break up and not speak to each other as much because of the way things were. I was spending much more time with Stan and Kenny………I dunno…was he upset…was he jealous……was he just……I dunno, but I can tell by the look on his face that he didn't feel right.

So I knew…I knew that it was the perfect time to tell him – to tell him the secret I had created, grown and hidden from everyone since I was about 10.

"You need to understand Kenny – that's why I'm around Stan more." I said to him with my arm around his shoulder like all good friends would. I wanted to ask him again if he was still alright with knowing what I had just told him. He was looking down at my bedroom floor for quite a while in silence with his jacket still on and hood down.

"Yeh……yeh I understand." He finally replied – turning to me and giving……an unconvincing smile. I hugged him as I felt a single lone tear drip onto my shoulder. But he wasn't upset…he was happy – happy for me…and for Stan, even if Stan didn't know.

"Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"………Promise."

That supposed happy emotion he had I knew wasn't what he really felt. I'd remember being in places like school and doing homework together with Stan and Kenny, I'd be with Stan like we normally would do things together and Kenny would just be there as the 3rd person – someone who me and Stan would just talk to as well. Shit……I feel like such an arrogant bastard now. Kenny saw me and Stan as his best friends and as soon as I'd told him my secret, he seemed to just……drift away all of a sudden. But why? I guess I'll never know unless I hear it from him and him only. But when we turned 16, we heard that Kenny had supposedly gone missing. Stan was worried, but I knew the truth – he was gone……permanently. The lazy police of our area never found Kenny, thus…they reported him dead. I know what you're thinking……Kenny just came back to life the week after as his usual dirty-minded funny self, right? WRONG – that was 8 months before Stan departed to go to the army. And it doesn't take Kenny that long to rise from the dead again. Whatever the cause of death was……it was certainly something emotional.

I should have seen it coming. The day before he disappeared, he came up to both me and Stan and talked about how much he loved us as friends and how grateful he was to have friends like us.

"Thanks for being my friends guys." His final words were. "You've made my life worth living……even with all my countless deaths and rebirths." He joked. "But still, thanks." Strangely, he kissed us both on the cheek and left us…just like that. Stan was shocked at not just Kenny's words…but the fact that he actually had the guts to kiss him…even if it was on the cheek. I wasn't surprised – like I said, I expected it, but there was nothing I could do to stop Kenny. He was an emotional mess and I couldn't make-up his own life decisions. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's as happy as he always was.

So the other? Cartman? Teh……you think I'm gunna give the same emotional speech for that self-centered, racist, two-faced fat-ass. Yeh right. I was actually glad he suddenly disappeared without a trace……for more than one reason. Cartman made my life hell three-fold than when we were 10. Calling me names, abusing my Jewish background, tricking me into believing his ridiculous and pathetic plans and ideas were right. All he cared about was himself and HIMSELF only - I've got nothing nice to say about that asshole. But whatever the reason was for why he left South Park all of a sudden when we were 16 is something I don't give a dam about.

But……what our childhood was like – it reminds me of what I've witnessed today. Yes, we had mostly good times, but underneath all that, there was something sinister around it all – both physically and emotionally. And I certainly felt the full force of it. Life didn't seem to accept who and what I was. Why?

Easy does it, easy does it - they've got something to say no to.
And they're turning us into monsters.
Turning us into fire!
Turning us into monsters - it's all desire, it's all desire.

I just wish I could make that final step to who I really am and what kind of person I am. Would Stan understand? Would Stan be happy? Yeh…would be Stan be happy……happy with me?

Is it…is this real? Is it real…is it is it, is this real? Is it real, is it?!

There's only one way I'm ever going to find out if fate is going to shine brightly nicely on us two. I have to get this right – for both our sakes. I want to be happy…but I want HIM to be happy too. But what if that means that I become unhappy? OH COME ON, Kyle Broflovski, get a hold of yourself – you're not even at the hospital yet and you're already wondering about THAT. Get a grip man, JESUS! Nevertheless, I'm going to try as hard as I can to make Stan understand. You never know, maybe things will turn out better than I could imagine. A smile rises again on my face and I turn my head again to view the very face of the cute one that I so much want to be with.

Push it push it real…PUSH IT!

With every determined ounce of strength in my body, I jog up the rest of the hill and back onto the main wasteland plains of this town. An hour passes – my determination burning bright like a beacon and I never stop for rest – I'm going to help and provide Stan with everything that he needs and wants. I'm here for him now and I always will be…no matter what.

1 hour passes and I'm finally back at the point that I began my journey from – high atop a hill that gives an impressive but foul view of the dull and dead lands around me. But…where's the helicopter. Where the fuck is the helicopter?! I'm looking back at my watch and it reads 4:17pm...I got here at about 1 in the afternoon – it said it would be in three hours time. But where is it……SHIT!

My body's tired and drained – I can feel my body's running on milligram fumes now and I can't take much more of this pain. And then, I collapse – my body hits the dirty ground face down and Stan lands lying on top of me. With my eyes half-open, I muster up all the energy I've got left and roll Stan off me and place him lying beside me on the ground – he's still out……I don't want to think about how much time he's got left.

Come on Tom – where the FUCK are you!?

My eyes fail me finally and they slowly close. For a moment, all I can hear is the torturing wind blowing across the murky sky. That presence beside me is till there – and that's all that matters…for now. My eyes are shut but I move my hand over to where his hand is and I grip it firmly and strongly.

"Everything is going to be alright………everything WILL be alright." I whisper to both of us – not like neither of us would hear it with all this wind and thick air. But hell, that wind's picked up now. Am I going crazy or does that wind seem to have a very powerful rhythm to it – making the same sounds as it blows across the perimeter of our location. Louder and louder, stronger and stronger, I can feel the empty parts of my clothes blowing from side to side. It's almost as if it's a………wait a minute……CAN IT BE?!

But just as I open my eyes slightly, an arm lowers to just above my head with a hand opened.

"Don't tell me you've been taking a nap sir?" And it's about time too.

"Well I thought you'd be here waiting for me Tom." I reply – gripping his hand as he pulls me back up to a standing position.

"So how is he?"

"Not so good I don't think. He's alive but we need to get him to a hospital…NOW!"

"Right away sir."

"Did you bring the equipment I requested for?"

"Yes sir, it's waiting inside."

Finally, we can get the hell out of here and back to safety. Picking Stan up and leaning him on my shoulder, I follow Tom into the helicopter. As Tom prepares the helicopter for its take off again, I move to the back of this surprisingly warm helicopter. I'm so glad I asked for this stuff before we left – Stan needs it more than I imagined before. Quickly ripping off his soldier's uniform of jacket, shirt and trousers and boots, I lye him down in the bed that had been placed in the back of the helicopter and attach all the necessary equipment to him that had been prepared already – oxygen supplier, heart beat reader and a few sensor pads across his arms and legs to make sure that he's still OK. I sit down on a chair that's right next to the bed. Up until he's up, alive and well, I'm always gunna be Stan's side while he recovers. I clutch his left hand and hold onto it firmly.

"Don't worry Stan; you're going to be fine." I say again in a quiet voice, just as the helicopter pushes itself back of the ground and it begins to make its way up high into the dirty sky above. I look back outside through the windows to have one final look of the tragedy of what happened here.

"But why? Why here?" I guess I'll never know that. I turn my head back 'round – my vision never turns away from Stan as he lays there sleeping and hanging on for dear life.