Dirty Harry

Stan's POV

Huh? W-w-wh...where the heck am I? God, I feel so light-headed all of a sudden. Is this what it feels like to be dead? How come I can't see anything – what the hell's going on? Teh, and to think, all those stupid church services both back when I was a kid in South Park AND in services within the army barracks told about me dieing and going to Heaven – a nice, peaceful paradise full of white clouds and angels. Well if this is Heaven, then they really did fucking rip me off BIG TIME! Hang on...my eyes...they're not open. And anyway...how come I'm still thinking? Can you still think like this when you're dead? No...no it can't be? Am I...alive? HOLY SHIT, I'm alive! But why do I feel so weak?! Oh yeh, that's right...I remember. Man, this place is bright, but nevertheless, my eyes are shut and I know I can open them. Well, here goes.

As I open my eyes, all my other senses start to kick into ignition. I can hear a looping beep beside me and birds whistling outside. I can smell a clean and slightly minty freshness around me. I can feel a couple of layers of what seems to be bed covers and sheets over me – allowing my body to stay warm and comfortable. Finally, I can see a white ceiling through my three-quarter opened vision. There's something in my mouth – some kind of plastic tube that's sending rushed streams of oxygen into my mouth and down my throat. Other things are attached to my body too – pads and tubes are linked to my arms, legs and chest for some reason.

JESUS CHRIST...it can't be? I'm in hospital!

My vision's a bit hazy...but I start to look around the room. White ceiling, white walls, cream-coloured bedding...nice, an automatically sliding door to the left and to my right...oh my God! Is it him...is it REALLY him?! If my eyes shotting open to life is any sign of how I feel, I'm presuming you know I'm shocked. Sat exactlyby the bed's side on a leather chair, dressed fully in a black and red shirt, dark jeans and having a VERY recogniseable set of auburn red bushy hair...MY GOD...But then, he speaks.

"Stan?! Stan...can you hear me? Stan?!" I hear him say – he's as shocked to see me as I am looking at him. Breathing fine now, I pull out the oxygen tube from out my mouth and try to focus enough clean oxygen to speak.

"K-K..." IT IS HIM! "Kyle!?" I reply in a weak shocked voice. There's no doubt about THAT now, it's the very guy I called my best friend for all my childhood – Kyle Broflovski...and my God, does he look good after all these years!

Knowing that I know he is, a huge grinning smile raises on his face and he leaps over to me. I stop him just before he obviously tries to give me the biggest ever hug he's ever given me. Obviously, if he hugs me, I'm gunna jump up, my body'll react and even though I've only been up probably less then a minute, my body's gunna give me some serious shit pain! Thankfully, he realises and gives me only a soft little hug whilst I'm still lying down on the bed. After a few minutes of us both taking a reality check that we're staringa t one another after a hell of a long time, I'm sat up in bed talkig to him about...well EVERYTHING.

"What day is it?" I ask – my head aching still – mostly because of confusion.

"It's Friday 22nd March...2019 and it's 10:09am...to be EXACTLY exact." Kyle replies – looking at his sparkling metallic Rolex watch. But FUCK, 2019 already? I lost count of the time whilst I was out there...in the World. You never get time to look at time when you're fighting in the army all the time. So...if I'm right...I'm talking to someone now who I haven't seen in what...over 10 years? MAN...it was that long ago that I stared out the back of that army truck when I was only 16?!

"What happened to you dude? What the hell have you been doing all these years? I've been fucking worried sick about you?"

"I'm the one who should be asking that question." And for obvious reason too. "Look at you...with your cool clothes, shiny watch and that overall 'style' you got going. I'm guessing you've made a BIG success in your life, am I right?" I smile back to him.

"Well I guess we can talk about that later." He motions his hand over to mine and looks at me again. "What the hell's been going on for you in these past 10 years? Please...tell me."

OK Kyle. I guess I'll have to tell him. I'm out of that hell hole that was the army and now I find myself in the safety comfort of not just a hospital...but within the presence of a friend who I haven't seen for 10 years. God, where do I start? ARGHHHHH...FUUUUUCK! It's all coming back to me...FUUUCK! My smile drops to a fear-filled shock...and judging from Kyle's emotional change, he knows it too. All those lives...all that innocence. I was in the army...I've become...someone I'm not. DEAR GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE!?

I need a gun to keep myself from harm.
The poor people, are burning in the sun.

They ain't got a chance - they AIN'T got a chance!
I need a gun, coz' all I do is dance.
Coz' ALL I do is…DANCE!

I remember my life story well – but who could forget such nightmarish and horrible memories like that. After a year or so of barrack training, I was immediately thrown into the thickness of the battlefield that Earth had become along with a thousand other young troops who had been picked in the same group as me – codenamed 'Gamma Blue'. It was a miserable decade of pain and suffering…not just for me……but also for the innocent people who had to pay because of what I had turned into……a killer soldier.

I traveled far and wide across the planet to battle the enemy. Throughout my army journey within a small deep pocket in my rock heavy bag pack, I kept a collection of small metal tins with country's dirt and soil kept in them – a nice (well I guess it's not nice now) little remembrance of the country's who had suffered from the war. I think I still had them in my bag – all labeled in black marker pen; Mexico, Canada, Britain, Spain, Sahara Desert, Japan, South Africa……and America.

Every trip, every country, every weather condition; sunshine, cloud, snow, rain, fog…hell even lightning – we were told the same things by our leading commanders and officers – 'Kill all who try to strike you down……God I hate saying this next bit……including the innocent ones!' And after that, all I had for company was my rifle, myself…and my courage. And hopefully, some other soldiers once that specific battle operation was finished.

I remember the 'Portsmouth Storm' operation in England, Britain back when I was, I think…21 maybe. It was a grey and rainy day on a mid-May morning. As I was squashed up in those small and compact sea jet transporters along with a hundred other soldiers – no covering to stop the rain from splashing onto our helmets and uniforms, I felt the same way the other 99 lives of youth felt around me as we made our way across the water towards the South English coast – scared, worried, shaking and dreading the reality of killing. Even though the lads were of different backgrounds, statuses…and sexualities…we were all the closest we each had to friends for the time being.

10 minutes later, I'm standing on the beaches of England – rifle out, rushing forward whilst ducking for cover against the waves of bullets the enemies were firing from higher ground. Even from the beginning of reaching the land, about a hundred soldiers had already been killed from the numerous boats just opening the front hatch to let us out. Those enemy bullets just came out of nowhere. Thankfully, I managed to stay alive long enough to gain enough ground to start……killing……the enemy troops and units. But……GOD……I can't believe what else I was forced to do whilst I was still in that country's grounds……KILL……I killed so many women and children just because the leading commanders in our army THOUGHT they would be helpful to the enemy. THOSE BASTARDS! They blackmailed me into committing those foul acts. If you refused to kill…then you were charged with cowardice and were shot by your own officer. PATHETIC! The weather got better…but my mood didn't. I kept looking around the lands that I moved across – dead bodies of civilians and soldiers everywhere. The reality of what I had become hit me again.

I need a gun to keep myself from harm.
The poor people, are burning in the sun.

They ain't got a chance - they AIN'T got a chance!
I need a gun, coz' all I do is dance.
Coz' ALL I do is…DANCE!

My journey continued across the planet. I remember those burning days in the Sahara Desert – forty degrees of painful heat beating down on all of us whilst we were squashed once more in those mini off-road army vehicles – up and down, up and down as we trekked across the steep sand hills of that igniting hell-hole.

The years passed and the death toll of how many I killed increased sadly. Hundreds! FUCKING HUNDREDS! I absolutely despised it – I even felt tears flow down my face whilst I was in battle – every bullet from my rifle that hit the inside of innocent people triggered rivers of tears to flow from my eyes and down my cheeks.

But I decided to not it get to me……I kept thinking of what I had to look forward to – to what I would hopefully be returning to – HOME – Family & Friends…and one friend in particular……Kyle. I knew he'd be worrying like hell about me if how he felt back when we were 16 and we parted company. But I always said to myself 'Hang on Stan, you WILL make it! YOU WILL!'

In my backpack I got my act right.
In case you act quite difficult, and your result is weakening.
With anger and discontent,
Some are seeking in search of like nimoy.

I wasn't doing my duty because I HAD to do it, I was doing it because I DIDN'T HAVE to do it. Everyone knew it was true and I certainly did amongst the soldiers in my group. I knew I wasn't born to be a soldier – I don't even like killing people if that's an obvious clue. I'm a loving guy and I don't like hurting things……even IF the people I'm hurting want to hurt me back. But think about it – most of the people who I was killing……WERE FUCKING INNOCENT members of the public – GOD!

I'm a peace-loving decoy ready for retaliation.
I change your whole location to a pine box/six-under.
Impulsive don't ask why I wonder.
Orders given to me is a strike and I'm thunder with lightning fast reflexes…on constant alert from the constant hurt that seems limitless with no drop in pressure.

I had to do it – like I explained earlier, I had no choice. But at times it seemed a little……I dunno…like…they were testing me – as if they were waiting for me to crack and turn into something that they knew I could become – a COMPLETE monster and killer. But I held on – deep down in my soul, I knew I could withstand what horrors I had to commit and witness throughout all those years.

It seeming like everybody is out to test ya' until they see you break.
You can't conceal the hate that consumes you.
I'm the reason why you fill up your Isuzu.
Chill with your old lady at the tilt.
I got a 90 day existence and I'm filled with guilt,
From things that I've seen - your water's from a bottle, mine's from a canteen.

My belief that this would all finally come to an end for me seemed to have paid off. They told me that my group's mission back to a small town-based Colorado region would be my last, a 10-year absent smile finally raised back onto my face. But my smile increased yet filled with confusion at the time of when I heard the name of that town…'South Park'. They told us the war was coming to an end and that America and its allies were winning. Not only that…but for the first time in ages…we would be aided by special forces in the army. My smile continued to show as we made our way across the North America continent up from the Southern regions of Mexico and up to Colorado. But it was only when we got there…when my smile quickly disappeared.

At night I hear the shots ring so I'm a light sleeper,
The cost of life seem to get cheaper.
Out in the desert with my street sweeper,
The war is over - so said the speaker.
With a flight suit on, maybe to him I'm just a pawn
So he can advance……

And as soon as we get there – we were ambushed…not just by the enemy…but by own forces…the 'special forces' we had been promised would help protect us. WHY?! HOW?! My last guiding memory was of me getting shot in both my legs. I fell to the ground and painfully rolled down a steep hole in the ground to join the pile of dead bodies that had collected up in there. I lay there in shock – the only friends I had for those 10 years…DEAD…GONE…FOREVER! And then, a large dark figure looms over the edge of the hole and look down – one of those really powerful machine gun rifles gripped in his hands. He aims down and starts firing violently into the hole. How I dodged those waves of bullets, I have absolutely no idea! But I survived – the only soul in that single group of young soldiers…STILL ALIVE.

After that, my mind, vision, hearing and sense of taste…disappeared into blank silence.

Remember when we use to dance?

And I thought things were becoming peaceful again. I guess I was wrong. I was merely a tool – a soul who just wanted peace and friendship to return to him.

All I want to do is dance!

Yeh, that's all I wanted in life. But what was I given instead?!

I need a gun, to keep myself from harm.

Kyle's POV

As Stan finishes the last line of his gruesome and horrible 10 year story, I just CAN NOT believe what I'm hearing. Stan has suffered way more than I could ever imagine……and I feel REALLY REALLY sorry for everything that he's been through and had to put up with. I know I shouldn't be the one apologizing, but I feel for the little guy……he just killed hundreds of innocent people – NO ONE should ever be forced to do that……especially in those circumstances both physically and emotionally. And as I look into his face and see tears trickling down his face, my eyes go soft too and tears start to fall down my cheeks too. OH GOD – why Stan?!

But then suddenly, Stan goes into some nightmarish spasm and starts shaking like crazy.

"STAN?!" I shout – but he doesn't respond. He starts screaming with his eyes wide open. Is he having nightmares…but with his eyes open? Whatever's happening, my heart's going into shock over what I'm seeing. The machines nearby start bleeping in a red-alert style fashion and it's only seconds later that numerous doctors and nurses come rushing in and force their way to Stan's side. They start talking a load of medical gibberish that I don't understand, but I'm stood there looking down at Stan – the tears definitely flowing my cheeks now. "STAN!" I yell – again, nothing. Like he's being possessed by some horrible, nightmarish demon, the burses try to stop his screaming and shaking.

And then just as it begins to get worse, a doctor grabs my arm and starts hurrying me out of the room towards the door.

"I'm sorry Mr. Broflovski, but we need to find out what's going on inside Stan's body."

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM?!" I yell in tears at the doctor who rushes me out of the room – the sliding door opening quickly to a rush of outside corridor air.

"I'm sorry sir, but we have to get you out of here – we need space to help your friend Stan."

"But I need to see that he's OK, DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND, PLEASE!?"

"Please, MR. BROFLOVSKI, you have to leave! NOW!"

He's pulling me out of the room now. But my vision doesn't lose focus of Stan and his screaming – even through the mint green glass of the sliding door. My final tearful screaming cry – it's what I last remember when my vision of Stan finally disappears. "NOOOO…STAAAAAAAAN!!!"