A/N: Hello, everyone! Hope I find you well. A special thanks to Montana-Bob, Demonlord5000, Mickeymouse4everz, JoannaKuwabara, deathNspikes, OMAC001, AKA 24601, LunalsTooCute, MarshiMello-Cookies, HumanKite96, idkgirl27, and guest. Your reviews are so encouraging and really make my day!

Chapter 4

Fuck Fruit

In no way eager to begin his 'eternal torment,' Kyle bypassed Gate 16, and was just hunkering down to watch the River of Stix semi-annual father-son raft race (Satan and Damien were, of course, the favorite to win), when... His alarm went off.

Kyle's eyes opened slowly. There was a long moment in which he stared at the face of his alarm clock, its neon-green digital numbers somehow accusing as it screeched at him to get the fuck up.

He turned it off and sat up, looking around his room. He felt... discombobulated somehow.

He'd been having a weird dream, and then his alarm clock had gone off. Nothing odd about that... except it hadn't felt like a dream, and this didn't feel like waking up. He gave himself a little shake and kicked off his covers, intent on getting through the morning grind, but though he got on his clothes like normal, that feeling of being disoriented didn't go away, and in fact increased with the realization that he'd already had a Monday morning yesterday.

He was brushing his teeth, and the thought made him pause mid-stroke.

He cocked an eyebrow at his foamy-mouthed reflection. So... what are you getting at? You got ready for school, somehow ended up dying at the bus stop, went to hell, and then mysteriously woke up back in bed? Hah!

He went back to brushing his teeth, spat, and then headed to the kitchen. The smell of pancakes wafted over to greet him, and when he arrived at the dining room table, he found his mother had already made him a plate.

He sat down and bent over his breakfast gratefully.

"Good morning!" his mother greeted, surprised his didn't say anything upon entering. "You seem a little distracted. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I think so," said Kyle.

"You think so? Well, what's wrong, bubbeh?"

"Nothing. I just had a weird dream last night."

"Is that so? Well why don't you tell your family all about it?"

Kyle hesitated, and then said, "I dreamt I went to Hell because I'm not a Mormon and was sentenced to an eternity of torment, starting with a thousand years of being shackled and raped by demons."

The Broflovski family sat in silence for a long while, their mouths hanging open.

It was Ike who broke the silence: "D'fuq?"

"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed Sheila.

After giving him a mouthful about how he should watch his mouth around Ike and respect his religion, Sheila shunted him out the door and off to the bus stop, Kyle's mood all the worse for it.

He was the last to arrive, which was unusual. "Hey, guys."

"Hey, dude," Stan greeted, while Kenny waved.

"Where were you yesterday?" Cartman demanded.

Kyle blinked. "What do you mean? We played video games at your house all day yesterday."

"What?!" Cartman exclaimed in disbelief.

"That was Sunday," said Stan.

"Yeah. Yesterday was Sunday," said Kyle, confused.

His three friends exchanged glances.

"Nooo," Cartman drawled. "Yesterday was Monday. I know because I had burritos. But you all skipped school like a bunch of hippies! I had no one to hang out with but Butters. BUTTERS! Now I'd expect this kind of behavior from Kenny, and of course you're always sick." He threw Kyle a dirty look. "But all three of you absent on the same day? That's too big of a coincidence! Now what were you guys doing without me!?"

"Dude," said Stan, "I told you; I was sick."

"Mrph mro!" Kenny agreed.

Cartman's eyes flitted between them, as though trying to catch them in a lie. After a moment, he turned back to Kyle. "I guess you were sick too, then?"

Kyle was looking at Stan and Kenny. They did seem a little under the weather. Kyle was confused.

"Wait—I thought today was Monday..."

All three of them stared at him.

"No, dude. It's Tuesday."

"Hmph! How convenient! Stan and Kenny were 'sick' and you have amnesia," said Cartman.

"Oh man," said Kyle, "This is so weird. I coulda swore it was Monday."

"What did you do yesterday?" asked Stan, concerned.

"That's the thing—I thought we had played video games, but that was Sunday."

"You lost a whole day?"

"Yeah. I guess so..." Kyle might have been harder to convince under different circumstances. It did all seem like an elaborate joke of the sort they sometimes played on Cartman, but his internal clock was insisting it was true. "I—well—I remember getting ready on Monday... and coming to the bus stop. But then it goes black, and then I'm in my bed having fucked up dreams."

Stan and Kenny looked confused by that explanation. Cartman just looked annoyed.

"Stop trying to change the subject, you lying Jew-rat!" he erupted. "What were you guys doing without me?"

But no one was listening. Kyle felt worried. He had never been in the best health (as Cartman had so tactfully pointed out earlier.) Was his mental health now slipping?

"I dunno, man," said Stan. "That could be serious. My dad knew a guy who was all forgetful like that one day, and then died of a brain infection the next."

Kyle looked at him, startled. "You think I have a brain infection?"

"Maybe," Stan said, very unhelpful.

"Dude!"

"Mmrd mmd mroo mrmm?" asked Kenny.

"Oh—" Kyle looked at him, distracted. "I dreamt I died and went to Hell." Kyle frowned. "It was actually a really lame dream now that I think about it. It was superhot and I had to stand in line for like twelve hours."

"Mmrd?!" Kenny looked surprised.

Just then the bus pulled up and the four boys filed inside.

Cartman didn't want to let the subject go. He was convinced they'd ditched him, and if they expected him to believe some cockamamie story—they were all surprised by the use of this phrase—about Stan and Kenny being sick and Kyle having amnesia, then they had something else coming to them.

Kenny, on the other hand, seemed very interested in Kyle's dream excursion into Hell, and got in all the questions he could between Cartman's whining, until Kyle finally said, "Dude, it was a dream. Drop it."

Kenny then fell into a pensive silence. When he had arrived at the bus stop, Cartman had bombarded him with questions about where he had been on Monday too. Kenny had supplied an answer easily enough: He'd been sick. But after hearing Kyle's undeniably accurate description of Hell and about how he had 'lost' a day, Kenny realized that there had been something weird about the way his memory had just filled in upon being asked the question. It was as though if Cartman hadn't asked, Kenny would not have even thought about how he'd been sick enough to miss school, something that was a rare occurrence despite the fact that many regarded him as a chronic truant.

Not too long ago, Bebe had told him that whenever he was absent, his peers joked that he was dead. Usually this happened when Mr. Garrison was calling roll; his name would be called, and when there was no answer, one of his classmates would say, 'Kenny died,' the joke of course being that he would show up the next day without explanation.

Kenny had laughed when Bebe told him this, but only because he thought Bebe was incredibly hot.

Truth was, Kenny had no reason to skip school. Why would he want to stay home? His father was unemployed and an alcoholic. It wasn't as though he'd get sole control of the TV. And he didn't do drugs anymore.

All in all, it was very weird that he had woken up that morning, and no memory of illness had been at the forefront of his mind.

Even now, sitting in silence on the way to school, the specific details of the previous day eluded him. It was like trying to catch a singular and specific goldfish from amongst its school with nothing but your bare hands. It just swam away and got lost in the larger picture.

Had his memory been patched? Was this what it was like? He was probably just jumping to conclusions. It's not like immortality is a catching disease.

Is it?

At recess, they decided to get out onto the basketball court for a game of HORSE. Kyle had just gotten his first letter, when a bee flew into the court. "Flew" is, however, a generous word. It was more like it careened, buzzing wildly before crash-landing in front of Cartman, who slammed the basketball against the ground as hard as he could, crushing it. "Hah! Fuck you, bee!"

"Dude!" said Stan, frowning. "What's your problem?"

"What do you mean?" asked Cartman.

"You can't just go around killing bees. You know they're all dying, right? If you go around throwing basketballs at them, soon there won't be any left."

Cartman cocked an eyebrow. "So?"

"So? We need bees to pollenate fruit and shit."

"Fruit?" Cartman stared, then, "DO I LOOK LIKE I EAT FRUIT?" As if to accent his point, another bee veered in front of him, and Cartman again chucked the basketball.

"Dude!" said Stan.

"Fuck fruit, you hippy!"

"Guys—" Kyle interjected before Stan could say anything to that. He sounded nervous. "There are a lot of bees flying over here. Maybe we should play somewhere else?"

They looked around, and indeed, Kyle was right. Dozens of them were now sharing the court, some buzzing around erratically, others crawling along the asphalt.

"Awww," Stan lamented, "I think they're sick."

"Hey, guys—" said Cartman, who wasn't paying any attention at all, "watch this." He then proceeded to slaughter the unsuspecting bees with the blunt force of the school basketball.

"Cartman, you fat ass!"

"Come on, guys," said Kyle. "Let's get out of here. I don't want to get stung."

"They won't sting you unless you give them a reason to," said Stan, with a pointed look at Cartman.

"Yeah, Kahl," Cartman agreed, "Stop being such a girl!" He then chucked the basketball right at Kyle's head. The force was such that Kyle stumbled backwards.

"Gah! What the hell was that for, fat ass?"

"'Ey! There was a bee! I was just getting it for you, but you know what? Next time I won't bother!"

"Dumbass!" Kyle erupted. "You made it sting me!" Sure enough, where Cartman had hit him, an angry red bump was rising.

"Awww, buuummer," said Cartman, dragging his words. "You're not allergic, are you?" he asked, sounding as if it were too good a thing to hope for.

"No!" But even as he said the word, Kyle could feel his throat closing.

His three friends stared at him in vague surprise, watching as his face flushed and his eyes bulged.

"Mrf! Mm hhnk hs mro hm hmdh hnhfhrrhdrmd mrph!"

Stan stared at Kenny. "What the hell is 'anaphylactic shock'?"

Kyle took that moment to collapse, clutching at his throat and making a choking noise.

"Wow!" Stan hit his knees next to Kyle. "Dude, what's wrong?" But all Kyle could manage was another weird choking noise. His face was growing redder by the second. Stan looked up at Cartman and Kenny, eyes huge in his white face. "Why are you guys just standing around? Go get help!"

Kenny didn't need telling twice, but Cartman didn't budge. Stan stared at him in disbelief. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Oh, I'm not missing this," Cartman explained.

Kenny came back with Mr. Mackey and the school nurse, but by that time Kyle's face had taken on a bluish hue. She had an EpiPen (a/n thank you, Montana-Bob), but it was too late for it to do any good, and when the paramedics arrived, they pronounced him dead on the scene.

Upon hearing his best friend being pronounced dead, what little color there was drained from Stan's face. Cartman, who had not moved once as the scene played out before him, let out a solemn sigh. "See, Stan? Now your best friend is dead. That's what you get for being a dirty hippy."

Stan turned to face him. "You killed Kyle," he said in stunned disbelief. "I can't believe it—you actually killed him, you fat bastard."

"'Ey! Don't call me fat!"

Stan couldn't find the words to respond, so he just stood with his mouth hanging open, staring at Cartman. Even the bell that signaled the end of recess couldn't snap him out of his reverie.

"Alright, kids, that's the end of recess. Show's over, mmkay?" Mr. Mackey said to the crowd of students who had clustered around them. "Back to class." He tried shunting the stragglers towards the school house.

"Claaaaassss?" Cartman whined. "How do you expect us to learn in our current emotional staaaates?"

Mr. Mackey seemed to consider this. "Yes. I'm sorry about your little friend, boys. Why don't you three take the day off?"

Cartman punched the air triumphantly and waddled off.

Kenny sidled up to Stan and put a hand on his shoulder. Stan seemed not to notice. Kenny didn't feel much in the way of grief. With everything that Kyle had said that day, his death seemed far too random to be coincidence.

But what did that mean for him, Kenny? Had it jumped from him to Kyle? Or was it like a catching disease and now they both had it?

Was he still "immortal"?

The idea that he might not be was striking, and it incited a strange emotion in him. It was sort of like standing on the edge of a cliff. Of course, people don't normally jump off the edges of cliffs, but the idea that you can jump if you want to is intrusive no matter who you are when standing on the edge of one.

Kenny shook his head. Why was he thinking like that? He was making too many assumptions, and everyone knows what that does. He would have a much better idea of where he stands tomorrow.

Tomorrow...

His mind snagged on the thought. If his theory was correct, then there was no way he would remember all of the day's happenings come tomorrow. He ran off to write a note to himself. He felt a little guilty for leaving Stan, but after reminding himself of the casual disregard with which he had met his, Kenny's, deaths, it was hard to feel too bad.