Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.
A/N:
A new chapter, soon, because this story needs a kick start, and I think people skimming the titles need to know that this isn't something that is going to just get tossed aside.
That said, I continue to hope that everyone who comes back to this enjoys it, and what I really hope is that it will get you thinking. A story should make you think, no matter what it is written about, or at least I believe so.
As always, some things are left out for a reason. Some things are put in for a reason. Some things appear for what seems to be no reason at all. Try to read this as if you were trying to pick it apart; why are they doing what they're doing? What is the reason behind their words? Is there reason, in anything that they're doing? Why are certain things put forth for you, the reader, to read, while other things are left as big blanks? Just why is some information only given in the least, and scarcely?
There is one thing that I'm slightly worried about, and that is because I know it happens to me quite a lot when I'm reading fics, and that is Kyle's presence in this story compared with both other stories I have written and other stories out there. If you are subconsciously keeping the idea of Kyle as either preppy/nerdy/basketball player/or any one of the more popular Kyle-types out there, you might be missing a part of the story that I'd rather you not be missing. If you find you can't get that imagery out of your head as you read, I suggest you re-read Stan's description of Kyle in the first chapter before you read any more of this story to help you out.
Yes. Author Notes for this story will be involved, and complicated. I don't want you to just read this, I want you to understand something about this story and maybe even get something from it. This is why I'm writing it the way I am, and this is why although the title might not bring in too much interest, it is staying the way it is.
Thank you to:
Hot Monkey Brain: I truly appreciate your comment! I hope that you continue to be interested by this story!
Title: Pink
Author: Zoshi the Confused
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13
Category: South Park
Genre: Angst/eventual tragedy
May contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing
"For each ecstatic instant, we must in anguish pay, in keen and quivering ratio to the ecstasy," Wendy read from her open book, voice trying to portray some deep emotion behind the words. I tuned her out as she continued; Dickinson was great and all, but I'd gotten sick of her freshman year. There's only so much re-reading that you can do on her poems. I mean, seriously, she locked herself in her house and wandered around wearing wedding dresses, and sent out letters to someone she called her "master". The lady was just not right in the head, and there's only so many times you can read her writing before it all starts sounding the same.
"Thank you Wendy," the teacher said, standing up from behind her desk. "Now, I know everyone has picked a poet. Please, class, find a partner who has picked the same poet as you have, and discuss a poem or two. Do not be afraid to challenge each other's ideas! For next class I would like a short informal essay on what you decide on. A page or two, double-spaced, will do. Now, off to work!"
I sighed, turning to the blond sitting next to me with a hopeful look. He was flipping through the pages of his paperback, sticking little pieces of post-it notes at certain places.
"Leo, tell me some good news," I grinned, and he gave a slight grin back.
"Sorry, Stan, but Ah don't think ya picked Whitman…" Leo looked slightly hopeful, but only slightly. I shook my head, sighing; dammit, I did not want to get stuck with some loser for group work. "Well, who did ya pick?"
"Byron," I answered, looking around the class for someone who looked like they might go for Byron.
"Ah think one of the goth kids is doin' Byron," Leo said as he gathered up his things. I rolled my eyes.
"The goth kids do Poe." I said, giving him a look that should have told him I knew better.
"The guy is doing Byron," Leo said, and I frowned. That wasn't right; the goth kids always did Poe. I looked at the other side of the room where Red sat next to Henrietta. They were talking about something, but it looked as if she was getting her things together.
"Ya can always work with Patti, she's doin' Byron too." Leo said, a slight smirk on his face. I glared at him, grabbing the things off of my desk and standing up. His smirk widened, "Ya know she'd just looove to work with ya…"
"Don't. Even." I grabbed my bag off of the floor, glancing around hurriedly to see if the frizzy-haired girl was looking my way. Thankfully she was busy talking with the teacher, and before Leo could get in another word I was hurrying across the classroom towards Red. Henrietta passed me along the way, and although I smiled at her, she give me one of those goth-patented you-are-a-worm looks and went on her way. Shrugging it off I dropped into the seat next to the red-and-black haired goth, sending a grin his way. He raised an eyebrow at my Byron paperback, but I cut him off before he could say a word.
"Either me or Patti," I said, and he stared at me, hard. I wasn't bluffing, however, and both of us suddenly found ourselves covering up the fronts of our books as the girl in question walked by, asking if anyone else had picked Byron and if she could join in on a group.
"Fine," Red looked after her warily for a second before turning to his book. I shared his uneasiness; Patti had thick glasses, braces, and an insatiable need to hit on anything with a dick between its legs. Anything. I think she'd go for animals, too if they only spoke English and acted human. "Which poem?"
"Stanzas For Music," I said, flipping the pages of my book lazily. I could feel his eyes on me, and I looked at him. "What?"
"Which one?" Red asked, paused with the book halfway open.
"Guess." I grinned at him, closing my own book. He gave me a slightly annoyed look, which on him meant that he was horribly annoyed, but he was soon flipping to a certain page.
"Okay, so it's about loss, but what kind?" He asked, leaving the book opened to the poem.
"Dammit, how did you figure it out?" I growled, flipping my own book open. No fair, I could swear he was telepathic. My only answer was silence, so I sighed and answered his question. "Obviously a loss of self."
"Obviously." I could feel him roll his eyes even though I couldn't see him. "What part?"
"Does it matter? Losing any part of what makes you, you, is losing yourself." I said, doodling in the margins of the book. I turned to find him giving me a dirty look. "What? Oh, right. Sorry. Literature's meant to be read, not drawn on."
I took my pencil off of the page and started tapping it on the desk instead. Red turned to his book without a comment, intent either on finding the meaning of the poem, or on ignoring me. I figured it was the latter, considering the glare he'd given me before turning away, and decided to leave him alone for a few minutes.
'What about the ivy?" I asked only about a minute later. So, I'm not too good with that resolve thing sometimes.
"What about the ivy?" Red asked, not looking up from the book. He'd placed it on the desk and was leaning over it on crossed arms. His hair was blocking his face and I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or not.
"Is it just a metaphor for what it seems to be a metaphor for?" I realized just how stupid that sounded about a half-second after it left my mouth.
"Wonderfully eloquent, Stan," Red said in reply. I waited but he didn't say anything else.
"I mean, look, it sounds like it means that people are continuing to act like they did, even though they're all dead inside, right?" I said, trying to see if I was getting his attention. Red didn't move an inch, but at least he said something.
"What else could it mean?" His voice, at least, sounded interested. Slightly.
"Well, he used the word "wildly", which seems a little weird, you know? Why not just say they were "all green and fresh" and leave it at that?" I pushed on.
"Other than to keep the timing right..." He supplied; a good sign. Just because he wasn't looking my way didn't mean he wasn't listening.
"Other than that…" I paused for a moment. ""Wildly" is pretty specific imagery. They're not just green and new leaves, right? They're bursting with freshness, they're, they're overflowing all over the turret."
"And?"
"And maybe it's highlighting something that people just tend to do sometimes," I paused again, thinking. It was a saddening thought, and I didn't like it that much. "What if it's highlighting that thing that where, the worse you feel, the more you try acting like you normally do? So you end up totally overdoing it, and practically pointing out something is wrong, anyways."
"…That's a good idea…" Red said thoughtfully after a minute. He looked at me then, I could almost see his face behind his bangs. "You should write about that."
I smiled; my idea was good. I don't know why, but I found myself more than a little happy. Red didn't hand out compliments like that.
"What are you going to write about?" I asked, grinning. Red shrugged.
"Something." He looked back down at his book, falling silent. A dismissal, and I didn't feel even a bit annoyed. I turned to my book happily and started jotting notes in my notebook. Hell. My idea was good.
****
Practice had dragged on longer than it should have; the coach wanted us to redo a few defensive plays, and no one wanted to argue. Tomorrow was game day, and I could see that everyone was feeling the pressure. Practice was filled with lots of cursing and yelling, and when anyone laughed, it had a slight edge to it, as if they were about to lose control and go maniacal.
The Kougars had won their last game, just a few days ago, and if we lost even by the smallest margin, we were most likely out of the finals. I couldn't tell if the plays the coach and I had decided on would work, but hell, we had to try. If we failed, at least we'd know we tried our hardest. Which didn't help, of course, but it would be easier to pretend that it did.
The parking lot was eerily empty; my car was pretty much the last one there. One of the parking lot lights flickered as I walked underneath it, and a little chill ran down my spine. Chuckling, I shrugged it off; paranoid much? I couldn't wait until tomorrow was over, and I could finally relax a little. Walking across the asphalt I realized that my car really was totally deserted on the lot. Instead of the figures of my friends hovering around it, it was… alone. Strange. I couldn't help wondering if something had happened, since they rarely went home without me. Cartman would never get his ass in gear enough to even walk to the bus stop, or pay money to take it, and forget walking all the way home. Kyle and Kenny didn't really have a reason not to wait for me, we lived practically across the street from each other. Practice did drag on tonight, so maybe they just got tired of waiting and left.
I walked up to my car warily, keys held out as if they were a raygun. I don't know what I'd do if some masked figure jumped out at me, and I doubt trying to stab him with keys would help, but at least I'd be ready. Or something. I opened the trunk, tossed in my things, and pushed it closed. The snap of the lock catching seemed much too loud in the darkness. I winced, looking around. I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Slowly, on a whim, I headed around to the passenger's side of the car.
So, the lot wasn't as empty as I had thought. Kyle sat leaning back against the side of the car, arms resting on his crossed legs. He picked at a loose thread on his black jeans as I walked over, but gave me a grin.
"So, waiting until I drove off without you?" I asked, crouching down next to him. I ran a hand through my still damp hair, looking at him.
"I have trust in your natural curiosity," Kyle answered, laughing and giving me a slight push. Standing up he stretched his arms above his head and yawned. Looking at his leather-band watch, he gave me a look. "We going?"
"I guess," I said, standing up and heading around the car. I looked around curiously. "Where are—"
"Fuck them."
"Ah. All right, then," I unlocked the doors, sliding into the driver's side as Kyle got in from the other side. He was fiddling with the radio before I even got the door closed, frowning when all he got was static.
"When the hell are you going to get this fixed?" He growled, banging on it with his fist. I sighed, frowning at him, and started off across the lot.
"Hitting it isn't going to make it work, you know," I said, looking over at him. "I just keep forgetting."
"Jesus, just ask Kenny. He works at that stupid auto shop, maybe he can fix it," Kyle said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and rolled his eyes to emphasize it. I waited a moment before replying; I never knew when talking about Kenny's job would set Kyle off.
"You think?" It was the best answer I could come up with, and I hoped the safest. Kyle snorted, shaking his head.
"Dude, I'll tell him tonight." He said, grinning and slouching down in the seat. His behavior was making me confused.
Obviously, they'd fought again. I could tell that much; there was always a feeling left behind after their fights, you'd walk up and suddenly you'd get a bad taste in your mouth. You can tell something went down. So why Kyle was talking about things that would usually piss him off so normally…
I was just going to admit to myself that I had no clue what was going on, and leave at that. Better to quit while I was ahead.
"Buckle up, please," I said, and Kyle sighed loudly. It was another one of those my-car-my-rules things.
"Yes, Mother," He obliged, making sure that I knew it was a great and torturous effort for him to do so. He was an ass, but what're you going to do? At least with his seat belt on he was a safe ass.
"Bowling?" I asked, grinning and looking at him from the corner of my eye.
"Bowling?" He asked, turning a surprised look my way. "You have a fucking game tomorrow."
"Well, yeah, but it's at six pm, not am." I said, and looked at him. "Duh."
"Duh." He stuck his tongue out at me, and we both started to laugh. A sudden wave of nostalgia hit me; I was regretting a lot of things suddenly, in just moments, and I had to clear my throat, turning to look out the side window for a second.
"Bowling it is then." I said, trying to cover up the momentary backtrack that I'd taken, and turned on my blinker as I drove over into the turning lane. In the darkness, with the streetlamps spaced far apart, it was hard to see anything. Waiting for the light to change I looked over at Kyle again. He was lost in shadows; I could barely see him.
The light changed, and I moved, turning smoothly through the practically empty intersection.
"I'm gonna get my clavicle pierced," Kyle said suddenly, and I nearly jerked the wheel.
"What? Why?"
"Because I can… duh…"
****
The doorbell rang at just half past eleven. I only knew that because I happened to be checking the messages on my cell at the same moment. Of course, since it was Saturday and everyone else was busy trying to do nothing, I had to open the door. Yawning I stumbled down the stairs; the fact that I'd been up for at least two hours didn't mean anything. After bowling it was time for pizza, and I don't know how long we were driving around the graveyard looking for ghosts, but I do know that I got home a lot closer to dawn than I had wanted to. At least it was time well spent, and I grinned to myself as I pulled the door open.
"Hello there Mr. Marsh, I hear you have need of my services," Kenny greeted, grinning widely. I stared at him in shock for a long moment, caught off guard.
"W…what?" I frowned, and the blonde laughed.
"Radio? Kyle told me it's so broke it doesn't even want to play the oldies," He said, holding up a large black case. "Got everything I need here, so if you want I can see what I can do."
"Oh, right, yeah." I laughed, shaking my head. I grabbed the keys off of the table by the door and headed out. "Sorry, still not awake."
"Not surprised, dude. You guys only came back at like three in the morning," Kenny chuckled, and followed me as I led the way over to my car. I unlocked the doors and let Kenny get set up. He got in at the driver's side and tossed the case onto the passenger side seat. Opening it up, he pulled out a few tools and started on the radio. I crouched by the open passenger side door, peering inside to see what he was doing.
"You think it'll be easy to fix?" I asked, watching as he unscrewed, well, something, and slid the radio out. I had no clue how to do these sorts of things, and watching Kenny work on it was like watching him do magic.
"Well, we'll see… if it's something in the radio itself, it's gonna be harder, but I remember this thing working when you got the Civic…" Kenny said, turning on a small flashlight and handing it to me. "Here, hold that… there, yeah. If we're lucky it's just a short somewhere and I can replace the wires and have it working…"
I nodded; I understood that part at least. Holding the flashlight as evenly as I could, I watched Kenny work. For all his pretty lively talking, he looked tired, maybe even more tired than I was. His hair was messy, as if he'd just pulled himself out of bed, and there were bags under his eyes. His eyes weren't much better themselves, they looked dull, dark. I tried not to stare, and instead found myself looking at his arms. He'd pulled the sleeves of his hoodie, yeah, the same orange hoodie he always wore, up to his elbows to keep them from getting in the way. His hands were in the hole in the dashboard, and his skin was eerily pale against the darkness inside. His forearms seemed too thin; Kenny had always been on the skinny side, but I'd expected him to bulk up at least a little once he started eating normally.
I frowned slightly, looking down into the tool box. It wasn't much more than an old fishing tackle box that he'd gutted and set up his own dividers in. Everywhere I looked I was being reminded that he just wasn't as well off as the rest of us, and it wasn't making sense. Or, it was making too much sense, and I just didn't want to see it right then.
"Kenny?" I paused, uncertain whether I should go on or not. He grimaced, pulling at something in the back of the hole, but replied.
"Yeah?"
"Is… everything cool, like, at home?" I asked, keeping my head down, but looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He looked at me, a curious look on his face.
"What?" He almost grinned, puzzled as he was, and I fidgeted slightly. Geez, when did I become this scared to ask my friends how they were doing?
"Look, okay, like… how are you and Kyle… doing? I guess?" I asked, wincing slightly as I looked up at him. He was giving me what seemed to be a highly amused look.
"We're doing fine," Kenny chuckled, definitely amused. He went back to working in the hole, pulling out a wire after a moment. "Why?"
"Why?" I asked in disbelief. "Fuck, you two only try to kick each other's asses every day. Is that a good enough reason?"
"Light," Kenny reached out to tilt my hand back up. Pulling a spare wire out of his case, he reached into the hole and fiddled around for a moment before answering. "We live in the same room, Stan. If we didn't fight, we'd go insane."
"And you think that's right?" I asked, really not understanding what the hell was going on. Kenny shrugged.
"I don't know… Why, did Kyle say something?" He asked, detaching the old wire from the radio and tossing it into a corner of his case. I frowned, thinking.
"No." I admitted finally, poking at a group of screws in the case.
"Did I say something?" He asked, tightening the screw holding the wire to the radio. I sighed loudly, and Kenny gave me a pointed look.
"No, you didn't." I said, watching as Kenny slid the radio back in place. He tightened the screws back into place, and I turned the flashlight off and tossed it back into the case.
"Keys," He said, grinning, and I handed them over. Sitting back in the driver's seat, he put the keys in the ignition and turned the power on. The radio screen flashed to life, blinking four zeros. Kenny reached out and hit a button, and some country song blared through the speakers at an ungodly volume.
"Dammit!" I jabbed at the buttons, finally finding the volume control, and the song faded to a more normal level. Kenny was laughing in the driver's seat, and with some strange sort of twist he slouched down low and slung his legs over the steering wheel. That laughter was contagious, and soon I had joined in. Part of it was the situation; part of it was some strange sort of relief, although I didn't know where it came from. I couldn't stop; Kenny looked at me, and his eyes were dancing, alive, and I hoped that maybe, just maybe, things weren't going the way I thought they were.
****
At five-forty-five the school bus was already fifteen minutes gone, and I was staring out my windshield at the dull brown bricks of the school wall. There was a squirrel sitting at the edge of the roof, and for the past five minutes it had been trying to go down the wall, only to stop mid way there, turn around, and climb back up. It had been entertaining for the first minute or so, but now I was fighting the urge to get out the car, walk over there, and grab the stupid thing and throw it in the nearest tree.
One of the car doors opened suddenly, and I turned to see Red sit down in the passenger side seat, pulling the door closed behind him. He tossed his messenger bag to the floor and pulled on his seat belt, and it looked like he was trying to catch his breath. He was dressed a little differently than usual, but that was normal for away games. The hat, though, was new.
"Nice hat," I grinned, amused. I didn't blame him for having one, the sun was crazy that day for some weird reason, but it just so happened to be one of those cadet hats, or whatever they're called, that all the emo kids were wearing these days. At least it was a plain black one, and not one those plaid ones with bleeding hearts in neon pink and white embroidered on it.
"Why are you still here?" Red said, and it was only because his eyes were suddenly flaming that I realized he took my comment as an insult.
"Dude, seriously, I wasn't trying to be mean, it's a nice hat," I said earnestly, "And you missed the bus, I figured you were going to be late."
"I could have gotten a ride from someone," Red pointed out, and I shrugged, agreeing.
The damn squirrel was trying to go down the wall, again. Step, step, step, and turn, and dash up the side again, and back on the roof. What the hell was wrong with that thing? Maybe there was something on the ground that was throwing it off, but that didn't make sense.
"Are you going to start driving soon?" Red asked after a long moment, and I shrugged again.
"Nah, I think they'll do okay without me," I grinned at him. He looked at me as if I'd just gone insane, and I laughed at his expression. "Just kidding. We're going."
I turned the key in the ignition, and the engine rumbled to life.
"We only have ten minutes to get there," Red said, staring out the side window.
"We have more. Come on, how many games have you been to already? Kick off's always late, always. At least half an hour." I chuckled, looking over at him. "We have plenty of time."
He gave me a critical look, but didn't say anything back.
"Hey, if you wanna put any music on, there's CD's in the glove compartment," I suggested; damn was I happy my radio worked. A pause, but then Red opened up the glove compartment and started flipping through CD's.
"All American Rejects? Really?" He tossed the CD aside in disgust.
"Hey, everyone's got one guilty ple—"
"Fallout Boy? The Used?" Two more CDs were thrown aside, and I sputtered a little.
"Okay, well, some of us have three…" I tried to defend myself, at least. I got a disbelieving snort in reply, and for a while we drove on in what was, at least on my side, an awkward silence. A few minutes later I heard the CD being slid into the radio, but I wasn't ready for the speakers to start blasting upbeat guitar riffs with a support of trumpets. I turned to Red, staring at him in disbelief.
"What?" He asked, his look blatantly innocent.
"Less Than Jake?" I asked, still in disbelief. I had to look back at the road finally, but I was pretty sure my expression stayed the same.
"You said it yourself…" Red said evenly, "Besides, that was the only good thing you had in there."
"It is not the only good thing I have in there," I said, stopping at a red light.
"Do you want me to make a list?" Red looked at me, an eyebrow just slightly raised.
"Next time bring your own CDs," I countered, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel in time.
"Maybe I will," He snapped right back, and I almost missed the light turning green. Was he just being sarcastic, or was he actually suggesting that he might take me up on this driving-to-games offer again? I turned to him slightly, ready to say something, but stopped myself. He was looking out the windshield with a strange look on his face. I thought it'd be better not to bother him in whatever thoughts he was thinking, and turned back to the road again. Five minutes left, and if God was on my side, then maybe kick off really would be late. Humming along with "Magnetic North", I sped up a tiny bit and hoped God was as good a guy as people thought he was.
