I know this is a repost. But I needed to fix a couple things before I could be satisfied and finally let this die. Ehhhhh? Get it? Okay I'll stop being an ass now.

Enjoy!

Some people like to believe that eternal life is some great accomplishment. It's not. I can tell you that first hand. Honestly, it's not the pain of dying that gets to me. It's the empty pit in my heart, a feeling like boredom and sadness clashing against my ribcage. It's called being lonely. Seeing the ones you love and care for withering around you is like a stake driving through every section of your body at once. Your chest hurts because of love lost, your arms and legs hurt from standing at their graves too long, and your head hurts from shutting down time after time, after goddamn time. It does that sometimes, your brain, taking a long walk around the dump of a house you own while attacking itself with reality. It will ask impossible questions that only cause your face to become slick with tears.

'Why am I still here?'

'What have I done to deserve this torture?'

'Who can I talk to?

'Where do I go now?'

'Can I just die yet?'

I decided that letting my brain bully itself on an old torn couch in a rundown house at the edge of town was not very productive. Besides, I hadn't seen Karen in a while. I slipped on my orange jacket, wrapping its accompanied scarf around the lower half of my face. My hand paused on the small hand-stitched initials in the fabric. Until my vision blurred I just stood at the door of my parent's house, thumbing over dirtied stitches in dulled orange fabric. A low chuckle escaped my dry cracked lips, fabric dropping from my hands as I walked outside into the usual stinging cold. Hypothermia became a boring way to die at least a few years ago, still…the purity of the snow always made my eyes sting. Perhaps it was my own impurities clashing with the fluffy flakes. My frostbitten fingers twitched lightly in the cold, legs moving on their own down the torn asphalt.

The walk through town was always the same. Strange faces peering at me from the safety of their homes, or from the other side of the street. Those unlucky enough to land on the same street as me acted as politely as a bunch of rednecks could, averting their eyes and holding in gossip that they had heard about me from their friends. Dear god that word…friends. It made my spine shiver involuntarily, eyes drawing down to my worn brown sneakers. I hated thinking of that word. It had become worse than a profanity to me, since I had seen my own friends dropping six feet under. I suppose that does something to the psyche, breaks it down or whatever. I never liked my high school psychology class. The steady thrum of my feet hitting the cracked cement seemed to wrap my mind in foggy thoughts of the past few decades. Slowly and slowly loosing my heart with every life falling away.

Soon enough, however, the smell of sterilizer and grape medicine flooded my nose, hands pressing against two large double doors. I spoke briefly with a woman behind a prim, tidy counter.

"Karen McCormick"

"Of course sir, please have a seat while I pull up her room number for you."

I already knew Karen's room number, but the nurse shouldn't and didn't recognize me. That was a common mistake from the townsfolk of South Park who had ever talked to me, thinking I was some new guy in town for a vacation or something. I took a seat in a row of scratchy brown chairs that offered about as much comfort as the building they were stored in. I looked up at a tranquil forest painting with a deep frown.

'Forests don't have sheer cliffs, and deer don't go up onto said cliffs to stare majestically out at the sun. Plus, deer coats didn't come in that shade of fiery red' I thought this with a small scowl, vaguely hearing the lady call him back.

"She's in room 326, Sir."

"Kenneth McCormick," I corrected her, already stalking down the hallway, haunted by the deep red of the deer that I had seen. Burning with passion while staying supple and sweet. My arctic eyes shot down to the floor, arm limply pressing a button to call the elevator. A small ding resounded by my ear, causing my body to move around without a pilot for a bit, numbly pressing the button to go up to floor three. Another ding chirped from the elevator, silver doors sliding apart smoothly as I stepped in between them.

The light blue tint of the clean walls, that I passed were accentuated by small puffs of yellow flowers. It felt so innocent, almost too innocent. A small shudder caused my head to shake away the memories of Butters. How he had finally run away from his abusive parents at the end of high school, leaving the town on the Harley bike he always wanted.

The glaring numbers, 326 assaulted my vision, hand coming up and softly rapping on the dulled wooden door.

"C-come on….in…." A shaky voice resounded barely above a whisper from the other side of the door. I creaked it open, smiling softly at the white haired wrinkly mess that was Karen as she lay on her deathbed. I knew that she would die in this place. She was tough. But cancer was by far tougher.

"How're you doing, Karen?" I asked softly, settling into a nearby plastic chair, hands clamped together over my knees.

"J-just fine…doctor…" The elderly woman responded, a pale smile settling on her withering face.

I tried my best not to cringe. Hearing your own blood call you by a fake name was like a slap to the face. I smiled brightly instead. "Great, Karen. I've got wonderful news for you," I ran a cold hand over my scalp, pulling tiredly at the yellow locks still stubbornly attached after all these years. "We've run a few new tests. You're going to be cured really soon!" The enthusiasm was forced, I know that lying was supposedly 'wrong'. I also knew very well that the dump my sister had been placed in couldn't help her now.

Turns out when your parents smoke narcotics every night, you're more susceptible to lung cancer later on in life. But seeing a true genuine smile on her soft olden features, made me smile more than I had in a while.

"Thank you…Doctor…?"

"McCormick. Remember?"

"Ah…yes…thank you dear Do-" Karen broke off in a fit of coughing, the monitors going crazy. I was quickly shoved out of the room by real doctors, my feet stumbling over themselves in the hallway as I tried to regain balance. I bumped into one of the doctors, muttering half-assed apologies. I sighed to myself, composing my rampant thoughts, heading back down through the spotless building. The feeling of the cold enveloped my senses once more, toes curling in my shoes to avoid the holes in which cold wind often blew into. I probably needed some food. A hand closed around the new wallet I had just acquired, smiling down at the roughed up leather wearily.

Back down the sidewalk.

Back down past the stares.

Back to the supermarket. I plucked a few loaves of bread off the shelf, along with some peanut butter and a jar of Nutella. I stopped by the small flower shop, smelling one of the carnations. Smiling softly I plucked it out of the cold iced water the snow white flower had been held captive in. The long stem felt smooth and calming in my callused palm. With one arm clutched around bread and two jars, the other held onto the flower protectively, laying the items down on the checkout counter.

"Welcome to Gateway Market, how was your time in our store?" the cashier asked, assuming that I cared to talk to him. "Hey…you look a bit familiar…do I know you?"

I froze, my eyes trailing back to the cashier, deep blue eyes and pitch black messy hair. A spitting image of Stan. I quickly waved off the notion, smirking with half lidded eyes. "Probably not, I'm just some local hick who looks like someone you may have seen on TV or something." I shrugged keeping the playful mask on as to not startle the boy.

He shrugged in reply, chuckling to himself. Exactly the way Stan had, it made my heart lurch, my teeth clamping down on my tongue. "Well then, I hope you enjoy the rest of your day!" The boy said happily, a bright smile piercing my vision. Just like that damned snow.

"Thanks," Was all I replied with, fishing a couple twenties out of the doctor's wallet, dropping them absentmindedly on the counter, scooping up the bag containing sandwich ingredients. The flower was wrapped up in protective plastic, a small ribbon dangling off the ends of the stem to hold the plastic in place. The walk home felt blank and empty, just like normal. I pushed open the door, setting the flower on the busted coffee table, grabbing out the loaf of bread and the two jars of sweet adhesives. I made six sandwiches, placing them all on a platter. I grabbed the carnation, stepping back outside.

I walked around the back of my house, trudging through thick snow to the land of headstones. I walked under an iron metal angel, whose eyes were shut in consent, as a guardian of the dead she would watch the corpses tirelessly. I waded past all the tombstones I didn't care for, heading straight for the three headstones bunched together on a hill, under a dead tree. I placed a sandwich down on each grave, placing the two others next to me.

"Hey there guys. How're you doing?" I asked the snow dusted graves, looking over expectantly to either side of me, a small smile on my face as I listened for a response. Memories arose again, of what this place used to symbolize.

This used to be a sacred place for picnics, usually to discuss some absurd plan that would usually end up somehow killing me. My lips tugged upward at that, eyes landing on the first grave to be placed under the tree.

'R.I.P Stanley Marsh

Loving Father, Husband, Super Best Friend'

I thought back to the hours by his bed, gently reassuring Wendy that everything would work out. I had told her how many times he's survived from one of his asthma attacks, how it was no big deal. But then again, I always was the stupidest out of our group. The noirette had spent months crying with her children, slipping out of her job. She was fine now, retired and cremated in her other son's house out in Denver.

My eyes flicked over to the second one, laying his favorite flower down on the turned up grass.

'Here Lies Kyle Broflovski

Forever Lighting Our Way With Attitude And Passion'

After Kyle had moved out of state for college, he stayed in Iowa, becoming a prosecutor and eventually a judge for the state courthouse. When he came back to South Park for the high school reunion, Cartman finally pulled off a plan. Ending the party with a massive explosion that was meant to be pleasing. Instead, the fireworks had managed to trap Kyle in the still burning building. The ceremony was private, only close friends and family allowed to gaze upon the charred remains. I looked down at my red skin, cursing at its youthful appearance. My body stopped ageing after puberty ended, another great fucking 'gift' from above. Slowly I looked over at the last grave.

'Here lies Eric Cartman

Fat Till The End'

After Kyle died, Eric turned himself in as his life felt hollow and incomplete. He spent the rest of his life in Colorado State Penitentiary. He died from old age, being formally buried back in South Park at his extended family's request. I was the first one there, and last one to leave. Even though Cartman was a pretty big dick, I was probably his closet friend. Especially since his two others had died.

I sighed to myself, taking a bite from the sandwich that had gone cold in my hand, it tasted stale and boring. Just like my current life style. I hadn't died yet this week, there's a plus. My hands felt numb from frostbite, my face was dirty and torn. I dug up a little from the grave in front of me, finding a clean silver knife. I whispered soft goodbyes to Wendy and Butters beside me, their sandwiches still untouched. All of the sandwiches still standing where I had placed them, as spirits could not pick up food. I lifted the handle from the snow, twisting the blade around so it centered right over my heart. With a shaky breath out, I looked at the mist forming from my lips, watching as it dispersed as quickly as it had come.

"To anyone who cares to listen," I rasped out, throat sore from the lack of water and warmth. " My name is Kenneth or Kenny McCormick. I have lived for one hundred and six years. Although I may look like I'm twenty, I have seen my…friends…blossom into adults, start a family, and die. Because I CAN'T die…I hate my life…I hate this supposed blessing…I just want it all to end…I want this DAMNED CYCLE TO END! I JUST WANT TO STAY DEAD! IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK OF YOU GOD?! AM I UNWORTHY?! WHY MUST YOU MAKE ME LIVE, WHILE EVERYONE AROUND ME DIES?!" My face grew hot, warm tears spilling down my cheeks as I cried out to the heavens, knife pulled out in front of my body. I sniffled, tears still flowing out of my blurred eyes like a waterfall.

"Please…just let me stay dead this time…" I whispered to the snow, plunging the cold metal into my heart, feeling the snap of muscle and the warmth of blood pouring out of the wound. I yanked the knife out, quickly reburying it in case I came back again. I gagged, blood spurting out of my mouth. Mind going blank. Believe it or not, dying isn't painful. There isn't some distant light at first. It's a lot more like a loss of hope, of everything as my mind goes wheeling around in a panicked state. But it settles, takes in the inevitable and it feels like falling asleep. You're still conscious for a few minutes before the blood has completely dispersed from you. I could feel the snow melting around my body as it slumped backwards. Spraying purity with my blood, staining crisp white petals with the darkness inside of me. It made my lips twitch upwards as my eyes rolled back.

They opened sharply again, clouds and life surrounding me. Heavens gates stretched out in front of me, silver and gold twining around each other in a sort of dance, constantly shifting, and sliding.

I saw them, all together, right where I once was, under a blooming tree, on a hill, enjoying each other's company. Laughing together, spotting me and waving frantically. I rushed forward, placing wrapping my hands around the shifting bars, rattling the metal, demanding entrance. Feeling a firm hand blocking my chest, I looked up at a stone cold face. A face that shook before the clouds under me dispersed.

I suppose as I fell, I cried. My new wings burning due to friction, feathers scorching black as the heat increased.

This is how it always was.

I would finally see them happy and joyous, hell, Iwould be happy for once. Then it would all be yanked away.

I hit the bottom, flesh simmering as I hit the burning rocks. I couldn't scream as the pain was fairly moderate based on previous experiences. I would hear a short chuckle from the overlord of heaven, a quick snap of his fingers.

Just like a chessboard being reset.

Back I go, back to life…

Back to being a fractured reflection of myself.

Back to a broken heart.

Here I go, heading back, just like normal.

I guess he can't really hear me when I plead after all…