Butters pulled the chain and, while washing his hands, he looked at himself in the mirror. He was twenty-one but everybody said that he looked much younger, no more than sixteen. There was barely any difference between the boy he was and the young adult he was now. His voice was still higher-pitched than it was common in men his age. He had had an edgier and more modern haircut but he still gave off that timid demeanor. Beardless and a bit effeminate, some people said, which played against him, because that timid attitude seemed to awaken tenderness in not few ladies. He always wished puberty had gave him a deeper voice, more muscles and a bit of hair, because this way he felt as if he was still a child. Someone how couldn't take care of himself and needed tutoring.

But that was just his looks, right? He was still an adult. He could take care of himself and his make his own decisions. It was just a matter of attitude.

Yes, that was it. He didn't have to wish to be different. He just had to behave like he was an adult, instead of wishing he looked like one.

Determined to change the way things were, Butters decided that he would face his father that day.

He walked out from the bathroom and made his way to the living room. Going down the stairs, he saw his father sat on the couch, watching the television with a beer in his hand. He seemed calm. Also, the accident had made him act softer towards him. It was now or never.

"Dad..."

"Yes?" Mr. Stotch seemed a bit upset that he was interrupting his program.

"I have to tell you something."

"Are you gay?"

"Hm. No."

"Ah." Mr. Stotch was still looking at the television. He took a sip.

Butters felt the urge to leave the matter there, forget about it. There was this horrible feeling inside of his chest, telling him to forget about growing some balls and preserve his integrity. But he fought against it. Like if he was in front of a cold swimming pool, he took deep breath and just jumped.

"I don't want to go back to college."

Silence. Mr. Stotch slowly turned towards Butters. Oh, gosh, he looked like he was eating his soul somehow. Then, his father clicked his tongue and looked back at the television.

"Don't say nonsense, son."

"It's not nonsense." Butters forced himself to talk, even if he was just babbling. He squeezed his fists to fight the urge to run away. "I'm serious. I...I don't want to be a doctor, dad."

Mr. Stotch looked at Butters again. This time, he switched off the television and turned his body towards him, not getting up.

"Ah. You don't want to be a doctor now."

Truth be told, Butters didn't remember wanting to be a doctor when he grew up. All he knew was that his parents had proposed him a few options and the one which pleased Butters the most was Medicine.

"...No...I...It's too difficult to me."

"Maybe you just need to study harder." his father said that with such a bitter voice that Butter felt ashamed.

"I can't be good at something I don't like."

"You can. Do you think being locked up in an office from 8 to 5 is the dream of my life? Welcome to real life: people have to do things they don't like if they want to eat. Do you have any idea of how much your studies are costing us?"

"I know, but...I don't know...I...I don't feel like this is what I want to do with my life..."

"And what do you want to do, huh? Have fun all the time and never worry about anything? That's a sweet life indeed!"

"I think I just need a little bit of time to figure out what to do. Like a sabbatical year, like Timmy's doing. It wouldn't have to be a year, just a couple of months would do, or-"

"I don't care what Timmy does. You are my son." Mr. Stotch stood up and walked to Butters. In spite of Butters being taller, he was the one how emanated authority. "You won't get a proper job if you don't go to college."

"Well, nobody knows, uh..."

"This is what I feared. All those bad influences. You shouldn't have come here to spend the summer."

"Dad, this is my life, okay, and-" Butters raised his voice, making his mother get out from the kitchen to see what was happening.

"Don't raise your voice to me, Butters! Everytime you come to South Park, your behavior turns awful and you disobey me and your mother!"

"This has nothing to do with my friends! I am just tired of trying and trying, of having to do something I don't like and feeling miserable because I'm supposed to study a career!"

"We told you to study a career because we want you to have a future!"

"Dad..."

"Shut up! I haven't finished! You think you can do what you want because you're twenty-one, but you're still living under my roof, I am paying your studies and whims, and I think I have the right to have a say in the matter!"

"You always have to have a say in the matter..." Butters frowned, speaking in a low voice.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that, Butters, I'm warning you. If you want to do what you want, why don't you just leave, huh? Get a house of your own, pay the rent, the food, the bills, handle everything on your own. That's what you want, huh? Do everything you want and not having to listen to your parents' advice."

"It is not advice."

"I'd love to know how you would manage alone, with just your high school studies, no money. But alright, go ahead, you are so smart, so independent."

"Dad."

"Butters, please, listen to your father." Mrs. Stotch reprimanded her son.

"Have you seen, Linda? Have you seen how ungrateful this little brat is? He should be thankful to be in college and to have parents who care about his future, and what does he do? He-"

Butters just wanted to punch his father in the stomach. Just that, a punch. He did not expect his fist to go through the skin and reach the insides, nor that violent jolt.

His mother screamed out of her lungs, with her hands covering her face.

For several seconds, Butters did not move. All he could do was look at his father's face. The shock in his face, but no more emotion, because he saw in his eyes that he was dead. The spasms that shook his body gently. Then, he pushed the body with his free hand, because he felt the other was too deep inside of his father's chest. Mr. Stotch fell to the floor and his wife fell by his side to shake him, not able to scream something coherent.

Butters looked at his hand, full of blood.

Sparks. And when he saw them, he felt as if more appeared. It didn't hurt, but tickled in a funny way.

"Mom."

She looked at him and stood up with difficulty. What was she screaming? Leopold? Butters? You killed your father, Butters? What have you done, Butters? He was not sure. It was hard to understand her. She wasn't even taking a second to breath.

"Mom. Shut up."

But she was still yelling. It was hurting his ears.

"Mom, shut the fuck up!"

There was a flash and Mrs. Stotch was propelled backwards with such violence that she hit the wall. She did not get up from the floor.

Butters approached and checked her pulse. Her heart was not beating. It was funny how he felt nothing in that moment.

He looked at her and then back at his father. His lips curved into a smile. He even chuckled softly.

He felt like new now. His mind seemed to be working better than before, as if some kind of mental fog had disappeared. He saw things in a new light and finally knew what he had to do.

Slowly, he walked towards the basement. Half an hour later, he returned to the living room just to walk out of the house, not looking at the corpses which were lying right where he left them. He did not close the door behind him.

That is how Liane Cartman knew that something was wrong.

It was not her intention to gossip but she had observed that the neighbors had had their front door open for the whole day. No sound came from the house and no one came in or out. Fearing that someone had burglared their house, she approached to take a look. Her screams made Cartman run. He had two things to do: one was calling the police because his mother was too hysterical to do anything; the other was to write a text to all those involved in the accident at the fair.

That night, when it was almost time to sit at the dinner table, all of them got the same message: [The Stotches have been killed. Butter's missing]. Cartman was sick enough to include a photo he had taken with his phone.