South Park: The Devil's Due (30_tears prompt #27)
South Park
The Devil's Due
Prompt #27, "Disaster"
PG
463 words
Approx Age: 16
The latest disaster to hit South Park doesn't pass over our heroes and their families like the others always did. Warning for character death.
The Devil’s Due
And of course, it was bound to happen eventually, because no one’s lucky all the time; Kyle Broflovski was never that lucky to begin with, so really, it’s amazing it didn’t happen sooner. The catastrophe this time was no more epic or influential or deadly than any of the others (but maybe that’s part of the irony.)
There’s nothing Stan can say. In the men’s room of the temple he waits while Kyle vomits in the toilet, kicks the trashcan until the plastic splinters, then vomits in the sink. Later, once they’ve managed to miss the whole service, they sit outside by the dumpster and let the snow melt under their weight and seep into their good suit pants.
Kyle passes out with Stan’s arms around him─ it’s too abrupt and unexpected to be falling asleep─ and when he opens his eyes again it’s pitch black, and his head is in Stan’s lap. Only then does he cry, pressing his face into Stan’s stomach and screaming, nearly losing consciousness from the lack of oxygen and then, when Stan pulls him up by the collar, nearly losing consciousness from the sudden surplus. Stan’s grip feel like a straight jacket that prevents him from running, from tearing away from everything and everyone and leaving the whole fucking town once and for all, and it’s not long before he gives in to the restraint that also feels like a mother’s embrace.
Stan rocks him steadily while the ever-present cold seems to leave them in a private void where every sensation is blurred yet intensified. He fights and defeats the urge to cry until Kyle’s screams solidify into a word, repeated, which then fades to a murmur: “Mama… mama… mama.” Then, sobbing, he holds Kyle so tightly that arms begin to tremble with the exertion, wishing he could shake him and wake him out of his nightmare, wishing he could make him stop hurting, or at least stop crying so loudly.
When Stan wakes up, he’s under a heated blanket with an IV in his wrist delivering warmed saline to his bloodstream. He can see Kyle in the bed next to him, but doesn’t know if he’s awake or asleep or even alive. His eyes are open but empty and he’s shivering so intensely that they might as well have left him out in the snow, for all the good the blankets are doing─ for all the good anything could do now. There’s nothing left that can reach him, not now and maybe not ever, not since random chance finally knocked on his door and demanded they pay their dues for all the near-misses over the years.
Sheila Broflovski was not the only casualty of this most recent disaster, but she was the only one that mattered.
The Devil's Due
Prompt #27, "Disaster"
PG
463 words
Approx Age: 16
The latest disaster to hit South Park doesn't pass over our heroes and their families like the others always did. Warning for character death.
The Devil’s Due
And of course, it was bound to happen eventually, because no one’s lucky all the time; Kyle Broflovski was never that lucky to begin with, so really, it’s amazing it didn’t happen sooner. The catastrophe this time was no more epic or influential or deadly than any of the others (but maybe that’s part of the irony.)
There’s nothing Stan can say. In the men’s room of the temple he waits while Kyle vomits in the toilet, kicks the trashcan until the plastic splinters, then vomits in the sink. Later, once they’ve managed to miss the whole service, they sit outside by the dumpster and let the snow melt under their weight and seep into their good suit pants.
Kyle passes out with Stan’s arms around him─ it’s too abrupt and unexpected to be falling asleep─ and when he opens his eyes again it’s pitch black, and his head is in Stan’s lap. Only then does he cry, pressing his face into Stan’s stomach and screaming, nearly losing consciousness from the lack of oxygen and then, when Stan pulls him up by the collar, nearly losing consciousness from the sudden surplus. Stan’s grip feel like a straight jacket that prevents him from running, from tearing away from everything and everyone and leaving the whole fucking town once and for all, and it’s not long before he gives in to the restraint that also feels like a mother’s embrace.
Stan rocks him steadily while the ever-present cold seems to leave them in a private void where every sensation is blurred yet intensified. He fights and defeats the urge to cry until Kyle’s screams solidify into a word, repeated, which then fades to a murmur: “Mama… mama… mama.” Then, sobbing, he holds Kyle so tightly that arms begin to tremble with the exertion, wishing he could shake him and wake him out of his nightmare, wishing he could make him stop hurting, or at least stop crying so loudly.
When Stan wakes up, he’s under a heated blanket with an IV in his wrist delivering warmed saline to his bloodstream. He can see Kyle in the bed next to him, but doesn’t know if he’s awake or asleep or even alive. His eyes are open but empty and he’s shivering so intensely that they might as well have left him out in the snow, for all the good the blankets are doing─ for all the good anything could do now. There’s nothing left that can reach him, not now and maybe not ever, not since random chance finally knocked on his door and demanded they pay their dues for all the near-misses over the years.
Sheila Broflovski was not the only casualty of this most recent disaster, but she was the only one that mattered.