All characters and places referenced to the show South Park are property of Matt Stone and Trey Parker.


*Kenny is assumed to be mortal in this story*

"Talk to you Monday, Kenny," "See you later, dude," "Later, poor boy," Kyle, Stan, and Cartman bid farewell to Kenny as they neared his house.

"Bye guys," he waved.

It was a cool Friday evening. The boys had been playing outside since school let out until just a little while ago. Everyone decided they better be heading home before it got too dark or before they got yelled at for missing dinner.

Everyone except Kenny, that is. As he broke off from the group and turned onto his street, Kenny knew his parents could care less what time he came home - hell, they could care less if he came home at all. Kenny knew there would be no dinner for him to be late to, there hardly ever was - even if there was, the only thing he would be missing was either stale discount waffles or cheap takeout, on a good night.

Kenny figured he would go home tonight and rummage through their dilapidated refrigerator only to find some sour lunch meat he would put between two pieces of molding bread and try to hold out for school lunch on Monday. He would listen to his parents whoop and holler while they drank late into the night until they inevitably drank to much and started arguing. Whimpering in his room he would listen to them yell and scream, break things, and hit each other until they were either too drunk or too high to care anymore and would pass out on the floor.

After the house is quiet, he would cautiously leave his room and make his nightly round. He would check on his sister, his brother, and his parents to make sure everyone was okay and still alive. He would close the windows and check the door. He would turn off the old television and the lights. He would take the pot, the meth, the heroin - whatever this Friday's drug of choice had been - and hide it so his parents would not get busted for drugs when the local PD broke the door down on reports of a domestic disturbance, aggravated assault, or child neglect one of these nights. He would finally get to bed around 4 AM only to be woken the next morning by arguing about the previous night's events: "Why the hell did you break that?!" "Where did you put the pot, bitch?!" etc.

At least his siblings did not have to deal with this shit on this particular weekend. Kevin was out of town with a friend and Karen was staying the weekend at one of her friend's. Kenny still had to deal with it but it made him feel better to know his brother and sister were out of harms way if mom or dad took things too far.

As Kenny approached his ran-down house he could already hear commotion through the barely-intact screen door, "Give me another one of those!"

"Shut your mouth, woman! I'm tryin' to watch TV!"

"Don't you tell me to shut up you bastard!"

Kenny took a seat in front of the door still outside, he buried his head in his arms.

"I don't need to stand here and let some whore insult me!" There was a loud slapping noise.

"How dare you!" Kenny could hear tables being overturned and things hitting the wall.

"You crazy bitch!" They argued louder, slurring words.

Kenny closed his eyes and tried to pretend this was not happening, as he did almost every night. He tried to pretend this was not his life - these were not his parents. He tried to pretend his parents were more like Kyle's or Stan's. Parents who did not get drunk on a nightly basis or do drugs. Parents who did not break things or hit each other… Parents who hugged their kids and told them they loved them. Parents who tried to make their kids feel safe instead of scared to even be in the house…

Tears welled in his eyes.

A dirty plate flew through a nearby window, shattering the glass.

Startled, Kenny jumped to his feet and wiped his eyes.

"Get out of my house you good-for-nothing prick!" She threw another object at her husband.

"This is my house too bi-", the screen door banged shut.

"Bitch!"

"Stop!" Kenny yelled. "Please stop!"

Both adults looked at him, stunned.

"I'm not going to have any son of mine just show up and tell me what the hell to do in my own house," Stuart stormed over to Kenny.

"Wait! I just," he stuttered, "I just - We just shouldn't break things. Everything costs money when it gets broken!" He exasperated.

"I make money…," his mother stated in a very matter-of-factly drunk tone, referring to her job washing dishes at a restaurant.

"Yeah, but some of these thing a lot of money… Like that window," he pointed.

"Are you sayin' I'm not workin' hard 'nough?!" She stormed over to her son as well.

"No! Mom, I know you work really hard!" Kenny recoiled.

"I don't see your lazy ass working, Kenny! You're gone all day and you don't make any money for this family!"

"I'm nine, mom! I'm at school all day!" He was backed against the wall.

"Oh, so you're sayin' I'm lazy. That it?!" Stuart clenched his fists, moving closer to Kenny.

"You are lazy you redneck piece of trash! All you do is sit here and drink!" Carol spat.

This sent him over the edge. He grabbed Kenny by the throat and held him up against the wall.

"Dad…," he choked, gasping for air, "Please…!"

With his free hand, Stuart cocked his hand back and struck the boy as hard as he possibly could with a backhanded closed fist to the face. The strike recoiled the back of his head into the wall before his dad dropped him to the ground.

Blood ran from his nose onto the carpet as he dizzly hyperventilated.

"You just hit our son!" Carol slapped him.

"I'll do it again, bitch! This is my house!" He walked back over to Kenny and kicked him hard in the ribs.

The intense pain blurred his vision.

"He was bein' disrespectful!"

Kenny stopped moving.