I start school tomorrow. Damn it. I have to see people I hate.
But, I didn't forget to write this:P
His eyes opened slowly to white walls and beeping machines. Huge machines. Huge, white machines, with buttons and levers, and black screens with green lines and numbers on them. They beeped rhythmically.
Next to one of the machines he watched a boy sleeping in an uncomfortable position on a chair. The boy's legs were bent over the back of the chair, and his fairly long black hair hung down from his head, flopped off the edge of the seat. He snorted in his sleep, and moved as much as his arrangement would allow.
"Ike...? Where's mom?" Kyle asked, speaking with a moderate amount of difficulty. He tried to sit up, but a shot of pain in his side stopped him and, defeated, he collapsed back into the bed. Groaning, he looked around again, and saw the IV in his arm.
With widening eyes, he turned his attentions back to his little brother still sleeping on the chair. "Ike! Wake up!" He started to panic, but calmed a little at the rush of footsteps towards the door directly in front of him.
"Buhbie! You're awake!" Sheila said ecstatically as she rushed in the room, with a doctor and nurse closely following. When she threw her arms around him in a hug, he cringed from another pain in his side. "Sorry, Kyle," she said, stepping uncomfortably back from him.
"What happened?" Kyle asked the doctor standing, forebodingly, at the foot of his bed. The doctor's face grew dark.
"Well, Kyle, we'll explain that in due time. You just rest up." He waved an arm distractedly behind him at the nurse standing in a corner, under a TV set hooked to the ceiling. Her trembling lips forced a grin, and then dropped it abruptly. She made a bit too much eye contact with Kyle. "If you need anything, tell her."
"Okay..." Kyle looked at her right back in the eyes. Usually, when he did that, people would drop their eyes immediately. She didn't, and instead he was looking away from her. At that she stepped in front of the doctor. Her fake smile made her look plastic. Kyle could have counted every tooth in her head if he wanted to. "Where's dad?" He wondered absently at Sheila as he glared at the nurse.
"He... You'll see him soon, Buhbie. Don't worry," Sheila answered quickly, turning away from him so he couldn't see her face. "So, Kyle," She turned back to him, having composed herself, "Don't you want some food or something? You've been out for a while..."
"Really? How long?"
"Uh... well, fifteen... hours... or so... Do you want something to eat?" Sheila seemed eager to change the subject.
"Okay..." Kyle made mental notes of how strange they were all acting. Ike sat up stiff in the metal chair, watching Kyle curiously, as though he might bloom like a flower. Sheila kept her eyes to the floor, examining with distaste all the scuffs on her shoes. She looked up suddenly.
"What do you want to eat, Buhbie?"
He shrugged. "Anything, I guess."
"Alright," She smiled, glancing at the nurse. "Come on, Ike, let's go make sure no one spits in Kyle's food!"
"OK!" Ike said excitedly, jumping up and off the chair.
As Kyle watched them all leave, he tried to remember what had happened.
Whatever it was, he knew it was bad. The look on the doctor's face and his mother's clear avoidance of the subject proved it.
Sighing, he grabbed the TV remote from the table beside him. The small table was littered with flowers and get well cards, but he didn't care to take time and look at them.
He surfed the channels for one thing. Cartoons, sports, music videos, the Discovery Channel- news.
"...And Paris Hilton has turned all the Hilton Hotels into brothels. In other news, a massacre in the small town of South Park, Colorado, has left more than one hundred dead and countless others wounded."
Kyle tried to sit up again, but fell back from the pain. Annoyed, he ripped off the blankets covering him, revealing a light blue hospital gown. He lifted it up and saw three huge stitched up gashes in the left side of his abdomen.
"Holy shit!" Kyle hastily covered himself up as his mother came into the room.
"Buhbie, why don't you watch cartoons or something?" She asked when she heard what the CNN reporter was saying.
"No!" Kyle kept a firm hold on the remote as Sheila got closer. "What happened, Mom?"
"I'll tell you later."
"Who else got hurt?"
"Kyle, what do you mean?"
"The massacre... where's Stan? And Kenny? And Cartman?"
"Buhbie, you want to see them?"
"Then give me the remote." Reluctantly he handed it to her and waited, staring up expectantly. Sheila turned the TV off. When she turned back to him, she looked strained. "Who do you want to see?"
"Um... later, Kyle."
"Then I wanna see Kenny."
Sheila sighed, keeping her eyes on the floor. She pursed her lips and looked back up at her son. "Alright." It was all she could do to keep her voice from cracking, and Kyle could see that. She walked out of the room, taking the remote with her.
Kyle crossed his arms and waited. He remembered a little, enough to make him want to cry. Something was wrong with Kenny. That was it. Something had to be wrong with Kenny. As Kyle obsessed over all the injuries Kenny probably had- broken this, broken that, who knows how many brain problems- he felt surer and surer that Kenny would be nothing but a drooling vegetable, pushed around in a wheel chair and pissing in a bed pan. He would be in a full body cast, and unable to say anything except "Urrrr." He would be cross eyed. No, he would be missing an eye. And blind in the other one. He would have a tube through his nose to feed him. There would be holes in his brain. Kyle and his family would have to take care of the drooling, body cast, cross eyed and blind, brain-dead Kenny, and it would never be the same...
The sound jumped Kyle. What shocked him more was the blond directly in front of him. Kenny still looked like a perfectly capable human being. He wasn't smiling. There was a bunch of gauze wrapped around his head. His hospital gown made him look ridiculous. He was staring at Kyle, head cocked to one side, right in the eyes. One eye was half-closed, the other was open seemingly as wide as it would go. It was bloodshot. It didn't seem like a mean gesture, although Kyle felt uncomfortable.
"You wanted to see me." It was more of a statement than a question. He sounded different. He sounded tired, drained. He mumbled his words from one side of his mouth, and because of that his voice sounded deeper. Beside him, Sheila kept one hand clamped on his shoulder.
"Kenny! What happened?" He looked at the bandage, feeling sympathetic.
"I fell. I got a bad concussion," he explained hollowly, biting words off curtly, like he wanted to say more but was too bitter to say it at that moment. His open, bloodshot eye twitched a few times, and Kyle realized it was involuntary.
"Oh. Do you know how I got these bigass gashes in my side?" Kenny glanced up at Sheila, but she was too busy glaring at Kyle to notice.
"No. I was unconscious." Sheila was still watching Kyle closely. Kenny mouthed "Butters" to Kyle, and sighed inwardly.
"It's nice to see you, Kenny," Kyle said, smiling.
Kenny's lip turned up on one side; a half formed smile was all he could manage. "It's good to see you, too." While he couldn't smile fully, his eyes did lighten up a bit. "Bye."
Sheila hustled the tiny figure, which had seemed to shrink smaller by the trauma, out of Kyle's room.
The blonde stared around the plain white hallway.
He felt his breathing quicken; he hated hospitals with a great ferocity. Every time he'd been in one he died.
Since waking up the day before, he entire world had been turned upside down, inside out and backwards.
The doctors had told him, without the flicker of an eyelash, that his parents, brother, and girlfriend had been gruesomely murdered. They also told him that Stan and Cartman were dead, which he refused to believe. They said that Kyle and Wendy were both comatose. To put frosting on the cake of delicious misery, he learned that, at some point he couldn't remember, had suffered a massive seizure, and couldn't even feel, let alone control, one half of his face.
They said it would get better. He hoped to hell so.
Somehow, after being in a coma for almost a day, Kyle had awoken, and Kenny had seen him. Kyle was the first familiar face he had seen all day, and, he feared, would be the last. He didn't even recognize himself in the mirror anymore.
"Alright, son, get back to your room," a passing nurse said, jumping Kenny out of his thoughts.
He obeyed, and wanted so badly to be anywhere else.
"So, Buhbie," Sheila started, following the nurse carrying a tray of chicken noodle soup and pudding. "I see you've noticed your injuries."
"Yes," Kyle said stiffly, trying to sit up.
"No! Dumbass, if you sit up like that you'll rip all your stitches out!" The nurse grumbled, setting the tray down on Kyle's lap. She pushed a button on the side of the bed and Kyle felt his head being raised, without any pain. "Enjoy it," she spat, leaving the room as quickly as possible.
"Kyle, honey, a lot of people died on last Tuesday. Be thankful you didn't."
"Where's Stan? I wanna see Stan."
"Stan died, Buhbie," Sheila said, lowering her eyes as she sat on the chair by Kyle's bed.
"But... how?" Kyle felt the familiar sting of tears behind his green eyes.
"A gunshot wound to the lung. The ambulance workers said he died in your arms." Sheila talked towards the floor, wiping her eyes now and then.
"No... No... Butters... He did it.. he stabbed me... after Stan... died.." Kyle forced the tears back as he remembered. To no avail. He remembered it all, and couldn't help but start sobbing.
"Yes, Buhbie. Butters also shot Eric."
"What happened to Butters?"
"He killed himself."
"What about everyone else... are they all okay?"
"Kyle, you, Kenny, and Wendy are the only survivors of your entire grade."
"Whoa..." Kyle stared at his hands for a minute. "Wait... When I saw Wendy... all bloody... she looked dead."
"No, but very close to it. She's still in a coma, Buhbie."
"You probably want to eat in peace, honey."
"Sure... sure mom."
Kyle knew that he was lying.
After two days of sleep filled with nightmares, Kyle was allowed to see Wendy. The nurse wheeled him to the ICU, all the while spitting insults and curses at him. She turned corners so sharply he nearly fell out of the wheelchair.
"We're here," she growled, stopping at room 243. Then, she kicked open the door and roughly pushed him in. "Alright. You two lovebirds got fifteen minutes." Grumbling, she stomped out.
"Wendy?" Kyle looked at the black haired girl with tubes running everywhere. She looked terrible, laying, slightly inclined, on the bed.
"Kyle..." she sighed, reaching out a hand for him. He wheeled himself over and took it gently. "Kyle... how are you doing?"
"Fine, I guess, considering that we both almost died..."
"Yeah..." She gave his hand a weak squeeze. "I got shot in the head..."
"Holy shit... how did you manage to survive that?"
"God only knows..." Suddenly her deep brown eyes focused intensely on his. "What did Stan say... Before he..." her lip started quivering, and she looked away. "Before he died?"
Kyle shook his head. "I don't remember. I blacked out."
"Oh." Wendy tried to hide her disappointment as she lowered her eyes to the white tile of the floor. She would never have admitted it, but the answer to that very question was the only reason she wanted to see Kyle. They would have nothing else to talk about. Make small talk about how good they were both doing- but never allow the other to see any actual emotions, like rocks trying to have a conversation.
Kyle opened his mouth to tell her about the kiss he and Stan had shared, but decided against it. The memory of it disturbed him a little, knowing that he had felt the life leave Stan's body.
"Do you know when we can go back to school?" Kyle asked, hoping to start a conversation that wouldn't end in an awkward silence.
"After they clean up all the blood and stuff. That should take a week or so." Wendy stared down at her thumb, slowly rubbing the back of Kyle's hand. "It won't be the same. Everyone's dead. It'll be just you, me, and Kenny left. The rest will be North Park kids."
"Do you think we'll make it?"
"Yeah. We can pull through anything." Even as Wendy said it, she felt unsure of herself.
The first day back to school the following Wednesday was just a test.
The three freshmen awkwardly stood next to each other, pretending to be ready for the day coming. Wendy complained of how horrible her foster parents were treating her, but Kenny and Kyle said little or nothing to console her. The two were too deeply rooted in their own problems.
Kenny stared at the ground, not feeling right without the familiar daily argument between Kyle and Cartman.
Then again, nothing felt right anymore. Kyle's parents took him in, and he was very grateful despite the fact that Sheila's lectures on anorexia were all he could take. He was the only one of the three who had successfully blocked out the memories and nightmares associated with that night, or so he thought.
He blinked hard- at least he had regained some of the use of his eye, although he could only half close it, if that. It was so cold out- he wore his hoody, Kyle wore his coat and hat, although Wendy was dressed in the shortest skirt she could find, and wore a black hoody that had belonged to Stan. Her legs were shivering uncontrollably, and she denied being cold at all.
Looking at her, Kenny figured that she took it the hardest, since everyone around town blamed Stan for taking them all to the gym in the first place. She happened to be a major planner in the evacuation attempt, so blame fell on her, too.
Her parents were dead. Her foster parents were assholes, according to her. Kyle's dad was dead. Kenny's parents were dead. Stan's mom had killed herself the day before.
Stan's funeral was tomorrow. They were all going, shunning school for him. He would have been proud.
The bus squealed to a stop in front of them, and Kyle stepped on first. Wendy noticed how he had to slouch down to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling of the bus.
Every day she grew more and more secretly attached to him. She saw him as a substitute for Stan, and realizing that made her feel guilty about it.
The trio sat in the back two bus seats, Kenny and Kyle in the right one, and Wendy in the left.
A sudden memory flashed into her mind and kept piecing itself together until it stuck in her thoughts.
She saw herself, in her mind, pawing Stan's body as he pushed her hands away. The memory made a few tears slip down her cheeks, landing on the super short skirt she wore.
On the next stop, she moved to the seat in front of the redhead and blonde.
As she stared hopelessly out the window at the town flowing by her, she cried. Not openly, not so anyone could hear, but she did. The caution tape put around almost every building reminded her of the events the previous Tuesday.
It was too bad, really. She didn't mind Butters, even though everyone else did.
Done. Next chap up whenever. Prolly next weekend or something.