I've never written a fic like this before. Different narration style, no clue as to how to end it or even what the general plot should be... expect nothing and you might not be disappointed. The stated goal of this fic: provide innuendo for everyone/everyone, and then leave them all single in the end... or in one big orgy? Only time and my compulsive girlish whims will tell.
Martyrdom: It's Not For Everyone
Before we get into it, Kenny wants to assure you that he is the victim here.
Okay, okay, so he dropped out of Park County Community College, the easiest community college in the nation. And so he dumped his girlfriend when she told him she was pregnant. And so maybe he has a touch of a morphine addiction. Still: he is the wronged party most deserving of your sympathy.
If you believe that, we assume you'll believe anything, which will come in very handy whilst reading this.
And for now some background:
Kenny McCormick, town degenerate, has become a homeowner at the tender age of 22. This is because his father is in jail, his mother has run away with the car mechanic, his brother is in the navy, and his little sister has gotten married and moved out. (Five months later they were blessed with a baby boy.) And so the house was thrust upon Kenny, and the leaky roof and broken window(s) and rotting back steps and malfunctioning furnace where added to his already-burdened shoulders. It is to this home that Kenny is now returning. His truck broke down weeks ago, and so (because the town is without a mechanic at the moment) he is walking the three miles back along the highway, in the snow, and if he were to get frostbite and fall down dead... well, that's (his) life.
We suppose that now is a good time to revisit the drug addiction, just in case you are feeling sympathetic. We would like to test the assertion that a good story must have a protagonist the audience can root for.
When Kenny was 15, he decided he wanted a better lot in life than his parents. Some people would have buckled down in school, gotten a job, and started saving.
Kenny returned to shock thrills for quick cash.
But this was a post-Jackass world. Everyone, everywhere was desensitized. Oh, they'd say, you're going to eat the raw eternal organs of endangered aquatic mammals? Ho hum. Seen it before.
Kenny despaired, and dropped some acid with Kyle, and then it came to him in a flash of brilliance: he merely had to do what he did best. The generation that could not be shocked would undoubtedly pay good money to watch a guy die in new and creative ways.
He was right, but he found it to be surprisingly painful. And so, in another stoke of genius, he started shooting up morphine before performances. He did well, extremely well, at first. But soon the cost of the morphine canceled out the profits from the show, and he was right back where he started - plus a serious addiction and a physically exhausting career.
In fact, Kenny is at this very moment walking home from the hospital. Craig, being a nurse, is his morphine dealer. Craig also moonlights at the middle school, teaching sign language as an elective course. We will allow you a moment to indulge in the imagine of him as a kind mentor to school children or, more probably, in a slutty nurse costume administrating some sort of medication to a tweaked-out Tweek, before dashing these cozy mental images by reminding you that he is stealing morphine and selling it to a junkie. We will go on to tell you that he is the sort of nurse that would hold a pillow over the face of a terminal patient, and that he has slept/is sleeping with a considerable portion of the hospital.
If you are wondering what happened to the rest of the South Park children, we will digress from Kenny to tell you that Stan is in L.A. being spit on by producers, Kyle has recently finished college and joined a firm, and Cartman is missing, presumed dead. We remind you that this is Kenny's assumption - we know precisely where Cartman is, what he's doing, and even why he's doing it; and in due time we will let Kenny know, too.
"Hey, Uriel," Kenny calls out as he enters his home, ramming the broken door with his shoulder to get it to open and then, closed. He drops the stack of bills he fished from his dented mailbox on the coffee table next to the door and, kicking off his boots as he goes, walks from the living room to the kitchen. He removes a beer from the refrigerator, pops the cap off with his belt buckle, takes two morphine tablets, and then washes them down.
"Can we order Chinese for dinner?" Uriel calls over the sound of the sitcom he is watching while Kenny mentally calculates how much money he has after buying his pills against how much he owes the Gas & Electric Co. Finding it significantly disproportionate, he wanders back into living room and frowns at Uriel, whose wings are taking up the entire couch.
"How many times do I have to ask you to tuck those in?"
"Tuck them in? Tuck them in? That's like asking a man to tuck his dick in!"
If there is one truth Kenny has learned about angels, particularly archangels, it is that they are very touchy about their wings, and like to boast about their wingspan. He owes it to the fact that they have no genitalia.
... And about that. Kenny found the angel around two weeks ago, and he has been freeloading on Kenny's couch ever since. More specifically, Kenny literally stumbled over the angel, passed out face-down on his front yard, while he was taking his trash out one morning. Uriel has steadfastly claimed that he didn't fall from heaven, he just stepped out for a tad because Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel have that "Three Mucketeers" thing going and they're always leaving him out, and earlier they were putting their heads together and whispering and then snickering and when he asked what they were talking about they said Nothing, but he just knows they were talking about him.
Kenny wouldn't mind having him around quite so much if he ate less and chipped in more, but there's little he can do about it.
"So?" Uriel prompts. "Chinese food?"
"Sure, why not," Kenny says, scratching his neck. "I'll call Shitty Wok in a bit." He prefers to call it this than it's legal name.
There's a knock on the door, which surprises Kenny. The Gas & Electric Co. don't muscle someone for cash, they merely shut off your power; and whatever other mistakes Kenny may make, he does not rack up gambling debts. He goes to the window, glances out, and sees a twenty-something man standing on his front porch.
We will refrain from giving you a physical description of him, because we are sorely tempted to describe him in this way: He took up three-fourths of the frame. His head was particularly circular and his hair color was #6b4d12. His dramatic pose was a tribute to the excellent animation and technical supervisors. Instead, know that he is wearing heavy army boots, a large jacket, and looks to Kenny like the kind of man who never gets tired of Chuck Norris jokes. We happen to know that Kenny is correct, but he isn't the sort of man to laugh out loud at them - just smirk to himself.
Kenny opens the door after much yanking, and the man takes one final drag on his cigarette before flicking it off to the side.
"Yes?" Kenny says, and then the man takes a gun out from his oversized jacket and shoots Kenny directly between the eyes.