I guess I probably should have put a 'dear whatever' or some shit on this letter. But honestly, I don't give a shit who reads it. Probably some bored CSI or some shit like that.
Anyway, my name is Kenny McCormick. That's Kenneth McCormick, born in South Park, now aged 18.
Anyway, you might want to know how this happened. You might not. I don't care. I'm going to write it down anyway, because no one has ever asked me, and it's fucking killing me.
When we were kids, I had a lot of 'friends' I guess. A lot of them got smart and moved out of that damn kick town by high school though. But me and Stan and Kyle and Cartman stuck around. I think those guys always saw it as home, and maybe I did too, but I couldn't have left anyway. I was that one poor kid, you know? Seriously. My drunk as parents never got jobs and I were always trying to beat some sense into me. Yeah right.
I got a job when I was fifteen, because that was when my older brother Kevin died. Car crash. No license, he was only seventeen, our parents couldn't drive to teach him, and he'd never thought he'd needed it. Ironically, he'd been driving my dad to the DMV to get his license. Never made it there though. They both died.
I got a job to take care of my mom and my little sister. Mom never came out of the house after that. She just made sure she was drunk enough that she wouldn't remember anything ten minutes later, locked herself in her room and watched tv. And Karen kept talking about how she wasn't that bad looking a girl. She should make some money too. Of course, I got really overprotective of her after that.
Stan hooked back up with old Wendy again. I don't hate the chick, but she's too smart for me. She's pretty hot though, in that weird, nerdy way. I dunno. She can be pretty annoying sometimes, but she ain't so bad. But then in sophomore year, they just stopped talking to each other. I was like Stan's best friend- other than Kyle, of course- so I could tell something was pretty fucked up. Seriously, the guy looked guilty as hell and I felt bad for him. I think I must have assumed he got into her pants while she was drunk or something and felt bad about it.
Well jesus, after that, they broke up and were all buddy-buddy. Dude, it was messed up. It was the weirdest thing. He'd go shopping with the chick, with no chance of getting any. I didn't understand.
Uhm, hold on. You probably don't even know who Stan is. Lemme start over.
Stan's kind of a tough guy. Does a lot of sports, has a really good reputation. Pretty laid back dude. He's pretty smart when it comes to life stuff, you know, like girl's and ugh, feelings and stuff. He was the best at video games, too.
Kyle's real smart. He took physics freshman year, because of all the courses he'd taken in middle school and over summers. Passed with an A+. He was a fucking genius, I swear on my life. Really short, too. We were all about the same height until high school, when suddenly, kaboom, me and Stan were like 6'3" and he was just over five feet. I guess that was when he stopped launching himself at us? Uh, that came out wrong. I just mean Kyle had a real fucking temper. Maybe it was cuz he was Jewish and Cartman was always ragging on him. I have no idea. He just got really ticked off really easily. Diabetic little red-head, really bad with girls, but over all nice to everyone. I was pretty close to him too.
Cartman- well, that's his last name, but no one ever called him Eric but his mom and our crazy fuck teachers. He was a fatass. He told us until middle school he was just big boned. Honestly, I think I started to believe him a little bit. I kind of expected him to grow up and out of it when he hit high school, but no. He seriously was just fat. He was an insensitive little fuck, too. He made fun of everyone. He laughed at Token for being black. He laughed at Kyle for being Jewish. He laughed at me for being poor. He laughed at Pip for being british, and wendy for being a chick. Damn but did we get so tired of him. Maybe I just hung out with him because I was sorry for him, but he was sort of my friend. And I really did try to do right by him, I swear.
So I guess everything started when Kev died. I got a job, and I didn't have as much time to hang out with Stan or Kyle. That was the 'ice age' of Stan and Wendy.
About three months later, Kyle got sick. At first, we weren't really worried. Kyle got sick a lot. He was diabetic, y'know. And that was when I found out why Stan had broken up with Wendy. I probably would have been really hurt that they hadn't told me, they'er best friend that they were totally dating, but I didn't have time. They sort of blurted it out when we found out just how bad off Kyle was. I was just a stupid kid, I didn't really understand.
But Kyle was 'lapsing' or some shit like that. The day came when the doctors said that if he went to sleep, he wouldn't ever wake up. They were gonna keep him alive on machines. Kyle got no say in that- his parents wanted him alive. Damn them, I wanted to blame them so bad. But I guess I can't anymore. It just happened.
Stan had been sleeping in Kyle's hospital room for at least two weeks now. He went out, got things for Kyle, and came back. I felt pretty guilty. I went in every single day, but Kyle didn't really see me. And I felt like I was interrupting something, because I'd always go in and him and Stan would be talking. I hadn't seen Cartman since Kyle'd gotten into the hospital. I thought he would've come in gloating or some shit about 'The Jew dying!' but he didn't.
I was in there, pretending to be asleep because I didn't want to leave if he wasn't waking up. Sorry, Stan. Kyle noticed, and sent Stan to get him a soda from the lobby. He told me to come over. He was already starting to fade. I could see it in his eyes- I would know. I've been in a few comas before. You always know when it's too late. And he knew. He grabbed me by my shirt, and pulled me in real close.
"Don't you dare let him throw his life away over me, you got it?!" He yelled at me. I just nodded. Stan was a stubborn kid. I don't think he ever would have moved on if Kyle was just in a coma, like he was sleeping.
Kyle stared at me for a moment, breathing real heavy. He was about to pass out, and he wasn't going to wake up again. He knew it, I knew it, all the doctors knew it. But Stan wouldn't have believed it. Then Kyle did something I'll never forget and I'll never forgive.
He pulled a gun out from under his sheets, and blew his brains out.
I don't know how a fifteen year old kid about to go into a coma got a gun in a hospital. I never will. But I don't care. I just remember standing there. I had blood on my face but I couldn't move. I didn't believe it. Stan blamed me at first. Punched me right in the face, but I didn't feel it. I just hit the ground, sat up, and went on staring at Kyle. Then Stan fell to his knees, and for the first time I'd ever seen. He cried.
Cartman didn't say anything at Kyle's funeral. Stan didn't, either. I did. I was hurting just as bad as anyone, because Kyle was my best friend in the whole world. If he wasn't with Stan, he was with me. And even though I might have only been second on his list of friends, he was first on mine. I got up and said a few words, but I couldn't make it to the end, and I eventually collapsed back into my seat next to Stan.
He lasted about two and half years.
Before that, though, Karen died. I came home one day after work. It was her birthday. I'd picked her up a nice dress, because she had a date that night and nothing to wear. She had made sure I'd known that. She was like a cute little kid, obsessing over her new boyfriend. I was just glad he wasn't completely obsessed with getting laid, or I would've killed him. I honestly would've. But I think he really did like her, so I let him live.
Anyway, I came in the door, and all I saw was blood. Mom had finally snapped. Killed Karen and then herself. I was the only one left. I just closed the door, pulled out my cell, and called the cops. I didn't move until they got there.
I got no sympathy from Stan. He didn't see people anymore. He just went on blindly. He quit the football team. And the Baseball team. His grades started slipping. He didn't do anything anymore. I tried to keep him up, I did. I made sure and took him places, whether he wanted to go to them or not.
I was the only person who could stand him anymore. Most people just saw him as a whiny little kid who wouldn't move on. But I was Stan's friend, and the only one he had left. People stopped hanging out with me because I kept hanging with him. It was just me and Stan and Cartman then.
So after Karen died, I had to get out of South Park. And I thought it might be good for Stan.
So I asked him. Let's just get the fuck out of this shit town, go wherever the fuck we want, and just leave? He liked the idea. So we left. Day after Karen died. Didn't even stick around for a funeral. I couldn't afford one anyway. Sorry, Karen.
We lasted about two weeks in the apartment we were renting. Cartman ended up following us. Guess he got lonely. I got a job pretty quick. Growing up where I did, you got strong and fast. Good with your hands. Good with knives and stuff, too, but that's not the point. I got a good job with a half-decent pay, and I managed to get Stan to go try and get a job, too. He started working at starbucks while he was looking for a real job. I wasn't so sure he'd find one, but hey, I wasn't gonna tell him.
Then one day, I came home and found him hanging from the ceiling. I don't know what finally pushed him over the edge. I probably don't really want to.
Oh well. I had to cut him down, too. That was the worst part. He had a suicide note in his hands, though. I read it while I waited for the cops to get here for the body. I think I must have propped him up against the wall, because I was leaning against him. He said he couldn't take it anymore. He said it was just so lonely. He said he hated living in a sea of people and still feeling lonely. I don't get it. I was still here, right? I was still his best friend and I still cared. He wasn't alone.
Cartman had had a key to our apartment made awhile ago, and even though he lived a few miles away, waltzed in like he owned the place. He started yelling something about cheesy poofs, looked over, saw me leaning against Stan, turned around, and left.
Stan had a funeral. Tiny, all we could afford on our wages. Me and Cartman bought it. During the funeral, though, in classic Cartman style, he stared at the cheap little coffin we'd scraped up money for and said 'Fags can fuck in hell, now.' I broke his nose.
Now I guess that's how he dealt with grief. By telling himself he hated the person who was dead, so that he wouldn't miss them. Maybe that was why he was always so angry, because if he wasn't angry, he could feel other things. Like sadness.
I couldn't pay for the apartment by myself, and I didn't need all the extra room. No girls anymore.
I moved in with Cartman. He didn't say much. He'd been really distant since Stan died. I wanted to mourn, too, for once, but I couldn't. I found out Cartman had quit his job, and I had to work two to keep his ass afloat. He just sat around, a really glassy, far-away look in his eye. I knew that look. Stan had had it the day he'd died. I didn't want Cartman to die too, so I tried to cheer him up. I told him he didn't have to get a job just yet. I just wanted to be a better friend to him than I had to Stan or Kyle.
Then one day, he was just gone. I didn't see him for two weeks. Then, one night, I was watching the news. There was a big controversy, because gay marriage had just been legalized here in Denver. I wanted to watch, because, well, I don't know. Maybe it was because it made me remember Stan and Kyle without remembering death?
The first wedding in the state was happening, and they were doing a live broadcast. The car they were in was being sort of attacked by crazy ass anti-gay marriage weirdos.
That was when Cartman showed up.
He had a gun. A big ass one, too. And he just started firing into the crowd. I was horrified. Jesus Christ, they might have been insensitive or shit like that, but they were people. I had never actually thought Cartman was dangerous enough to kill people. He was an asshole and he loved to hate, but I didn't think he was dangerous.
Apparently, I didn't know him too well. A lot of people got shot. There was a lot of screaming, but when he ran out of bullets, he pulled a hand gun out of his pocket and shot himself in the head. I don't know why he decided to kill people first.
I probably never will. Maybe he just wanted to be remembered. To die and not just fade away like the rest of us. Well, he's remembered. Remembered as the fatass who got gay marriage re-banned.
I don't understand. I really don't.
Everyone I've ever known has died. They all said they felt alone, but I was there for all of them. I tried and tried and tried to make it okay. But I'm just not good enough.
So now I'm the one who's alone. And I'm really, really alone. Not like the others, who just felt alone, or heartbroken. Someone was always there, someone not good enough. And they died. But me, I have no one.
I have nothing. Everyone I've ever loved is dead.
And by the time you finish reading this, I will be, too.