Hey everyone, this is my first story over here on , hope y'all like it. I've not really developed a unique writing style yet, and the whole thing might be pretty amateurish, but go ahead and give it a read. I would really appreciate any criticism you guys have one it. Peace ~ CrisisOmegs

"Fuck," Kenny said as the knife rammed through his skull, piercing him right in the middle of his forehead.

Like always, he knew he'd wake up in a matter of hours, lying unharmed in bed. And like always, his friends wouldn't even acknowledge his death. At this point, after sixteen years of monotonous death after death, Kenny's cuss wasn't fueled by rage but had become a cry of annoyance and disappointment. If today was February 2, then he'd gone… About three months without getting shot or drowned or painfully maimed; Kenny had been expecting the stretch to last longer than that. He wondered what happened before his brain shut down, and came to the conclusion that he didn't even care anymore. The last words he heard before drifting off were something about killing Kenny and somebody being a bastard. His final breath turned into an irritated sigh.

As Kenny got older, his frequent deaths had become, well, less frequent. While they originally came at least once a week, the familiar feeling of fatality started to become fairly uncommon, even to the point where dying became a monthly occurrence. His longest stretch without dying was a six month period where he'd even entertained the notion that his dreadful deaths had stopped completely. That is, until he had been burned by a trash incinerator and turned into dark black ash.

The vain hope he sustained during those more-than-a-month stretches of refreshing, continuous life turned into a type of torture all on its own. Dying after four or five months left him with a cold reminder of his freakish immortality, and Kenny thought that he used to take dying better when it was a daily chore rather than something so unpredictable. But death was still relatively common (at least, compared to everyone else's standards) and Kenny had to live with it and the fact that no one else noticed.

Though that didn't mean he wasn't completely fucking sick of it.

As his sigh drifted from his mouth, his eyelids fluttered downwards and his surroundings gave way to a familiar, filthy room and a thinly threaded blanket covered his shivering body. Cold and bitter but certainly alive. Kenny rolled his eyes and sat up in bed, thinking that it must be a school day; if it wasn't he probably would have been killed by a drug overdose or drunk driving or some shit like that. After all, what's the point of immortality if you couldn't enjoy yourself? It wasn't like he'd get addicted to anything, since his body felt new and refreshed every time he woke up from being slaughtered the night before. Lots of teens took their youth to mean immortality, and acted like they were invincible; Kenny was the same, but maybe a little crazier, a little wilder. While everyone else acted, Kenny knew he couldn't die. He couldn't make enough of a mess out of himself.

Slipping on an oversized and very familiar orange parka (he'd gone to the ends of the earth to make sure it was the same as his original, and had bought an extra large to make sure he'd never outgrow it), Kenny made his way to the same bus stop he'd always gone to. He kept his hood down now, since at some point he'd become keenly aware at how easily an attacker could sneak up from his side to bring a brand new death upon him.

The look on his friends' faces hinted that he should have at least run a comb through his hair before heading out. Kyle, Stan, and Cartman all looked a little surprised at Kenny's lack of concern for his appearance though they weren't clearly upset. As the resident poor kid, Kenny knew they often attributed any problems he had to his poverty.

"Hey, guys," Kenny said, not trying too hard to mask his disappointment; he'd really been looking forward to a nice string of painless days. His words came out deflated and with little sincerity.

"Um, hey dude," Kyle said with a bit more concern. "You look kinda out of it, you okay?"

Kenny found that Kyle's motherly caring was not what he wanted today. He considered shooting Kyle an "of-course-I'm-not-fucking-okay" look before he just shrugged his shoulders and gave a feeble "Yeah, whatever" in reply.

"Look Jew-boy, I know you're a class-A fag and all but I don't think doting on Kenny is gonna get you into his pants," sneered Cartman. Kenny looked over and saw a sadistic grin on Cartman's face; his remark had certainly not been meant to lift Kenny's spirits. Even after so many years the rivalry between Cartman and Kyle had done little simmering down.

"One of these days, Fat-ass, you're gonna get it," Kyle threatened. His temper was already boiling after such a routine insult from Cartman. Kenny thought that maybe Kyle hadn't had the best night either.

"I'm gonna get it? Well fuck Kyle, I hope you won't be the one to give it to me. I don't like taking it up the ass," replied Cartman, face darkening with that sick satisfaction he got from tormenting others.

Stan, ever the mediator, refrained from making any unnecessary comments and decided to merely comfort Kyle.

"Jesus dude, just take a deep breath or something," Stan said, laughing a little. "Don't let him get in your head like that."

Kenny applauded Cartman's self restraint when he didn't make another gay joke after hearing Stan say 'head', though his smug look suggested that he was merely keeping it to himself.

With the bus's arrival, the gang clamored into their usual seats. Kyle and Stan were busy, the two super-best-friends chitchatting about a new CD or something; Kenny wasn't in the mood to eavesdrop. He heard Cartman mumble something about the two "gaying it up" before he resigned himself to looking out the window. For all the enjoyment Cartman got out of tormenting other people, Kenny really believed he wanted a super-best-friend of his own. Which was probably the only reason Kenny kept hanging out with the guy; a lot of people had gotten sick of his shit awhile ago but Kenny felt he at least deserved some pity. Even though today Kenny was the one who needed pity.

His immortality hadn't changed since fourth grade, and neither had a lot of other things. Though Cartman wasn't exactly fat anymore, he couldn't be considered a macho man either. Reaching six feet, his stocky build gave him a very proportional look and he had a solidness which Kenny couldn't recall from childhood. His hair remained fluffy brown and his eyes a dark cocoa, giving his pouting a very nostalgic feeling. It was identical to the expression he'd worn years ago.

Kyle had predictably grown to be smaller than the rest, thought because he was lanky, his thinness exaggerated his 5 foot 10 height and left people thinking he was just as tall as Cartman. His fiery hair usually remained buried underneath his trademark green ushanka, but as he aged his locks became less curly and a bit darker. It gave him a more mature look, but he was just as hotheaded as he was in fourth grade and Kenny doubted that would ever change.

Kyle and Stan's relationship had done little changing as well; they still depended on each other for so much. Even after Stan had broken up with Wendy, Kyle was always there when Stan needed a shoulder to cry on. And since Stan's emotional tendencies had remained, well, he often needed one. Taller than Kyle, he sported the same black locks as always, a bit shaggy but straight. The two made a great couple in Kenny's opinion, but he doubted they would ever get together seriously – though he'd bet good money that they had at least gotten a good look at each others' dicks before.

As for Kenny himself, the years had been kind to him; perhaps with the excessive pain, God had been nice enough to include soft corn-colored hair that went great with deep blue eyes, as well as a thin but sleek figure. The ladies, and more recently the men, were frequently falling for him, and he didn't mind. He took the same stance on relationships as drugs and alcohol; he might as well indulge in them. Death had, understandably, made him fearless.

Hopping off the bus, he and his friends parted ways as they headed for their respective lockers and homerooms. With Cartman absorbed in his own needs and Stan and Kyle absorbed with each others', Kenny was sure they were over what little concern they had for him this morning. Which was cool; he hadn't been expecting any at all, to be honest. It's not like showing up disheveled at the bus stop was too uncommon. Kenny heard the usual "Jew","Fat-ass" exchange between Kyle and Cartman before he got to his locker and fished around for his books. The locker was cluttered with shit from who knows how long ago; he wondered whether he'd ever get called out for being a pack rat.

"Heya, Ken," came a rather flirty voice from beside him. Kenny looked to see a head of curly blonde hair and rather massive tits and instantly recognized Bebe.

Aw man, at least somebody knows how to cheer me up, Kenny thought. He returned her smile with a sexy one of his own and leaned closer.

"Tits! Oh, I mean, Bebe!" Kenny greeted her, giving her a sly grin.

"Haha, very funny McCormick," Bebe said, rolling her eyes but still smiling. "Haven't seen much of you lately."

"Unfortunately," snorted Kenny.

He and Bebe had been friends with benefits since 9th grade; both of them had a reputation for being pretty slutty. It was a match made in heaven, and they had become so comfortable with each other sexually and personally that they were honestly very good friends. Having a girl like Bebe around was great for Kenny: she cheered him up in more ways than one.

Kenny closed his locker and the two of them took off for their first class, home economics. Kenny put his arm around Bebe's waist, and even if it looked it, everyone knew they weren't a couple. They had both made it perfectly clear that there were few people they were opposed to hooking up with.

"Made up with Wendy yet? I know you guys had a fight about her lack of 'action' or something," Kenny wondered aloud, not really caring about the answer but, having partially gotten over his depression, wanting to talk to somebody.

"Oh god, what a prude," Bebe complained, affectionately insulting her best friend. "I just want her to get herself a boyfriend or something, she's been waaay too clingly lately and, as you may know, I need time for my own pursuits."

"Oh boy, do I," Kenny murmured under his breath, entering the classroom.

Their teacher called for order, and the students reluctantly made their way to their seats. Because home economics wasn't exactly an intellectually challenging course, all the students were lumped into the standard category. Kenny got by with C's and maybe a D or two, but he didn't mind hanging out with the smarter kids. If it weren't for classes like these, he wouldn't get to spend any time in school with Kyle or Stan. They weren't in his home ec. class, but he did enjoy their company during gym.

As for the kids in his home ec. class, well, there was Bebe, Cartman, Jimmy, Butters, and more… The school's variety of students hadn't changed much since fourth grade.

The teens split up into their groups; the assignment for today was baking muffins, but he wondered if he could get away with making cookies instead. All the ingredients were right there in front of him, so he just had to coerce his group mates to do the same. He licked his lips at the thought. Nothing to raise spirits like the smell of freshly baked cookies, he thought hungrily.

Kenny's group was made up of Butters and Cartman, because they had been allowed to choose their own partners. Butters could be pressured into doing nearly anything, especially with Cartman there to make him.

"Hey Fat-ass, we should bake cookies instead. You know, to fuck with the teacher?" Kenny suggested. He had decided whether to appeal to Cartman's gluttonous side or sadistic side, but sadistic won out pretty easily.

Cartman gave him a look.

"Please Kenny, in order to really fuck with one's teacher, simply ruin the recipe entirely," he said, rolling his eyes. "Amateurs," he exclaimed, sounding exasperated.

Kenny felt himself getting aggravated. Without Bebe's rampant sex appeal to quell his rather self-deprecating feelings, he was back to being upset by his recent brush with death.

"Dammit Cartman, I just want some cookies." Kenny hated it when people tried to get in the way of something he wanted.

"Well, now I get to screw with both you and the teacher, don't I?"

Kenny rolled his eyes and sat down. If there wasn't the promise of chocolately delight waiting for him, no way was he going to waste his time baking shit.

All the while, Butters was reading the instructions with a confused look on his childish, scrunched-up face.

"Um, l-let's see, so 4 cups of flour… N-no wait, ¼ of a cup?" he was mumbling to himself, scratching his head.

"Let me take it from here, Butters," Cartman said, snatching the recipe out of his hands and starting to mix random amounts of ingredients together.

"Aah, w-wait Eric! I'm not sure you're doin' the recipe right…" Butters meekly tried to assert himself, with little success. The petite blond stood awkwardly, mashing his hands together.

Kenny lay back in his chair and covered his eyes with his hands. He was completely unmotivated and he didn't need two idiots screwing around right now. If he fell asleep now, would anybody notice? As long as he didn't get in the way of Cartman's cooking antics, he doubted Butters would speak up about his lack of action. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

CRASH!

Kenny jumped up in alarm to be greeted with a panicked Butters and a disapproving Cartman, standing over a mess of flour and a broken ceramic bowl.

"Butters, please. I ask you to mix together the dry ingredients and you drop the bowl? For shame," Cartman was saying. Kenny seriously doubted it was Butters' fault.

Butters looked extremely nervous; his hands wouldn't stop twitching and he didn't seem to want to look anyone in the eye. Kenny couldn't understand how someone could be so upset about a simple mistake. No one had even gotten hurt.

Butters spent the rest of the class trying (and failing) to clean up his mess; he started by trying to pick up the shards of bowl but cut his hand on it, and had to fix his meager wound before returning; he wandered around restlessly looking for a broom, mumbling under his breath "I've really got to learn to behave myself," in his rather unique accent. While Kenny found his little performance quite entertaining, he moved in to help after the bell rang. Since there wasn't another home economics class until third period, they wouldn't be kicked out and he decided to stay and clean up. It's not like Kenny had no sympathy for the little guy. He was still the bumbling, blond-haired Butters from years before, except taller and perhaps more mature, at least physically. His physique was not unlike Kenny's.

"Aw, shucks Kenny," Butters said, looking embarrassed and cheeks flushing red. "You don't owe me nuthin' but you stay here and help me. That's awful nice of you."

"Yeah, sure. Not like I'd rather go to my next class," Kenny replied, sighing. What did he have next, math? With no friends to keep him occupied? The last thing he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts.

Butters looked at him thoughtfully and asked, "Kenny, you look pretty down today… Did you die yesterday or somethin'?"

Kenny dropped the shard of bowl he was holding and raised his head in a quick jerk to face Butters. Butters' innocent face showed no sarcasm or ill will. Kenny couldn't believe his ears. And then he got angry.

Using all the strength Kenny had accumulated in his sixteen years of living, he lunged at Butters, grabbing his arms and pinning him against the wall.

"What the—" Butters started, but one look at Kenny's eyes, burning with fury, shut him up and Butters felt his body filling with fear.

"You think this is funny? You think you can make jokes about death or some shit like that? You little shit!" he yelled, slamming Butters against the wall one more time for good measure. His anger was all spilling out, all his frustration. Nobody else even mentioned death, but Butters had to make it seem like he knew Kenny's curse and he had to look like he was treating it so lightly. When somebody got in Kenny's way, he could get mad. Really fucking mad.

"W-well I just thought that maybe you died or somethin' cause you were lookin' sad and you never look happy after dyin'," Butters was still stuttering, looking down at Kenny's firm grip on his arms.

Kenny was shocked. He gripped Butters tighter. It sounded like… Butters knew? He knew that Kenny could die and come back to life the morning after?

Kenny leaned in dangerously close, looking deep in Butters' eyes so he could be sure that the answer he would get from his next question would be one hundred percent truthful. He could feel Butters' frantic breathing against his face.

"Are you saying that you know I can't die?"

Butters was quiet for a moment, taken aback by Kenny's sudden intensity. No doubt he had rarely seen Kenny, the apathetic, careless teen, act so seriously.

"That's w-what you always tell people… Isn't it?" Butters asked, wincing from the pain as Kenny's grip did not let up.

A look of complete and utter sincerity was clear in Butters' eyes. Kenny could feel himself breathing heavily, his face ridiculously close to Butters. Butters was clearly very uncomfortable, squirming around under Kenny's iron grip. But Kenny would take neither his hands nor his eyes off Butters.

"Look Kenny, I'm awfully sorry if I offended you… I'll try'n be more careful next time, promise!" Butters pleaded, wishing he could leave. Even though he had an excuse to be late for class, he couldn't take this atmosphere. He felt more confused than ever.

But Kenny was lost deep in thought, all of it about Butters'. His piercing stare caused Butters discomfort, but Kenny was being filled with a warm feeling of excitement and anticipation. Of course!, Kenny thought. Butters is so gullible and naïve, he believed me from the moment I told everyone back in fourth grade, dressed as "Mysterion". Every time I've mentioned it since then, he's been the only one to take it seriously. But Butters doesn't speak up, especially when he's afraid of being wrong, and he must have been shocked to hear my secret. "Professor Chaos" was in the backround the whole time; why didn't I think of this before? This is what I need. Someone who believes me wholeheartedly, the most sincere, innocent person I've ever met. Look at him. He's perfect.

Kenny looked hard at Butters, who had stopped squirming and seemed paralyzed by fear, completely at the whim of Kenny's choice of action. Kenny studied his blond tresses, short and soft as always, a light blond like a glass of lemonade. Kenny wished he could swim in Butters' sea blue eyes.

But then Kenny let him go. His grip loosened and he stood there upright, staring at where Butters had been one second ago. Butters grabbed his books clumsily, running fast and nearly tripping in his eagerness to get out of the classroom.

As Kenny stared at the wall, he replayedd Butters' answer over and over again in his mind. His eyes remained wide as he grabbed at the air where Butters used to be, embracing it and trying to bring it close to his body.

"That's what you always tell people… Isn't it?"

Standing in the silence of the empty room, broken bowl and ruined flour still beside him on the floor, Kenny swore he could hear wedding bells.