It hurt... so much. Perhaps, it was that which drowned out everything around them. The bickering, he heard…was going further and further away. Until, he couldn’t hear it anymore. But it was still there, and he knew it. His skin felt as if it were being scalded by the hottest flame and yet still, encased in the coldest kind of frost. He didn’t remember. Did that mean none of them did? None of it… the electrocutions, getting shot, trampled, being torn apart… They didn’t remember? The blonde, didn’t know what might have been more excruciating. The deaths themselves or the disregard… “..Why can’t you remember?!” He demanded again, trying to make sense of it all. But…it wasn’t working. Why? Because he already knew. He, being the way he was, just didn’t want to face it was spot on. ”Why? You were there! All of you were there, Kyle! ********!” When the young Jew touched his wrist, he jerked it free. As much, as it hurt him, with the cuts he still had there, hidden beneath the layers of bandaging. “Every time… you were there!” He was loud enough now, that it caught the attention, of their other friends, who’d, until then, been exchanging resentful barter. “You even—You killed me once too...” Kenny could feel the frustration in his voice; choke over the words that he spoke. The anger…simmered over, into a broken feeling… “…What the ********... is wrong with you?” It was an angry statement, but his face...his eyes, that shone underneath the sunlight to show the tears that threatened to kill his masculinity, and strength, by trickling down his pale skin. Never, did Kenny resort to tears. Even…in the face of unbearable, paralyzing horrific pain, he didn’t cry. Not when he went home, to poverty, or when he knew he woke up each morning to die some time during the course of his day, or even as he felt the life…fading from him. Never. But, here, it was too much. He couldn’t take it.. and so the tears flowed, his hands tightened into fists, that were torn between punching the Jew, or another object. But it was here... he remembered the red-head’s earlier question. “..No, Kyle... you’re not one of my best friends. You’re not..” He hated crying. Seriously. It made it hard to talk… “You’re not. Stan isn’t.. and to ******** with Cartman, because I know he never gave a ******** s**t about me..” He was still angry.. “But you... I thought you’d care! I died, every ******** time, thinking.. Kyle and Stan might miss me. They might feel bad, I’m gone. But neither of you, ever gave enough of a damn to remember!” He shouted, “I thought..you guys—” He lowered his head, allowing the bangs, of gold he’d let grow out over the years hide his troubled face. “None of you, are my friends, if you can’t even remember something like that! I died, Kyle, one thousand, four ******** hundred and thirteen damn times! And you don’t remember! You..don’t..even..”
Kuchiki-Baka Community Member 
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