South Park fanfiction.
I made it to school today, for the first time since Lizzy died. Stan and Cartman are sitting in their desks in front of me, and they both look glad that I'm here. We had talked well into last night about what our plan would be this time, and we had eventually come up with something that just might work. It could be tricky, though.
"Well, Kenny McCormick, done with our little vacation, are we?" Mr. Garrison jeers. What an ass. One of his students was just killed last weekend, and he didn't expect us to be just a little torn up about it?
"Yes," I reply, unenthusiastically.
"So, when are you going to get your shit together and start working, rather than just showing up to school whenever you please?" he asks.
"Whenever you make up your mind about what gender you want to be," I shoot back. The whole class bursts out laughing (Cartman's practically gasping for breath), and Mr. Garrison looks pretty enraged. It probably wasn't a good idea to irritate the teacher, but I really don't have any respect for anyone who thinks a gross and bigoted overview of modern pop culture qualifies as material for history class. I think that's reasonable.
But it looks like I pushed him too far. Even after five years, I guess the whole sex change incident is still a sensitive topic for him. He rushes at me with hatred in his eyes. I'm about to be killed by Mr. Garrison? What has the world come to?
An empty desk in the front row suddenly explodes, and Mr. Garrison is thrown back, dazed. The short kid in black in the very back row shakes his head in disgust at Mr. Garrison, his finger still pointing at what's left of the desk. Mr. Garrison, apparently forgetting all about me, goes on with his "lesson."
Minutes later, when the class is over, I walk over the kid who saved me. Who, ironically, happens to be the Antichrist, Damien Thorn. Yet another supernatural guy that somehow goes unnoticed by all the oblivious people in South Park.
"Thanks for that," I mention.
"Whatever," he says. When he sees that I haven't left, he asks, "Anything else? Saving your life shouldn't be that big a deal, seeing as it's you and all."
I guess it made sense that Satan's son would know about my curse; it had just never occurred to me until now.
"Yeah, Damien," I tell him. "I need your help."
On the way to the cafeteria, I explain the situation to him. I needed to somehow get to Hell myself, so I could find mount some kind of rescue mission. That, we had figured out, was the only way we could get him and Lizzy back. It doesn't really bother me that Stan and Cartman are barely involved in this plan, because there's not really a whole lot they can actually do to help, and that's not their fault.
Damien cocks an eyebrow. "That sounds pretty tough," he says.
"Yeah," I reply. "So, I need you to help me get to Hell."
Damien laughs. I guess I can't blame him; usually, people are trying to avoid going to Hell, and here I am begging him to help me get there.
"Did you think I could just take you there myself," Damien says. "Dad doesn't like it when I bring visitors. Especially riffraff."
I bite back the retort I was going to utter. I had figured that approach wouldn't work. "Well, I can't just kill myself, that won't work; I'll just go to Limbo. Why can't you guys just let me in? It's not like I'm going to be staying long."
"Kenny," Damien sighs, "you just don't get it. We're tired of you just showing up to visit. We have this whole procedure for getting people into Hell (I mean, they can't just walk right in, can they?), and having to do it more than once for someone who'll just be gone the next day anyway is really annoying. Then we had to develop procedures for you to leave, since we never really had that sort of thing before. And that was a real pain; most of Dad's secretaries quit over that one, and I had to do all that work. Not to mention that there were a bunch of people that complained about how you got to leave, and they didn't. We offered them our hospitality, and all they can do is bitch; talk about being ungrateful."
I cross my arms. "I got to tell you, Damien, chaining people up to torture them is not exactly being hospitable."
"Of course it is. What makes you say that?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose in irritation (Stan would be proud). Why am I even arguing about this? "Well, I can get to Hell if I do something bad and then die, right? That still works, doesn't it?"
"Not as well as you might think, "
"You see," Damien explains, "we keep upping the standard on 'how bad is bad enough' for you, and you keep surprising us. Dad and I didn't think you would help that Cartman kid kill Sarah Jessica Parker, and you did. We didn't think you would give Howard Stern a BJ, and you did. We didn't think you would pay for that hooker, Liane, and you did (I grimace. Good thing Cartman wasn't around to hear that one). You even managed to beat yourself off to death."
My face falls. I had already been looking forward to getting out my old belt and Batman costume…in the name of saving Kyle and Lizzy, of course. "You're telling me that's not going to work again?"
Damien shakes his head. "No. Although I will say, that's some pretty fucked up shit right there. I mean, I know you humans enjoy beating off, but to actually kill yourself that way?" He whistles. "And I thought my dad was perverted."
I grin. "Well, being immortal does have its perks, I guess."
Damien shrugs. "Well, that's why Dad stopped torturing you whenever you did drop by. He was starting to suspect you actually enjoyed it."
I wince. "No. Definitely not. I can see how that could be kind of kinky, but…well, your dad's a guy. He may be a fallen angel, or a demon, or whatever you call it, but he's still male. I don't roll that way."
Damien lets loose an evil smirk. "Except for Howard Stern."
"That was different. He paid me."
Well, I didn't say I was proud of it or anything.
Talking to Damien isn't as hard as I remembered it being. We're not really close (I mean, I do see him whenever I end up in Hell), but I guess we have a lot more in common than I would have thought. Immortality, for one. And it was a lot cooler to hang out with him than most of the other douchebags who inhabit Satan's domain, even with his elitist attitude.
But now Damien had told me that auto-erotic asphyxiation isn't going to send me to Hell this time. There goes a huge chunk of the plan; I know I'm going to have to think of something else to do, but what?
Damien grins maliciously. "So I take it you're looking for a particularly bad sin? So you can go to Hell and save your friend?"
Oh, right…that's why I don't like Damien…because he's the son of the fucking Devil!
"Now hold on," I tell him. "I do have some limits. Murder, for one."
"I see," he says. "And Ms. Parker?"
"We didn't actually kill her. We just…put her in a bad spot." That was true, at least.
Damien nods. I guess that's a good enough answer for him. "Well, as it turns out, murder wasn't what I had in mind, although I think you'll find my idea even more distasteful."
I swallow. "Let's hear it."
So he told me. And he was right; I didn't like it.