Run, boy, run! |South Park Crenny|

Breezy jogs (2)

Kenny's Point of View.

It's been a while since I started running but not long enough. I didn't run from fear, but from the glistening glass shards that glow through my cracked window at night. I ran from smell of alcohol and blood. The father I went, the more the scent went away, but it will never fully leave.

To be honest, it isn't too shocking to say that: I felt like hell. It wasn't just because the bruises scattered on my body, or the cold wind scorching my lungs. It was like I could still feel all the invisible scars from previous lives.

All of that and possibly more poured into one immortal body, an explosion waiting to happen.

I couldn't help but look at the sky as my feet slammed on the cold pavement. The stars shimmered in a way, as if some distant god from another plane of existance was reaching out with a warm hand, telling me it would all be alright. It didn't have any affect on me though, it's past comfort now.

No comfort can make me feel safe in the house I sleep in at night, or calm me after sudden deaths that puncture my body.

It's hard to feel safe in South Park.

Though that begs the question if that can possibly change.