Elysian Fields (A Kyman Fanfiction)

Chapter 23: Enjoy the Abuse

I know where he is. I know what he is. He will never be safe, and he can't run. I'm going to get my revenge.

They said they were going to come home that night, and they never did and I didn't think anything of it.

Eric Cartman. I sloppily circle his stupid smiling face in the newest addition to my photo collection. Always surrounded by friends-- fools. None seem to know what you truly are. A monster. A fucking, repulsive, monster. You think you're safe. You think I'm too afraid to ever fight back. You think years of threats and therapy would have cured me of my burning hatred, but all it did was teach me how to hide it, and drive me to keep going.

My mom, my dad...

I walk through the dark halls of my parent's house again. Now my house, once I came of age after they'd been slaughtered. Cut up and fed to me like some pigs. My mom, my dad. They said they were going to come home that night, and they never did and I didn't think anything of it. My mom, my dad. Stupidly obsessing over tormenting that little idiot of a murderer.

I walk past my old high school bedroom, where I still sleep occasionally, if I get any sleep. They said they were going to come home that night, and they never did and I didn't think anything of it. Plastered with ripped Radiohead posters and dirty sheets, the blinds are always closed. Instead I spend most of my time in the basement, with my computer, and working wall mural of my grand plan. A flickering task lamp clamped to the old desk lights my masterpiece, just enough for me to paste the newest photo on the wall among the others.

I know where he is. His family tree, his school, his car, his backpack, the strip club he goes to sometimes, his route home, his friend Kenny McCormick's house, a Google map of his comings and goings. His house, that I now know he lives alone in, like me. How fitting he lost his mother, he deserves no family. I'm sure she left him because she realized what I know, that he's a fucking demon in human form. I know what he is. Killing him would be justice... but that's not what I want. Slow, jarring torture for all the torture he's inflicted upon me. Upon everyone. My mom, my dad.

The desk overflows with sharp objects and hastily scribbled notes with one-word ideas I wrote after waking up from the same nightmare I've had for nine years. There's a sleeping bag in the corner I like to stay in, away from all possible entryways in case he really does come back to finish the job. I run my hand across the cool metal of the closest handgun. Let him try, I won't let him.

On the desk is also a clipboard with a never ending list of all his possible enemies. People he's crossed, or taken from, like me. I'm always adding a new paper with new names, with dates and reasons. Kyle Broflovski, one of his supposed friends, is on the top, as always, but I've seen them together a bit too much for my liking. I rip a recent photo of them from the wall and crumple it, tossing it over my shoulder, adding it to the never ending pile of garbage. It's too bad, I could have used him. Wendy Testaburger and Leopold Stotch would also be candidates, if not that I don't trust women, and he seems to have that stupid blonde brainwashed.

Down the list, all previous teachers, the government, the presidential candidates, corporation owners, his family... Even Satan himself would look at this kid and wonder how the fuck he got so messed up. Honestly a shorter list would be people that wouldn't thank me for getting rid of him.

His delinquent smiling face stares down at me, laughing from every corner of the rotting, layered mural almost a decade in the making. Keep laughing you son of a bitch. I will have my fucking revenge. My journey is a righteous one, a necessary thing to keep the world in balance. He will never be safe, and he can't run.

They said they were going to come home that night, and they never did and I didn't think anything of it.

"Try me," Cartman says from the photo of him driving in his car dated two months ago. "It's not like you'd actually have the balls. You're a chicken shit."

"I am not a chicken shit! I am good! I am right!" I scream back.

"Yeah right," Cartman's ten year old self says from his birthday party lunch at Casa Bonita, his fat face covered in chocolate cake. "I will always be one step ahead of you, Tenorman. You're retarded. Too slow to catch up. That's how I got you before. Remember?"

"The look on your face when you put the chili in your mouth. You knew how good it was," Cartman holding Kyle Broflovski's hat away from him, dated a year ago. Even his eyes are laughing evilly. "Didn't your parents taste absolutely delicious?"

"Shut up! That was my mom and dad you little fucker!" Tears brim my eyes and I grab the handgun for protection. I'm so fucking afraid but I can't show it. "I loved them! Something you'll never understand because you're fucking evil!"

All the Cartman's laugh at once, surrounding me with his evil little laugh. The same one that haunts my nightmares. I wildly look between each one, greeted with the same dreaded beady eyes, hoping they'll shut up. Not tonight, please. But like every night, I tuck myself into the sleeping bag with the help of a fifth of vodka and an eight mil for a stuffed animal, with the lullaby of Cartman's fading taunts.

I know what he is. He's evil, pure evil, and needs to be cleansed. I'm going to get my revenge. And I know where he is.