South Park: One Shots

well life, it's been fun. (part one)

Trigger warnings: alcohol, self harm and major character death attempt.

No ship, standalone Stan.

00:13

The clouds envelop the sun, darkness falling over our small little mountain town.
It's weird, isn't it?
Darkness seems to last, but light fades all too fast.

I sit on a rock by the familiar pond, bottle in hand.
The foul taste hardly fazes me anymore, in fact; I relish the taste. It's the only time I feel alive.

The inky blue sky, dotted with stars.

The tall fir trees that line the forest.

The small clearing that led to the tallest tree.

The very same tree littered in red scarves and ribbons. We call it the Wishing Tree. It was meant for protection, and hope. Every day I walked that trail, hoping every day would be my last.

I stare at my bare arms, sleeves rolled up.
Dammit.
Scars and fresh wounds intermingled on the pale canvas, like red paint splattered carelessly.
Hot tears threaten to fall.

I can't do this anymore.

I can't spend the rest of my life just living, just living to survive. Because that's not a life at all.

It must be close to midnight now. The wind has picked up, and the night sky is so black it seems light.

I should be getting home. Does my family even care?
I already know the damn answer.
They don't.
They don't and they never will.
But I have to try. Even if it hurts, I have to stay alive. It's the only thing I can do right.

I look at the collection of green glass bottles amassing at my feet.
7.
7 more bottles to add to the collection.
I couldn't throw them out, my mom would end up questioning everyone in the house. Ever since I was 8 she was worried about me touching the stuff.
Though, now it seems like she doesn't care.

She was so scared I'd become my dad, I told her I never would. I promised to never touch a single drop, never smoke a single blunt. I would never let myself become my dad.

I would never make her bury another family member.

I don't miss him. It's terrible to say, but he was an asshole. Always putting us all down, always letting himself believe in wild dreams.
He was the one that lost himself.

And here I am.
Doing the exact same shit.

I'm more like him than I care to admit.

I decide to dump my bottles in the nearby trash can, at least my mom wouldn't find them here.

I sling my red backpack over one shoulder, pulling my beanie over my ears and replacing hands holding a bottle with hands covered by gloves.

Time to go home.

~~~

Carefully, I twist open the door knob. Please don't be up, please don't be up, please don't be-
"Stanley James Marsh!"
Fuck.
"Where on Earth have you been?"
"Mom, I was just with some friends. I meant to text you but I forgot." I give my best apologetic look. Her shoulders slump and her frown relaxes into a slight smile.
"As long as you're okay. Who were you with?"

"Michael, from middle school."

She cocks one eyebrow.
"The goth kid?"