Mysterion

Plain Walls And Torn Paint

A Short Story About Mysterion/Kenny McCormick From South Park
By @Lemmiwinks

I woke up to the plain white of my walls as usual. Not that I expected anything less, after all. It had become a habit of mine to open my eyes and expect to see white ceiling and the torn paint of my walls. It felt like just another day I had to live through, though what I doing I refused to call living. What kind of life is it, for a 4th grader to live, to not be able to die. What's the word? Right, immortal. I washed my face in the bathroom my family shared and got dressed in my usual orange parka. I walked to the bus stop and waited for the school bus to arrive with Stan, Kyle and Cartman. Sometimes I didn't even make it that far. By this point, I had already given up trying to get everyone to remember that I died all the time. It was sad really, I remember once I tried to get Stan to remember my death.

"Remember this time!" I yelled at him before bringing a pistol to my head and pulling the trigger. When I opened my eyes again, I was looking up at plain walls and torn paint, as usual. Stan, of course, didn't remember. As usual.

When the bus got to the stop, I would get on, go to school, attend all my classes, come home afterwards, and sleep. Or so they thought.

But in the dark of the night, where nothing but evil dwells there is only one beacon of light and hope.

Mysterion.

I, Mysterion, single-handily would spend the long, dark nights purging the painful terrors that stalked the streets. Regardless of how much I hated the world, and people, and life, I had to live on. Even if I couldn't call this immortal being that I am living, I had to go on. I had to go on for the sake that one day there might be someone who lives like me, and perhaps might even remember when I die.

But until then, I suppose I will simply watch the streets from the rooftops high above, and get used to the plain walls and torn paint that I wake to every dawn.