An Operatic Night In South Park

« on: August 19, 2010, 11:36:48 PM »

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He and Livvie seemed to be on two different levels, lately. Gone was the flare and pbumionate charge when their eyes met, gone, was the esp-like ability to sense the other’s emotions. Quite frankly, they were two different ships drifting apart on a sea of infinite possibilities. She had a certain exhaustivity about her, a new-found depressing disposition that seemed to leak into everything she did. Her cheers lacked pep, her words, lifeless, and her eyes seemed to be devoid of the ambition she once held so highly. It was obvious, that she had had her first taste of reality, and was taking it quite hard.

He wasn’t a normally compbumionate creature, but he still held Livvie in high regards; they were in a together, afterall. Sure, he had been slipping up lately, and had temporarily reverted back to his old ways, but that didn’t mean he lacked feelings for her. It was simply a rut among ruts in the road of relationship.

He had a certain bounce in his step; for once he actually wanted to do the right thing. The air was nippy and frosty against his skin, but he couldn’t be more happier. Her house loomed ominously in the distance, a faint light breaking the darkness that had shrowded it so cleverly. The light came from Livvie’s room; the familiar shade reminded him of the time he had snuck into her house. He grinned to himself as he stood a few feet away from her open window.

Kenny layed the medium-sized portable stereo on Livvie’s lawn quietly, pulling out the rumpled piece of worn paper from his pocket. He eyed it with an age-old fondness; on it were the scribbled lyrics to Andrea Bocelli’s Con Te Partiro, an opera piece he had originally learned for questionable reasons, but it had somehow found its way back to him (he had stumbled upon it while searching his room for a porno that had mysteriously disappeared under his bed). He hummed in alternating tones to himself, as he warmed up his vocal cords, preparing to sing a piece that hadn’t been sung for quite a few years. Singing was a personal and somewhat hidden talent of his; he had rarely ever indulged in it since the concert in Romania. He cleared his throat, bending down and pressing play on the boom box.

The street was instantly filled with a loud, yet harmonious, clbumical music backdrop. After he had gotten the feel and tempo of the music, he began to sing, the words flowing out of him professionally and seamlessly, melting in with the music like a hot knife through bumer. He stuffed the lyric page back into his pocket, his eyes trained on her window as the words continued to stream and resonate from him somewhat effortlessly.

MORE

Livvie was icing her neck and reading The Watchmen again.  She’d taken a particularly hard fall during practice and Rorschach seemed like a perfect narrator for today. She had reread this one pbumage fifty times, and every time the she turned the words over again, they resonated even more strongly:

“Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose. This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It’s us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathed hard on my heart, turning its illusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world…”

Yes, existence did seem random and painful; people were hurt for no reason, good things were ruined without care, and really what WAS the point of it all?  Livvie couldn’t answer anymore.  She didn’t know.  She didn’t know anything.  She felt so…lost, like all her strings had been cut, and the power behind her own existence had been removed.  She was having so much trouble staying afloat in her own head.  She squeezed her eyes closed to block out her tangled, dark thoughts.  She suspected that she could easily drown in herself like this.

And then she heard it.  The soft, lovely music that came floating in through her window sent all the blackness that had been practically pouring out of her skull melting away like fog burned away by the sun’s warmth.  She dropped her book and went to see what was making those sounds which spoke directly to her battered soul and nearly cried out in surprise when she looked out to find…Kenny.  Singing.  So beautifully it made Livvie want to cry.  Especially because he was singing for her.

Nothing in the world could possibly be wrong, when Kenny McKormick was standing outside her window, serenading her like some kind of angel.  She clutched a hand over her heart and looked down at him in wonder.

“I love you,” she mouthed to him, tears of happiness gathering in the corners of her eyes.  How had he known how much she’d needed him at this moment, and come and saved her when no one else could have, just by reminding her that he loved her?  She didn’t know.  It didn’t matter. 

Kenny made everything else disappear, just like he always had.

Professor Commie PhD Posted:

let me guess. kenny dies at the end?

I can’t tell you cause I havent finished the whole thing yet. :3

Inspector Chelmey Posted:

Don’t your fingers get tired?