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It was morning when he woke up, the sun barely cresting over the horizon. Kenny felt something burst through his chest, agony ripping through him. He was writhing and wriggling, the pain like lightning striking down to his core. A whimper left his mouth, the pain subsiding for a moment.
Still, he got out of bed and forced himself into his clothes. He wasn’t hungry so he skipped breakfast, ignoring his mother when she shouted for him to take a toaster waffle with him, walking passed his dad passed out drunk. It’s barely 6:30.
Standing at the bus stop is a struggle. He hears the whispered voice of his partner, speaking slowly to him, asking if he’s okay. Eric says something offensive, taking the attention away. In that moment he’s thankful. Someone says Butters is skipping school today, had come down with a fever. He mutters in response, something almost incoherent. The other boys glance at each other, confusion painted across their faces.
He sits between the window and Stan on the bus, their fingers curled together. He asks him if he’s okay and Kenny nods, trying fruitlessly to reassure him.
Kyle leans across the aisle, offering Kenny a granola bar. He denies it, ignoring the worried look that passes between the friends.
At his locker he kisses his boyfriend, nodding when he says he’ll see him at lunch. Stan seems worried. Kenny doesn’t bother to wonder why.
In his first class he’s barely able to sit still. His chest still hurts from the remnants of the morning. He clutches his hand under his shirt, trying to abate some of that pain. The teacher says it's time for them to read quietly and he opens his secondhand book, not taking in a word.
At lunch Kenny watches his friends drink their milk and eat their lunches. One of the ones that cost a dollar and is free from the school sits on a tray in front of him, but he isn’t hungry.
He sat wrapped in the comfort of Stan’s arms while the boys talked animatedly to each other. Cartman was telling some joke and Kyle laughed, but Kenny didn’t. He could feel their concerned eyes on him, instead pretending to count the holes in the ceiling.
In the middle of the cafeteria he can only hear monotone voices, and he finds himself wondering if it’s Craig or if everyone has always sounded like that.
Kyle again tries to feed him, offers him a chicken nugget but he denies it. Kenny’s not hungry, he just wants to sleep.
In his next class the teacher asks him to fill out the problem on the board. He stands on shaky legs before collapsing to the floor. He hears shrieks as his head connects with the ground, cracking off linoleum tile.
Time seems to merge together, bending so he’s suddenly in the nurse's office. A blanket is thrown around his shoulders and his mouth pried open and some sort of fruit smoothie is forced down his throat. He’s still not hungry.
His stomach growls and growls but he’s not hungry and he can’t eat, he’s just not hungry.
Wrapped in the blanket still he feels his eyes fill with tears. He doesn’t know why he’s crying. He whines in pain, moaning about nothing. He feels a hand rub his back, trying to calm him. Words don’t come to him, his mind feels foggy and far away.
His parka is suddenly pulled off, leaving him in a ratty white t-shirt. Kenny is forced onto his back, his shirt pulled up and the nurse’s hand on his body, feeling along his abdomen. He can’t count the holes in the ceiling like in the cafeteria, everythings too blurry.
He’s not hungry. He doesn’t have the strength to whine anymore, he only has the strength to lie still and force his heart to beat.
He seems to have lost time again. He’s not in the nurse's office anymore, instead sitting in someone's bedroom.
Last time he was in this bedroom he had kissed his friend. He’d pushed black hair from his forehead, pressing his mouth clumsily against the other teen. They’d made it official that night, holding hands and grinning at each other. Hours later Kenny had heard Stan scream when he was hit by a car, run over and ground into the pavement outside whoevers house.
He thinks it was Kyle’s house.
There’s blurs of orange and green and red and blue around him, his friends crouching over him and murmuring to each other in hushed tones. At least, it sounds hushed. Everything seems to be so far away, even while they hover barely inches away from him.
Vaguely he thinks he wants his parka back. He can’t tell if the fuzzy feeling around him is that blanket from the nurses or the onset of his coming death.
Kenny’s heartbeat slows and he loses the strength to take strong breaths. He is pressed into someone's body, hearing a begging voice say something before he feels his mouth forced open again, warm air blown into him. They’re forcing his lungs to continue, for his chest to rise despite his body giving out.
He’s still not hungry. Sugar water is dabbed to his lips instead of the smoothie but he doesn’t have the strength to lick it. All he can do is lay here.
He hears the faint echo of Stan’s voice singing and he feels the vibrations as he’s pressed to his chest. Stan always had a horrible singing voice. In their first year of highschool he had tried to pick up the guitar, saying it would impress girls. Kenny had scoffed, saying he didn’t need any of that crap to impress someone.
When they sat in bed barely a week ago, Stan strumming some Nirvana song and humming in a way that was very much out of tune, Kenny finally understood what he meant. His voice was horrible and he wasn’t very good at the guitar, but the blonde was still impressed.
Right now, Stan is singing to him but Kenny doesn't have the strength to listen.
He’s not hungry. He barely has the strength to breathe. His heart slows and his mind blurs.
Kenny can no longer hear the singing voice, and he can barely feel the vibrations and the warmth as his thoughts slow to a stop. He doesn’t have the strength to keep his heart thumping. He doesn’t have the strength to make his chest rise and fall. He doesn’t have the strength to push through his 5,678th day on Earth. Today, he only has the strength to live to be 10 hours old.
Kenny opens his eyes. He’s in bed again. The sun is still rising in the east, still shining through his room.
Sitting up feels like a struggle. When he feels along his chest it feels the same as it always does. Normal.
He pulls his jacket on, already knowing what today will bring.
Kenny gets to the bus stop early. Stan arrives after him, wrapping his arm around Kenny’s elbow, asking cheerily how he slept. Kenny murmurs he slept fine, lying through his teeth.
The other three come soon after. Butters is looking down at his phone while the other two ignore him completely, they’re debating about something with too much heat to even acknowledge him. Despite arguing, they’re holding hands. Cartman comes to stand on Kenny’s other side. He feels it when his friend’s gaze turns to him, mismatched eyes, one his own, boring into the side of his head. Someone else knows.
Doesn’t matter.
The cycle continues anyway.