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He looked up, and he looked higher, but the red rose all the way over the mountains was far out of reach from his grasp.
Cartman didn’t consider himself the most morally-educated person, and the thought of even being good was foreign. It felt like an unwanted guest to his taste buds, and that's how it always was.
In the small town of South Park, so high up the mountains of Colorado, it didn’t matter. Everyone expects the same routine and the same behavior, so no one bothered to change for the better. Maybe changing for the worse was a much more accepted concept, but to grow and flourish into a better version of yourself, you needed to leave the foggy mountain hills.
That was one of the first things Kyle had ever said that he could agree to without objecting, which alone sounded like a miracle.
It was one of Tolkien’s Friday night parties, and everyone in South Park High showed up when they heard there would be free food and alcohol. Those two variables guaranteed you a self-indulgent night or a quick fuck (especially with Bebe helping out with the hosting).
He would have never come and just planned on staying at home for the night. But finding out it was one of those nights where his mom invited over her male candidates was more than enough motivation to rush out of the house. Besides, it probably would keep his mind off of things if he just went over to the faggy party.
Music was blasting and lights were flashing harder, and everyone’s sweaty bodies crowded in the dance room. Most of them were bickering or flirting with one another, but the strong fumes of alcohol were a hint that no one was sober tonight.
The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of cheap vodka and the metallic tang of sweat. He spotted Kyle leaning against a wall, a half-empty bottle of something amber clutched in his hand. He looked…different. Distant. His eyes, usually sharp and argumentative, held a hazy, almost melancholic quality.
He’d never seen Kyle like this. Typically, the Jew was either yelling about something or radiating an air of tightly wound dismay. Now, he just seemed…lost. It felt just as foreign as him being nice, but his sober mind went over to him nonetheless.
"What's your problem, Kahl?" Cartman grumbled, sidling up to him. He made sure to emphasize the "Kahl," just to irritate him.
Kyle turned his head slowly, his gaze unfocused for a moment before snapping into a look of recognition. "Oh. It's you," he slurred, a hint of his usual disdain creeping into his voice. "Just…thinking."
“Thinking about what? How much you're a fag?” He snickered, but instead of being met with an angry Kyle, he seemed even more distant.
Kyle giggled, a dry, humorless sound. "No. Not tonight. Tonight, I'm thinking about... roses."
Cartman blinked. "Roses? What, like, flowers? You're drunk, dude."
"Yeah," Kyle admitted, taking another swig from his bottle. "But…there's this rose. Way up high. Red. So red. Like…like…" He trailed off, his eyes glazing over again.
Cartman rolled his eyes. "Like what? Blood? Your hair? What are you even talking about?"
Kyle looked down at the empty bottle in his hands, with that stupid distant look again.
"Like…something unreachable," Kyle whispered, his voice barely audible above the music. "Something…beautiful."
Cartman scoffed. "Beautiful? You're talking about a fucking flower. Get a grip, Jew."
But even as he said it, he felt a strange, unsettling feeling in his gut. There was something in Kyle's voice, in the way he looked, that made Cartman pause.
“I was reading this story about a rose up in the mountains…and now..now..” Kyle mumbled, his empty green eyes held a weight of dullness.
He glanced around the room, the flashing lights and writhing bodies suddenly feeling oppressive. He wanted to get Kyle out of there, away from the noise and the chaos. He wanted to…he wasn't sure what he wanted. He just knew he didn't like seeing Kyle like this.
"Come on," Cartman said, grabbing Kyle's arm. "Let's get out of here. You're making a fool of yourself."
Kyle didn’t resist, allowing Cartman to drag him out of the house from the back door. They stumbled out of the house and into the cool night air, the music fading into a distant thrum. The stars were bright, a stark contrast to the flashing lights inside.
Cartman led Kyle to a nearby bench, under the dim glow of a streetlight. Kyle sank onto the bench, his head lolling back. He closed his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Cartman took a seat next to him.
“You could use some fresh air, god knows what all that alcohol has done to you- your acting just like that hippie.”
Kyle’s droopy eyes met with his own, before he scrunched his nose in irritation. “I’m…I’m not Stan…”
“I never said you were.”
The awkward silence hung heavy, broken only by the distant hum of the town and the occasional rustle of leaves. Cartman shifted on the bench, the cold metal seeping into his backside. He glanced at Kyle, who was staring up at the sky, his eyes wide and unfocused.
"So, this…story," Cartman began, his voice laced with his usual skepticism. "What's the big deal? Sounds like some fairy tale crap."
"It's not a fairy tale," Kyle mumbled, his voice thick with the remnants of alcohol. "It's a…a poem. About a rose. A little rose on the heath."
"A poem?" Cartman scoffed. "Seriously? You're getting all emotional over a poem?"
“It's…it's not just a poem," Kyle insisted, his voice gaining a desperate edge. "It's about…about something beautiful, something…fragile. And someone…trying to take it."
He could just stand up and walk away, leaving Kyle in his drunken state. It would be easier to just go back to the party and forget all about this. Kyle wouldn’t remember any of this, his lack of sobriety was more than enough.
He stayed anyway, and he might as well humor the Jew's faggy little rose poem. Hell, he might even get a secret or two out of him.
"Trying to take it? Like, steal it?" Cartman raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like someone needs to get their ass kicked."
Kyle shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the foggy sky. "No, it's…it's more complicated than that. It's about…about how some things are too beautiful to be touched. How…how trying to own them…destroys them."
Sounds like a load of hippie bullshit," Cartman grumbled, but he couldn't deny the strange pull of Kyle's words. "So, what? This rose just…sits there? And no one can have it?"
"It's not about having it," Kyle said, his voice barely a whisper. "It's about…appreciating it. About knowing it's there. Even if you can't…reach it."
"Appreciating it?" Cartman snorted. "What's the point of that? If you can't have it, what good is it?"
"It's…it's about beauty," Kyle said, his voice trembling slightly. "About something pure and…and untouched. Something that reminds you that…that there's still good in the world."
Cartman rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Spare me the sappy crap, Kahl. You're acting like a goddamn girl."
"It's not sappy," Kyle retorted, his voice rising slightly. "It's…it's how I feel! Like…like there's something out there, something I desperately want, but I'll never have."
"Well, tough shit," Cartman snapped, his patience wearing thin. "That's life. You don't always get what you want. Get over it."
Kyle turned to him, his eyes filled with a raw, almost desperate emotion. "But…but what if it's something…important? Something that…that means everything?"
“Then you just take it.” Cartman said, his voice hard. "You take it and move on. You don't sit around whining about what you can't have."
"It's not whining!" Kyle shouted, his voice cracking. "It's…it's about…" He trailed off, his eyes filling with tears.
Cartman looked away, his jaw clenched. He hated this. He hated seeing Kyle like this, all emotional and vulnerable. It made him uncomfortable. It made him feel…something he didn't want to feel.
"Look, just…forget about it," he mumbled, his voice gruff. "It's just a stupid poem. It doesn't mean anything."
"It means something to me!" Kyle whispered, his voice choked with tears.
Cartman sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Whatever, Kahl. Just…just try to sober up. You're embarrassing yourself." He pushed himself up from the bench, hands shoved into his pockets. "I'm going home. Don't do anything even more retarded." He started walking away, leaving Kyle alone under the dim street light, the words of the rose hanging heavy in the night air.