Title: Classism

Summary:Theirs was a difference in destiny. [Kenny P.O.V.; Kyle and Kenny centric friendship fic.]

AN: . . . Okay, I went back and reread some of my work with these reviews in mind, and it was very helpful. (. . . D: Perhaps it ends up complex because I prefer to write scientifically rather than for entertainment? Honestly, I don't read much fiction. )

Well. I guess I'll have to work on making it less awkward? D: As for me, oh well; I'm sure I'm not the first to be overly wordy. (I like how it sounds, but it sometimes seems needlessly long in retrospect. :D;; Foodstamp was right.)

. . . On the subject of writing, I'm intending to do, as of now, strictly one-shot type things for this fandom. It's a bit difficult to start a multi-chaptered fic given the context.

He paraded along the edge of the ditch as if it were a tight-wire hung in cosmic limbo, ". . . And life is pointless," he murmured, cracking a cynic's smile, "but there's really nothing wrong with that."

"I guess," Kyle answered cautiously, "but existentialism is for rich guys and suiciders."

Kenny let the words ring in their shared silence, having never had any interest in concepts other than the practical "survival of the fittest" maxim. He understood that life was a battleground of uncertainty, characterized by the elusive promise of tomorrow, and death was the final frontier-- hence there were amusing things like seatbelts, plastic surgery, airbags, public security, curfews, medical "diagnosis", and STD vaccinations.

Church was a testimony to fear, not the other way around, and money seemed a claim to protection. 'But hey . . .' Kenny mused, cold hands buried snugly in his pockets, 'the road doesn't really matter if you don't know where the hell you are fucking going.' In sixteen years, all he learned was evangelical fire-and-brimstone crap from those haunted by the idea of, "what would god think, since he has power over everything?" Sometimes he wondered why human altruism wasn't considered the easier of two paths. Kenny was under the impression God said he wouldn't punish good people. (Although some part of him felt it was really funny hearing people reference Kyle as, "his little heathen friend, whom, if he ever wanted to convert, was welcome to take a pamphlet". Given their financial history, here's to hoping that the son was influential enough to get a good lawyer on their side, but not to letting the rivalries die.)

The music whispered to him, a smooth consolidation of electric guitars attune with drums and the lull of vocal talent. 'Shit. "Pray to Sony my soul to keep",' he repeated, unsure of the motive behind the lyric. Power and wealth were synonymous, and that was why his poor ass family had to dump ten dollars in a collection box while their kids starved, so that things would "get better eventually."

It was never today or even tomorrow; just whenever. Life may have been a series of accidents and excuses that started with Kevin, but his parents were the ones writing them. They could stand to learn a thing or two (then again, that required some level of bravery and intelligence, which neither had), and true to form, promises often became reasons to avoid changing anything in the McCormick shithole. It had been that way for decades, and, considering the crack weighing his pants pocket, he could only imagine this generation wasn't going to be much different.

Kyle was still talking, his commentary a backdrop to the waltz of notes, as was the nature of their relationship. (Admittedly, Kenny was comfortable only when he listened and everyone else spoke.) He always thought of him as being caught in counterpoise, partially because he was talented, and partially because he was normal. His mom was a bitch, no denying it, but sometimes he wished his parents worried about whether he was trapped in a safe, insulated, and happy lifestyle. It was unproductive to pamper him only in death, but apparently no one told them that mourning was a useless venture to everyone except the mourner.

He wasn't one to begrudge his own honesty though, and he felt entitled to that after a lifetime of destitution. Kyle's house was his favorite to visit because boundaries were established, and, even if he didn't understand sanity, he figured they had stability because of it. (He might have said the adults cared, but he couldn't bring himself to trust anything completely.) Ike and Kyle's fights were indulgent and done for the sake of it, betrayed by the fact they reconciled and kept an eye out for one another. Kenny thought of his brother, and found that their punches weren't playthings, and that their eyes were always elsewhere.

In the land of opportunity, he said every man could be a millionaire for the handful that were billionaires. Cartman often countered with, "Yeah, like hell Kenny. 'I could have a dollar for that handful that had ten.' Better beg harder." ('I've got to remember,' he reminded himself, 'that it's still better than a third world country.') He knew he was going to hate him because God was uncreative, history was repetitive, and theirs was a difference in destiny. It was like all things in life. Kyle's father was a lawyer, and his father was a deadbeat.

Watching him smile, he admitted that his was a warped realism, but Kenny hoped Kyle could forgive him for it. Maybe then social class wouldn't be feared as a friend or an enemy.

'-- we all agree as far as we can see, "it's just the way of the world, that's how it's meant to be". There's right and there's wrong--' and he listened as the music skipped in the background.

AN: I've now abused all our main characters. /: (. . . This was somewhat depressing.) Also, the songs themselves are not (directly) related, because our I-pods don't shuffle relevant things. I was just listening to them at the time. :D;;