I wake up in my bed alive, and it's the worse feeling in the world because I still taste the blood in my mouth and my head still throbs from being slammed against pavement a dozen times.

I lie there for a few seconds, eyes closed, knowing if I open them everything will be completely normal. I'll have the same old room with the pictures of playboy bunnies taped to the ceiling, the same ragged carpet.

I want to sleep.

I can't.

I roll off my mattress. I hear my parents snoring in their room down the hallway. Mom's probably sleeping off giving birth to me for the nine hundred and thirty-second time (I've been counting). I wade my way through the dirty clothes on the floor and over to the closet. My Mysterion outfit is hung up in the corner, undamaged.

A few months ago I finally ditched the whole underwear-outside-of-clothes look, though I kept the black mask, because that's my frigging trademark. I always wake up at about four o clock in the morning, which means it's been about four hours since I was killed.

Usually I at least get to go to hell before the real world drags me back. Thanks, Satan, thanks.

I leave the black hood down while I dig around on the floor for my cell phone. It doesn't even text since I have to pay for it and the minutes myself, but it can make simple phone calls.

I call Stan's number. He'll bitch me out tomorrow if I'm just worrying, but if they're still in trouble then I've gotta help them out. Because even though they're assholes, they're my friends.

"What the fuck?" he mumbles groggily after four rings.

I breathe a sigh of relief. "It's me."

"Oh. Hey, I can understand you. Why the hell are you calling me at three in the morning?"

"Did you guys get the baseball team taken care after I . . ."

"You ditched us? Yeah, we did. No thanks to you."

I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking, it's not his fault, it's not his fault.

"Police pick them up?"

"No, Kyle splashed holy water on them and-"

"How-"

"I don't know how to explain it to you, but the holy water made them burn up so they ran away, so they'll be back. I think they're vampires."

"Vampires? Again?"

"Yeah. At least these ones don't sparkle."

"Oh. Yeah."

We wait for a few seconds before continuing our conversation.

I work up the courage. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Bruised up, but fine."

"Kyle? Cartman?"

"We're all fine, Kenny." He cuts himself off abruptly, then sighs into the phone.

"Why do you even care?"

"Because-"

"Good night, dude."

He hangs up on me. I throw down the phone and scowl at it.

I wish I could explain. I wish I could yell at him: Stan, you're such a douchebag.

The vampires will be back after my friends soon. I slip the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and start to slide open my window. The cool night air splashes against me, and I grit my teeth against the cold. I leave the house. My parents won't notice anyways; they never notice.

Ten bucks says I get murdered again.

My ratted sneakers sink into the snow drifts. I wish I could afford new shoes. I wish I could go a single night without dying. I wish people remembered when I saved their asses.

Time to save the world.

Being a superhero is just so. Much. Fucking. Fun.

I feel like Kenny doesn't get enough screen time. He's the coolest character ever. I also feel like he's shipped around too much. Really, there's more to him than that. Anyway, if you enjoyed this plotless drabble, please review!