Closer With Cow-Shit

Chapter 5: Clammy Hands

The walk to the market went by so quickly that Stan was sure it was all just a dream. But sadly, it wasn't. He ended up having to wait outside the market since animals weren't allowed in the store, while Butters got to go inside and get groceries. It didn't bother him like it normally would, but that's because he got a sweet bundle of fuzz in his hands.

He couldn't remember the last time he had a dog, or any animal at that. He did remember what happened to it though. He remembered it all. It was the kind of memory that was best kept stored away than remembered. It wasn't the kind that you could suddenly remember one day and joke about it like nothing was wrong. Because it was wrong. Not only did his own father kill it, but also cooked it and drunkenly attempted to feed it to him and his family right after.

Stan was happy that he was away from his dad, but less than happy to know that he'd have to see him for Christmas, Thanksgiving, and New Year's Eve. But it didn't matter now. What mattered is that he gets to spend six whole months with an adorable puppy. A puppy he got to name, a puppy he gets to hold and feed and take care of and love and spoil. It was almost like a dream come true. He feels like a little kid when they ask Santa for a puppy for Christmas and end up actually getting a puppy that his parents stuffed in a box right before they woke up to run down the stairs and tear open their colorful boxes.

The exciting pleasure of knowing that he could make his own choice without the watchful eyes of the public judging him. It was like a shock up the spine and up to the brain. The warm buzz of pleasure you'd get when doing something dangerous and coming out alive. Or the warm feeling you get when doing something good or maybe making a fan happy, even.

He decided that he'd do anything to protect the innocent, helpless soul that he held in his hands. It was shivering, shaking, letting out quiet little whimpers while its small black eyes darted around the surroundings in which they were in. It broke St--'s heart to hear such pained and scared whimpers, he felt as if the puppy-- well , Sparky, was scared of him and thought that was the reason behind the whimpering, but that thought fell to oblivion once he smelt the horrific smell of a very strong cigarette.

He lifted up his head only to be met with a group of 'emo' looking teenagers (with the exception of one middle school kid) standing in front of him, looking down at the puppy that was currently squirming in his lap, possibly to get away or maybe to hide. There was only one girl, the other three were boys, and all of them were teenagers except one, who looked to be a middle schooler, a seventh grader maybe. They towered over him in his cross-legged position. They were the definition of the "It's not a phase, mom!" bullshit. They're pale faces, black makeup, and black clothes gave it all away. They looked down at him like he was a speck of dirt on their shirt, then their eyes directed to Sparky. Some of their noses scrunched up in disgust while the others made a displeased face.

Stan held Sparky close to his chest in a defensive and or protective type manner, being mindful of the fact that these so-called 'emo kids' ate Butters dogs throughout time, if anything with Heidi saying again to Butters when he told her about the current situation. Especially with the way they acted. They acted as if it happened more than once, more than it was originally supposed to.

"Who are you?" The black haired girl questioned, tapping the edge of her cigarette holder for no reason in specific.

Stan grimaced, feeling slightly offended at how crass she was when asking him a simple question that didn't have to be said in such a rude tone. So, doing the thing he does without even realizing what consequence that could be following with it, he opened his mouth, an insult rolling up his throat and getting dangerously close to his tongue,

"That's Stanely! He's my new farm buddy!" A Southern voice chirped cheerfully, speaking on his behalf, like they've done it a thousand times before. He already knew who it was, but it was better to act as if he didn't since the situation felt a bit awkward. Or, at least in his perspective it did. The sudden announcement however, grabbed the attention of the 'emo kids', and himself included.

"Butters." The black haired girl said in an awfully calm, but depressing manner.

"Heya there, Henrietta!" Butters kindness and chipper mood not even faltering a bit.

It was amazing how Butters was acting so calm in the sense that the people, or, group of people, who ate his dog, are standing right in front of them, creating small talk like it was the easiest thing in the world. Maybe it's happened so many times that Butters has become immune to it, being able to face them without crying, or sobbing hysterically.  Either way, it was interesting to see how well he handled the situation.

Henrietta's eyes move down from Butters face, moving down to the puppy that was held in the clammy palms of Stan's hands, "Emo kids again?" She questioned, moving her gaze back up to Butters.

Butters nodded, plastic bags rattling as he put his hands on his hips for no particular reason, "Yeah, they ate him up pretty badly. . ."

She opened her mouth to respond, but Stan beat her to it, "Wait, you're not the emo kids?"

"Oh god no. We're goth not emo. Being emo is for conformists."

He raises an eyebrow, a load of questions roaming around his mind at this new information. He wants to ask her what the difference is between emo and goth, but doesn't ask them, instead keeps those questions to himself in order to avoid any confrontation. He nods, trying to silence the attention from him and onto something else. Butters and this Henrietta girl talked for little over a minute before she gave her goodbyes to him, turning to walk away while her group followed behind her depressingly.

Stan stood up, Sparky still in his hand despite the fact that his clothes were soaked to the brim with sweat. He knew that these clothes were ruined and he also knew that Mickey would get on his ass about it once he came back, but he could care less about that at the moment, as Butters was still supposed to show him around town, and begging the blonde boy to take them back to the farm would be fruitless to attempt when he already knows what the answer will be.

And regardless of if he wanted to go or not, he would end up going due to the fear of being abducted and sex trafficked, or even get sold as an item on the dark web. He couldn't even help the fact that he was having a freak out session in his head. His mind was just running through his death in different ways, so much so that he felt like Tweek Tweak from that Boy-Band that his Boy-Band was rivaling against.

He only realized he was walking when he had a flash of sunny blonde hair reflected a bright light into his eyes. He shook his head, bringing up his hands to rub at his slightly watery eyes, bringing his hands back to his sides and blinking his eyes profusely to get used to this newly developed light. He looked around to see a group of people running, fear etched across their faces.

At first, he didn't understand why groups and or chunks of people were running down the road. That was until someone's painfully dissected penis flew into his face.