SOUTH PARK IS A SHOW BY TREY PARKER & MATT STONE

THE PURGE BELONGS TO UNIVERSAL STUDIOS

"TIMMY!"

"RICHARD!"

"HELEN! HELEN!"

The girl who raised her head from her smartphone and turned it to the screaming family was Julia Brockman, sixth grade. She watched the family marching towards the son's classroom for the parent meeting with her nose wrinkled.

"Why did they let that kind of people have kids? All they do is annoy everyone."

"Julia." her father reprimanded her.

But he only did so because they were passing by their side. Timmy was fully aware of the way he looked at his parents and at himself. He had heard the girl—mostly because she was not precisely whispering. Her father thought just like her. And the mother, the mother didn't even want to look into their direction.

Timmy looked at his parents, who could only exclaim their own names and so had real trouble making themselves understood, imprisoned for life in those wheelchairs. Then, he looked at himself, in a wheelchair too, only able to say very few things apart from his name and with a lot of difficulty. He would never be like that girl. His family would never be like hers. For the rest of the day, he didn't open his mouth again. He didn't want to be obnoxious to the other people. During the following hours, he revised his plan of life, getting married, have children, becoming the next Bill Nye, and wondered if he should give up the parental part. Like, what if that girl was right and he brought more handicapped people to the world?

He shared his thoughts with the Special Ed group chat and they managed to take those unhappy thoughts out of his head, never to return. Jimmy's jokes were trully like a magic wand which turned Timmy's frown into a smile. They all sent him messages which made him feel cherished again.

And they added the girl's name to the list.

For the next months, bribing some other sixth graders and extracting information from social network, they got her address and the places she frequented. The only thing left to do was wait.

When the day came, they knew where to find her.

[Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7 a.m., when The Purge concludes.]

Julia wanted the latest i-Phone but he rparents didn't want to buy it to her, not even for Christmas. It was too expensive they said, and they had just replaced the tiles of the kitchen! But she would have it that night, all right. Using a brick to break the store window, she jumped in and came out a few moments later with her loot. It was so beautiful, it glowed so much. Damn. Keeping it inside of the pocket of her hoodie with the care a mother would have provided to her newborn baby, she marched towards her house. Her parents didn't know she was out of the house. Of course they didn't know. They would ground her for life if they found out she had been out during the Purge. Participating. She had to get home as soon as possible.

The air was filled with different sounds, none of them pleasant to hear. Gunshots. Screams begging for mercy. Plain screams of pain. This seemed like one hell of a Purge. Would South Park still be standing in the morning?

She was so focused on the sounds that she didn't realize who surrounded her until it was too late. Or perhaps they emerge from the shadows. In any case, she was surprised to find herself in the middle of a circle formed by kids, practially all of them looking younger than her. None of them looked 'normal'. She saw nothing but askew faces, wheelchairs, crutches. The people she used to see outside during the night of the Purge usually covered their face, but these apparently didn't want to—still, their faces looked like horrendous masks to her.

"What are you retards doing?"

Her voice was trembling subtly.

"What the hell is this?"

She looked around her. She saw dilated pupils, widening, crooked smiles, hearts beating faster and faster—specially Julia's.

"Timmy Timmy Tim Timmy…" one of them approached her. He was driving a wheelchair. There was something in his left hand: a lighter, which he turned on and off all the time (who could give an imbecile like him a lighter?).

"What are you saying, you fucking retard? Go bother someone else!" Julia asked, gritting her teeth.

"You never learn, do you." Michael grunted.

"Well you're gonna l-learn something tonight. You f-fuck with one of us, you fu-fuck with all of us, b-bi-bi-bi-bitch." Jimmy said.

"Timmy Timmy Timmy?" Timmy came a bit closer, fixing his eyes on hers, so that she could feel his determination.

"Oh, fuck, no." Julia tried to break the circle, charging against the weakest looking boy, who didn't even seem to know what he was doing there. But he did know. All of them had very clear what they went there for. The sixth grader found that the barrier couldn't be so easily broken. A dozen of hands held her with great strength, to the point that they hurt her.

"Go to hell, you bunch of psychos!"

She received a punch so hard that she fell to the ground.

"Easy, easy, f-fellas. We want her co-co-conscious."

"Sorry, Jimmy. I just can't stand this scum." Angelica spat.

"Come on, boys. Like we said." Francis intervened. When she looked at her, Julia observed that she had a pair of long and very sharp-looking tailor scissors. She looked around. That was not the only one: she had not noticed before, but all those kids carried something with them that they shouldn't have. The stuttering boy's crutches were slightly bent and had some splatters staining them…

"Right! This one is for Timmy."

And the rest repeated in unison: "For Timmy!"

"Timmy. Timmy."

The boy approached more towards Julia, who tried to run once again but was held firmly.

"Shit, no…What are you going to do?"

Timmy finally stopped turning on and off the lighter in his hand and placed it aside. That was for later. Now, for Julia they had designed something that involved no fire.

The circle shrunk. Jimmy lend Timmy one of his crutches; Droopy held him while he wielded the other one. The children were well prepared: wrenches, bats, hammers…Those who brought nothing of the sort prepared their knuckles.

The last thing Julia saw were those twisted faces smiling at her, with no sign of stupidity, absolutely aware of what was happening, enjoying every second of it.

Since this was Timmy's retribution, he was the one to give the first blow.

For like five minutes they hit the sixth grader, and it seemed like they had energy to go on for hours. The more they broke her body, the more excited they were, howling like animals. The objective was not to kill her—just leaving her veeery hurt. They had informed themselves well, they knew where to hit to leave the connections of her body severely damaged. But this was so exciting that they just couldn't get a hold of themselves. Too much time having to pretend that everything was alright, that words from people like that didn't hurt, having to swallow all that shit. They had the right to be naughty for one night, didn't they?

When their muscles relaxed, Julia was lying on the pavement, completely still, on a pool of her own blood. Francis kicked her softly. She still didn't move. Oh, well. If that piece of shit was going to spend the following years in a vegetative state or inside of a pine box, it didn't really matter. The thing was that she was now someone's permanent burden.

They declared Timmy avenged, so they left Julia right where she was, those weapons which had been borrowed returned to their owners and Michael, the custodian of the list, reminded the group of their next objective. The list was long, so they would have to hurry; they had until 7.

So many names…Amanda Wilburn, in the lunch line, said that Francis would do a favor to everyone if she put a bag on her face, because people were eating there, a comment which made Francis lock herself in the bathroom to cry all morning. The group agreed that nobody would ever look at Amanda's face again without throwing up. As for Marcos López, he mocked Jimmy's stuttering knowing that he was listening and said that everybody was laughing at his jokes solely because he was crippled and they pitied him. That was why Jimmy had stolen his father's strongest, most flammable bottle of alcohol and had asked his good pal Timmy to bring his lighter. Herbie McMillan, guilty in tricking Johnny to smell his fingers, which he had rubbed in his butt previously, would find out how fun it was to learn braille. It was decided that Paul Briggs, who touched Angelica's private parts, would have no fingers to touch anyone else. Sophie Gardner. Gene Love. Eric Cartman. Sammy Hefferman…There was no time to fool around if they wanted to leave the list clear for the year.

Timmy carried soda cans with him. They all needed to stay hydratated and caffeine to keep going, because adrenaline, as powerful as it was, wouldn't be enough for the night.

"Nathan should be a-around here, ready to ki-kill me." Jimmy commented, opening one of said cans. After a pause to sip its content, he sighed. "Well, even if he's not coming with us, we'll give that D-Duvall fucker he-he-hell for what he said about him…I'm sure he'll like that. P-Perhaps that will make him cha-change his mind."

Timmy nodded. Nathan was a lot of things, but Special Ed was a family, and families took care of each other, no matter what. There were a lot of sons of bitches out there who thought they could do or say whatever they wanted, because perhaps they thought it wouldn't mind, being them handicapped. That was the night when they all assembled to prove them wrong. And, like their teacher said, the problem was ignorance, they just needed to be in their shoes.

They just loved education.

THE END