A/N: This fic was inspired by the speeches of a Puritan preacher by the name of Jonathan Edwards, who mainly spoke of Hell. I read one of his sermons and thought of Kenny. Please let me know what you think, con crit is greatly appreciated! This is a prologue to what will become a multi chaptered fic and the quote below come straight from one of Jonathan Edward's sermons.

"O sinner! Consider the fearful danger you are in: it is a great furnace of wrath, a wide and bottomless pit..."

"Goddamnit, Kenny, get the hell up!"

I wake with a start, wiping the sleep out of my eyes and hopping out of bed. I blink; everything is blurry and out of focus. After several of minutes of scanning my room covered in dirty socks, old porn mags and scattered Cheesy Poofs, I find what I'm looking for: my old orange parka. It's a bit of struggle to get into, and I hear a couple of seams ripping.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath.

I had gotten this parka when I was twelve and I was expected to keep it until I graduated high school. Sticking a pack of cinnamon gum in my pocket, I head past the living room and grab my share of frozen waffle before slamming the door behind me.

I vaguely hear my Dad's half sober slurring, "Damn it, Kenny, don't slam the door for fucks sake!"

Chewing thoughtfully, I cross the railway tracks and walk past Stan's house, towards the high school. Reaching the intersection of Main and High Street, I jaywalk just like I always do, towards the familiar brick building with the crappy, tarnished sign reading, "South Park High School: An institution for higher learning". I roll my eyes, higher institution of learning my ass.

I hear Wendy's high pitched voice shriek, "Kenny! Watch out!"

Pain hits, white hot, and then everything is black.

I force my eyes open, staggering to my feet. Being sucked into a vortex of hell is never a fun trip.

"Excuse me?"

Steve, the hell director says softly into the megaphone, "May I have your attention please? Okay,so this is hell…"

I turn away, already bored. After all the times I have been here, this speech gets old before it's even begun. Out of the corner of my eye I spy familiar light brown tresses so shiny that they could've only belonged to one person: Heidi Turner, infamous for the amount of hair products she goes through in the span of a month.

"Heidi?" I ask and she whips her head around so fast I swear her hair became aerodynamic for a moment.

"Kenny?"

Her pretty features are contorted into a mask of fear, panic and pain.

She looks at me with hazel eyes filled with tears, "Where are we?"

I walk towards her and in one smooth motion place my arm around her shoulders, holding her close. "Welcome to Hell, sweetheart".