Hello there. Yea I know another Kyle-leaves-comes-back-and-he-and-Stan-bang story but really the way the show is right now, I think that the two would just grow up as brothers. One of them has to leave so the sexual stuff can, you know, happen. Yes the title is based on the song Skin Is, My by Andrew Bird. Ahhhh such a good song!

Disclaimer: disclaimed

------------------------------

It was a typical Wednesday evening in South Park. Slightly cloudy with a wind-chill, temperatures in the low forties high thirties and the smoky aroma of destruction filling the night air. Somewhere south of the mountains and north of mainstreet, a teenager named Kyle Broflovski was walking home from soccer practice.

He tucked a few stray red locks behind his ears and wiped his sweaty forehead. Breathing out slowly and closing his eyes momentarily, he let the breeze cool his scorching skin and erratic pulse. Retrieving his phone from the duffel bag holding his soccer equipment, he checked the missed calls. Sometime while reading texts from Token, Kyle became acutely aware of fumes billowing from the roof top of a house that seemed eerily close in location to his own. He flipped the phone shut and quickened his steps.

Upon rounding the corner, Kyle realized two facts. One: the smoke was coming from a fire on the tree located in his front lawn and two: Eric Cartman was standing just beside said tree with a gas can. Surveying the damage, Kyle immediately came to understand that the fat boy had launched Kristalnacht on the entire Jewish population of South Park, which consisted solely of the Broflovski household. Every window of the house had been shattered by stones except for the small one in the top left corner near the roof (coincidently Kyle's room) that apparently Eric had neither the energy nor hand-eye coordination to reach. On the front door the fatass had spray painted a monumental red swastika .

Spotting Kyle, Eric laughed maniacally, pointing a chubby finger at the unfortunate Jew, and proceeded to take off down the street, wheezing and coughing, but infuriatingly satisfied.

Watching the flames suddenly transfer from the tips of the branches to the corner of the roof, Kyle was too dumbfounded to yell after the fatass, or even panic. Instead he leaned against the telephone pole, let the soccer bag slide from his shoulder to the concrete and, calmly, pulled out his phone to call 911. He didn't bother to call his mother, who was at a PTA meeting with Ike. That nightmare could and would be dealt with later.

After informing the proper authorities, the red haired teen crossed his arms across his chest and chastised himself for not have seeing this coming. There had been so many obvious signs. For one, the fatass hadn't insulted Kyle for a good solid twelve hours, and two, it had been at least two and a half weeks since Cartman's last crime against humanity. He noted, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was so used to this abuse over the years that he had , in turn, successfully managed to eradicate any rational emotion that an average victim of his situation would be experiencing.

A woman's particularly loud exclamation of surprise pulled Kyle from his musings. The neighbors were starting to come out to watch the scene unfold.

"How typical" he thought with only mild disgust.

Eventually the fire team arrived to put out the chaos, but in the process, managed to break that last window when a clearly new member of the squad opted to point the hose in the top left direction of the house while distracted by the hose's stiff operating handle.

Kyle noted, incredulously, that the flood damage done to his room would probably end up being more costly than the actual minor damage created by the fire.

Needless to say, while coming home the next morning, he wasn't all that shocked to find a moving truck in his driveway . His mother had sent Ike and him to the Marsh's for solace, which proved fatefully stupid as Stan had decided that spending the night at Wendy's while she and him worked on their "English project," was far more superior in importance to Kyle's possible homelessness. Sheila and her husband spent the night arguing over the narrow minded anti-semetic residents that South Park was most assuredly filled with. Consequently, the two brothers were bestowed the pleasure of attending boarding school for the next nine months. This is the story of the death of Kyle Brovlovski.

Hah! I'm totally kidding.

…

It was now late October and Eric Cartman and Kenny McKormick lay lazily on the front steps of Cartman's house. Kenny was chewing absent-mindedly on the now-empty plastic wrapper of an otter pop-blue raspberry- while watching the shadows of houses slowing elongate on the golden sidewalk. Eric was perched on the step above the poor boy, hunched over a yellow pad of paper and furiously scribbling and crossing out plans for his new scheme. Every time the hooded boy leaned over to catch of glimpse of the paper, the fatboy would shield it with his hands and whine. Kenny suspected it was something along the lines of world domination this time.

While watching the black silhouettes of crows soar overhead, an unexpected gust of wind came screaming down through the Colorado mountains, over main street, right past the two boys, and kept on going south.

"Maybe for forever" thought Kenny the trees swayed and the branches and leaves whispered in the way they only can when the wind decides to stop by.

There was an oddly familiar scent in the air. Kenny couldn't quite place it. He could feel the memory right on the edge of his consciousness, just barely unlocked. He took in long gulps of breath and closed his mind. It was right there. On the tip of his tongue, almost in view of the mind's eye, teetering right on the edge.

"Dude. What. The fuck. Are you doing?"

Kenny exhaled, disappointed. It was gone.

"Kenny. Dude. Buddy. Are you ok?" asked Cartman suspiciously. He was tapping the pen on the pad, expecting an answer, but not genuinely caring either way.

The hooded teen sighed.

"Yea. Just …déjà vu, ya know?" He turned to look at the other boy.

"Hmmm" answered the fatass, clearly disinterested.

The sky was lavender and clusters of stars were just beginning to appear around the sharpest sliver of a moon. The crickets were warming up for their nightly symphony, neighbors waved goodnight, and kids were led, reluctantly, into their houses by insistent parents.

"Heard Jewboy was coming home."

Kenny turned his head in surprise. His face was twisted in guarded hope and disbelief, one eyebrow cocked up, but a slight half smile.

"What! Kyle?!" Kenny's head cocked to one side in a motion that signaled Eric to continue.

"Yup. Wendy told me. Met up with him in France. Dude he's been in boarding school up there. Fucking Lame." He was bouncing the pen between his teeth while staring thoughtfully at the note pad. Cartman and Wendy had recently become close in debate class this year. They made a formidable duo.

"Are you shitting me? No fucking way man!" Kenny knew that somewhere inside Cartman was dying to get the Jew back. The kid just didn't have that edge when there was no innocent Jew to taunt with victory.

Kenny glanced down the street towards the Broflovski's. Now only Sheila and Gerald lived there. Seriously. Kyle and Ike had just up and left in the middle of the night one night, without goodbyes, without warning, and without any indication that the two themselves had known they were leaving. Of course, Kyle's friends would request contact information, but Sheila, being the mother she was, refused to let her sons be tainted by the small mindedness of the town and therefore, the boys were usually answered with a door slammed in their face.

"Kickass." Thought the poor boy.

"Fucking Sweet."

Kenny looked over. Cartman was holding up his newly finished plan with satisfied accomplishment in his eyes. The blonde rolled his eyes and gazed southwards.

---------------------------

TBC. Review pwease!