A short one shot that came to mind c: It's in Craig's point of view
Disclaimer: I don't own South Park
Gas Station Inventions
Imagine the size of your bedroom. Now cut that size in half. And instead of a nice carpeted or hardwood floor, imagine dirty white tiles with mold growing in-between the cracks. Then shove a dilapidated cashier counter, shelves stacked with countless issues of Play Boy as well as cigarette packs, blinking fluorescent lights with spiders living in them, and you've successfully imagined Tucker's; a rundown gas station located on the edge of South Park. Now pretend that you're the son of the bastard who owns the joint. Your future is set in stone—no steel—after high school; which is why you quit half way through junior year. You were failing anyway. You were expecting a bunch of shit from your parents; maybe a lecture on the importance of education, to have your ear drums burst from outraged screams, or even a slap across the face. But all you get is a half-hearted sigh from your mother (which doesn't surprise you, she's so far gone you can't expect much else) and your father throwing the classic Tucker's uniform in your face while telling you to start working full-time tomorrow. But, working doesn't bother you that much since it requires sitting on your ass all day and reading a copy of Play Boy (they don't do much for you though—women aren't exactly what you're into). And when a customer comes in with car problems, you call your dad. Because, honestly, you don't know how to do that shit.
It's been a year since you've quit school and started working from 9 to 5 every week day. You wonder what things you'd be learning your senior year, or what colleges your friends applied to. There's no way to find out. No one talks to you anymore. You'd like to say that you don't care, don't miss them, but you do. Sometimes a kid you used to talk to would get gas, and you'd watch them fill up their tank through the small grimy window. Or, they'd walk in to buy a condom or cigarettes, acting like they never knew you before. It hurt, but you'd just hand back their change and tell them, "have a nice day." You were trapped in South Park while the rest of the world would move on. And leave you behind.
The door screeches open and you glance up from your Play Boy magazine. Your eyes lock onto the familiar trembling Popsicle stick topped with a shock of wild blonde hair. Tweek Tweak. You haven't seen him since junior year. He used to tag along with your group every now and then. He was barely acknowledged, and until today you forgot he even existed. You look him up and down. He looks basically the same except for the few inches that he gained. He's such a strange featured boy. His large brown eyes are round and wide, like an owl's. His nose is a little too long for his face and curves up kind of like a fish hook. His face is sharp and angular like someone traced it with a ruler. You note that he's sort of attractive in a fucked up kind of way. You also note that he's standing right in front of the counter. And talking.
"I'm sorry, what?" You say apologetically while setting down your Play Boy.
"I said, I need your help." Tweek snips impatiently. And you remember he always did have a bit of an attitude.
"With what?"
He slaps a crumpled piece of loose-leaf onto the counter. It has a messy scribble of a car drawn on it. There are multiple arrows pointing to random areas of the car with short descriptions on the other end. Everything is too messy for you to read.
"Help me build this." He says.
"What the fuck is it?"
Tweek snatches the paper back, offended. "It's a car that's half plant."
"What."
"Jesus man, the Earth is being destroyed by poisonous fumes that come from fuel. So, I figured if I made a car half plant, it'd use photosynthesis to run and exert oxygen!"
You knew Tweek had a few screws loose, but this was particularly insane. Especially because he looked so serious.
"Tweek, what the hell—"
"You work in a gas station! You know things about cars, don't you?"
"You're crazy. And an idiot. There is no way that someone could make a car half plant."
"How do you know?"
You shrug. "Someone would have done it."
"What if no one thought of it?"
"No one thought of it because it wouldn't work."
"No one thought the Earth was round, but it is!"
"Tweek, unless you're here to buy something, get out." He does the opposite. He comes around the counter and stands right next to you.
"Why don't you come to school anymore?" He asks, and suddenly Tucker's seems a lot more cramped than usual.
"I haven't been to school in a year."
"I know. Why?"
"Who cares?"
"I care." Tweek's flipping through the Play Boy you set down earlier. He doesn't notice how you've frozen and are staring at him like he's an alien or something.
"No you don't." You say.
"Sure I do."
"No you—"
"So, can you help me with my invention?"
"Invention?"
"My plar."
"Plar?"
"Half plant. Half car. Plar."
"No, Tweek," you say patiently, "I can't help you with your plar."
"That's too bad, Craig. I guess technology isn't far enough yet." And then he leaves. His crumpled piece of loose-leaf is still on the counter, but you're too lazy to return it. Instead, you fold it up and stuff it into your pocket.
The next day at 3:30 pm the door screeches open. You look up from your People magazine and are extremely surprised to see Tweek again. He's holding another piece of paper. Tweek comes right up to the counter and sets the worn paper in front of you. You glance at it quickly, but have no idea what the fuck it is.
"What. Is. That."
"It's a machine that makes people color blind. I don't have a name for it yet." Tweek says.
"Why the hell would you want to make people color blind?"
"To end racism."
"That would never work. People would just use the different shades of gray." And then you think, 'why am I humoring him?'
"You're totally right!" He squeals, snatching the paper back, "ngh—I'll have to change it."
"Why are you here?"
"So you can help me build my invention!"
"Why would I be able to help you with your 'invention'?"
"Because, people in gas stations know how to build things!" You bring your greasy palm across your face irritably.
"Well, I don't. So, you can leave."
"Yes you do!"
"Bye Tweek." You pick up the neglected People magazine from the counter and begin to read it again.
The screech of the door tells you he left.
3:30 pm roles around and you see Tweek's puff of blonde hair outside the window. A second later, he's in front of you handing you another piece of loose-leaf. You don't know why you take it.
Cat Cloner
"For the lonely people." Tweek explains.
Tweek keeps coming back. Every day, for the past 2 weeks, he'd show up at 3:30 in the afternoon, give you an invention, and then leave. You had 14 sheets of paper littering your desk at home. You also don't know why you keep them.
On day 15, you decide to ask, "Why do you keep coming here? You know I can't make any of this shit." Secretly, you never want him to stop.
Tweek taps a thin finger against the dirty counter. "Yeah," he sighs, "I figured."
"Then why are you coming back?"
"Because," he's not looking at you now, "I know you're stuck here, just like me."
You never knew silence could be so loud. It was thick and heavy, swarming around your head until it was almost unbearable. Tweek seems incredibly interested in the moldy floor tiles.
"Uh…" is all you intelligently manage.
"Jesus man, d'you think they'd let me go to college?" You assume "they" are his parents. "I'm too…" Tweek cuts himself off, at a loss for words.
"You're still in school. You can go to community or something." You point out, though you don't want to.
"It doesn't matter! My dad owns a coffee shop." Oh yeah, Tweak Bros. "I'll be working there for the rest of my life!"
You're speechless. You've never met someone in the same situation. There's this weird feeling in your stomach. Like someone shoved a bunch of ZuZu Pets down your throat and they're all crawling around in there. It makes your face red, and you hope Tweek doesn't see it.
"Glad to know I'm not the only one." You finally grunt. Tweek smiles, and your pulse pounds in your ears. You've never seen him smile.
He hands you his usual piece of loose-leaf. Tweek turns around to head out the door, but you call to him.
"Tweek," he pauses, "my shift ends at five. Want to hang out, like, later?" He turns to face you.
"…Yeah, ngh—come around Tweak Bros. I'll be there." The door screeches at his departure.
You smile and look down at the sheet of paper.
Friend Finder
You could manage that.
I know, super corny! Anyone willing to review?