Please Read Me!
Before you start reading this, please temporarily forget any logic that pertains to this world (if that makes any sense). This story takes place in a completely different reality, so there are some things that will happen in it that just don't seem possible (I promise they aren't that strange). Also, I'm planning on having each chapter be a lot longer than this one, but this is sort of an introduction, so I figured it's okay that it's shorter. This is in TWEEK'S PERSPECTIVE, and Craig doesn't show up in this chapter, but I guarantee he (alone with other characters) will show up in the next (which I already started writing, because I really like the idea of this story).
So, you can go ahead and read now, I hope you like it…and a review would be nice if you have the time c:
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or rights to South Park
{Part One: The Three Days}
I wake up to the irritating buzz of a million cicadas. My sweaty hands immediately shoot up to cover my ears, but the loud sound passes through my clammy flesh as if it weren't there at all. They are my natural alarm clock. Mom and Dad will come looking for me if I'm not outside in a few minutes. After all, the shuttle is coming tomorrow and we need our crop ready.
Sitting up and mumbling protests to no one, I detach myself from my sticky cot. Natural light fills my small bedroom from the grimy window on the equally grimy wall. I drowsily search for a fresh pair of pants, shuffle across the dirt floor, and stop in front of my old wooden dresser. It's dilapidated, and spiders skitter in and out of the ancient cracks imbedded in the timber. The dresser screams at me as I pull open the top drawer; yawning as I yank out a fresh pair of denim shorts. I haul them up without bothering to throw on a pair of underwear. They sag sadly to my thin waist, and I leave my small room in only these gloomy pair of shorts. No shirt for me.
My room leads immediately into the main area of the house; which is the kitchen. I'm not surprised to see there isn't any new food on the table except for a hard loaf of bread that has been sitting there for a week. Under the rickety table was a hand weaved rug that mom had had ever since she was a little girl. I found the rug incredibly interesting. Not only because of its unique patterns and soft texture, but because it was from another Province. And, across from me was the door to my parents' equally small bedroom. The only difference was that their cot could hold two people. To my right, were the front doors that lead outside to our family's farm.
The farm is how we make our living, and how we contribute to the rest of the Provinces. I quickly walk outside, where I'm greeted with rows upon rows of coffee plants. They look like small fluffy green trees, with ripe plump coffee cherries of red and yellow, waiting patiently to be dried. Coffee can only grow in incredibly warm and dry temperatures, which is why our Province is one of the hottest in the world. I could see my mom and dad carefully picking the coffee cherries off of their trees. That's what I usually spend most of my time doing. But today I have to prepare the last of the dry coffee, so we can fill two barrels for the shuttle.
A Province is basically a giant plot of land usually around a few miles wide (depending on what that Province is used for) that is suspended five thousand feet above the ground—or Free Zone. It is impossible to leave your Province; the only thing that comes and goes is the shuttle. No one ever dares to walk too close to the edge of the land, unless they have a death wish. Each Province has its own climate; like individual tiny planets. I can see other large hovering landmasses in the pale pink and yellow sky from where I am, but they are a mystery to me: and a mystery they shall remain.
Then there's the Free Zone, which is the land far underneath us. I don't know much about the Free Zone, but I do know that it is much different from Province life. For example, I heard that the kids down there choose what they are going to be when they grow older, hence, its name. Sometimes, we'll see a shuttle that drops off some Free Zone people to take photos and research about Province life. Also, the Free Zone is beautiful. It is a giant city, which is never ending in any direction. I know this because when I feel extremely brave I'll wander to the edges of our Province and carefully look over the edge. From below, I would see a million shining lights, blinking up at me like bright rainbow stars.
We live on Farming Province 4, FP4, which grows the more tropical crops for trade. All of the people that live on FP4 are farmers; it's their Calling. We're born into it. When my parents become too old to farm, I'll officially take over the coffee estate.
Richard Tweak's Coffee Estate.
Soon to be Tweek Tweak's Coffee Estate. I frown to myself when I think of my inevitable future. I never asked for this, I thought mournfully as I approach the dried coffee cherries. They've been sitting in the sun for two weeks, and each day I've come to rake them around in order to avoid the formation of mildew. Dry Process is the only way my parents will ever harvest coffee, it's considered the natural way, and—undoubtedly—I will be growing my coffee the same way as well.
My body released an awkward twitch as I located the wooden crates placed conveniently near the coffee beans. I shivered and crouched down onto the steamy ground and began collecting the dried coffee into the stiff boxes.
I really hated my body, not because of its awkward appearance, but because it didn't listen to me all the time, which I know isn't normal. Sometimes, an odd strangled sound would pass through my lips without consent. Or, I'd stutter on simple words for no reason. I constantly shiver, twitch, and tremble all without my brain confirming any sort of action. And my own brain was probably the most awful thing of all! Whispering fears into my conscious thoughts and arguing with any decision I made. There was something wrong with me, but we were far too poor to medicate any problems I had.
So, I would secretly medicate myself. I'd sneak behind our old shed with a few unripe coffee cherries and white cloth from somewhere in the house. Then, I'd squeeze the squishy cherry and use its juice as light ink. I would scribble anything I could think of on my small piece of cloth, sometimes going through dozens of coffee cherries (if my parents ever found out, they would sell me!). I'd find myself drawing the massive buildings that must exist in the Free Zone, or a stranger in a shuttle whisking me away from my melancholy life as a coffee farmer. These impossible fantasies would calm me down significantly, and I'd burry the soiled cloth in the dirt before returning back to work.
If I were in the Free Zone, I'd grow up to be an artist.
My drawings would have life and vibrant colors, more than just the pale yellow that the coffee cherries offer. They would be mounted on the tallest skyscraper and requested by the richest of clients.
My palm scraped against the warm dirt lazily, and when I didn't feel any coffee beans, I glanced down curiously. They were all shoved into their crates. I guess I let my mind wander and I lost track of time. I stood up and stretched out my long body, feeling the hot sun beat down on my crisp tan skin. My back popped a few times before I bent down to retrieve the crates. And that is when I noticed something horribly wrong.
Only two and a half of the old wooden boxes were actually full. Usually we filled four, which would be enough to pack two barrels for the shuttle.
I glanced worriedly over to the pit, making sure I didn't miss anything. My body began to shake and my throat clenched and unclenched, suddenly feeling dry and raw. I knew I shouldn't be reacting this much. I really did, even though it was hard to see as my knees buckled underneath me, and my thin hands grabbed at my golden locks, yanking on them harshly. Small noises pushed through my lips like they were loose front doors. My eyes began to well up with tears, not because of the small crisis in front of me, but because I couldn't control my thoughts, my actions, or my garbled sad excuses for words.
My brain was whispering that it was my fault we could only fill two crates. Maybe if you didn't pick all of the cherries to draw…
"…Fuck…" I growl between my gritted teeth. I just need to calm down. There's nothing to worry about, we just won't be paid as much as we usually are. After all, this has happened before on multiple occasions. And each time I would over-react.
When I could finally get my body under descent control, I trudged to where my parents were busy tending the coffee trees. They worked harder than anyone I knew (not that that's saying much, I only knew a few other families on our Province). Because unlike most people on FP4, we were only a family of three, so there weren't a lot of extra hands to help out on the estate. The average family size here was five to thirteen. My parents tried on multiple occasions to have more children, but eventually stopped after a stillborn was delivered.
That happened when I was six, so I don't have the best memory of it. But I know it tore Mom up inside—and still does today. Sometimes I'll catch her crying silently to herself while she picks ripe coffee cherries. And, I always want to do something nice for her, because I hate seeing her sad, but I never do and just continue with my work.
I walk carefully between each small tree (they're about a few inches shorter than I am), keeping my eyes glued to the ground just incase there was a snake or mouse about to cross my path. The last thing I needed was a snake to bite at my bare foot; the snakes around here were poisonous. I'd had nightmares of being bitten by one ever since I was little.
"Tweek, son!" A voice suddenly sounded behind me. I shrieked embarrassingly loud and turned around quickly, becoming swallowed in my dad's long shadow.
"I was just looking for you!" I said nervously, wringing my sweaty hands together awkwardly. My dad was calm and soft spoken, his voice light and airy (much like my mother's). But, physically, he looked quite intimidating. Surprisingly, even after years of hard work on the farm, it wasn't his muscles that made the man menacing. It was his height. I don't know how tall he is, but I do know he is where I get my awkwardly long stature. Last I checked I was around six feet, and he still had a good few inches on me!
"Oh? You finish packing up the dried coffee beans for tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"That was rather fast." He said, taking a large green leaf from one of the trees beside us, and feeling it between his fingers. My body began to betray me again when I felt shivers wrack up and down my spine. I grit my teeth in frustration.
"Ngh—uh yeah. About that…there were only enough to fill t-two whole crates."
"Is that so?" My dad murmured distantly.
"Yes!"
He dropped his long arm back to his side and stared at me solemnly for a moment, then over my head at, what I assumed, were the rest of the coffee plants that inhabited our property.
"I don't know what it is about this year," my dad sighed, "the coffee's taking longer than usual to ripen, and the shuttle comes too frequently for us to do anything about it."
I stood quiet and anxious, knowing that Dad probably wasn't looking for any type of input from his statement.
"Well," he said suddenly, making me flinch, "the only thing we can do is hope for the best, right son?"
"Right…?"
"Let's get back to working, there are beautiful beans waiting to be picked."
And, with his mood rapidly transforming into happiness, he walked back toward the house.
I spent the rest of the day doing my usual chores: picking weeds, picking cherries, and setting traps (for the pests). The whole time I was mindlessly daydreaming of the world five thousand feet below me. Of tall, shining skyscrapers hundreds of feet in the air, people wearing unique and strange outfits full of colors I've never seen before, as well as technology that would blow my mind away.
And when I wasn't thinking of the Free Zone, I was thinking about the other Province's, which were even more of a mystery to me than the world below. When I looked up from my work, I could see a few of them in the distance, floating around in the pink and yellow sky. I wondered what kind of people were on them. What kind of climates they had. And what kind of things they produced to give to the shuttle. My imagination often made up what these other places looked like, and created crazy scenarios in which I was able to travel around to each Province with ease.
Only when a chill ran up my spine did I notice it was getting late. The shade from the hundreds of coffee trees consumed the dry land underneath it, and instead of buzzing cicadas, chirping crickets filled the air with sound.
I wiped the sweat off my brow and stood up on legs shaking with fatigue. I knew my parents were probably setting up dinner, and I didn't want them to have to come and get me. So I began heading back to the house.
Our house was nothing special. It was like most of the homes on FP4, two bedrooms, and one large open area that the kitchen, dining area, and living area were squeezed into. We used outhouses for the bathroom. And bathing was done with a large bucket of water (on the occasions that we actually washed ourselves).
When I reached our house, my mom was just coming out of the old wooden door and bumped into me.
She was beautiful lady, in my opinion. I could be biased though. She was pretty short compared to my dad and me, but she carried herself with grace. She had an extremely friendly face and petite figure that made anybody want to be her friend. But underneath her dirty dress were muscles that had developed from years of laborious work. She was probably stronger than I was.
"Oh Tweek!" She said, a tiny bit startled, "Come inside dear, it's dinner time."
I wasn't sure if "dinner" was the appropriate word. Because I'm pretty sure dinner implied that there would be food at the table. Oh man, not that I was complaining or anything! We were just sitting around our ancient table, with nothing but cups of coffee steaming contently in the middle. We may have had no food, but we had coffee. We always had coffee…
"So," Mom said tiredly from over her own cup, "it's a good thing the shuttle is coming tomorrow." I could tell by the way she said it that dad had already shared the news of our lacking supply.
"Yes," he agreed, "we can finally get our hands on something besides bread." He chuckled afterward, trying to make a joke I guess. No one laughed though.
"Tweek honey."
"Yes mom?"
"Would you like to come to the shuttle drop-off with me tomorrow?"
"Of course!"
I loved going to drop off our coffee at the shuttle, because that was also where the market was, and I could see all of the different things that the other Province's had to offer.
"Just make sure you're well behaved." My dad said after taking a long sip of coffee. My mom and I both looked at him curiously. "There're going to some Free Zone guests here tomorrow, doing some research on our lovely Province."
I perked up immediately. People from the Free Zone have been here before, and I love observing them. I love looking at their fancy clothes and incredible gadgets.
"I'm always well behaved!" I snap defensively, and take an angry gulp of bitter coffee. There's nothing in it, and if it weren't for the fact that I was already used to it, I'd probably spit it out in disgust.
My parents then decided to randomly drop the topic and talk about something else. It didn't hold my interest, so I stopped paying attention and absently drew imaginary swirls on the tabletop with my fingers.
Later that night, I lay on my lumpy cot, and stared up at the dark ceiling silently. The crickets were really loud tonight, and the sticky evening heat made it almost impossible to fall asleep comfortably.
I turned over in irritation and faced the wall, where I saw a spider feeding on some other insect in its web. My mind was being too loud, and wouldn't let me fall asleep. It was thinking of a million different things. The Free Zone. The other Provinces. The Free Zone guests. Our coffee.
Our coffee.
One day to be my coffee.
I've been thinking about that a lot recently. The fact that one day I would be running this place, just like my father did from his father…and so on. I'd have to find a girl, and she'd have to drop everything from her previous life and help me with the farm. I frowned deeply and wondered how Mom felt about that. I never bothered to ask. Further more, I didn't even talk to anyone besides my parents.
I turned over once again and resumed staring at the ceiling. My eyes drooped closed as my last disappointing thought crossed my mind. Is this all?