Dear Reader/Heart,
I regret to inform your mother of your death. You see, these words do indeed pull on your eyes a bit. You turn quite cold very fast. You do not feel any pain. I thought your mother might be sad. Something changed, thoughtless one, because she is right tonight. It was your fault. It was tomorrow, four years before Wednesday of 1993. The doctors said your brain could not handle this.
I am pleased to inform you that you do qualify for Operation Deadfall.
Sincerely unfortunate,
from your mind.
DIDN'T I? DIDN'T I?
Oh, hush, hush, fool. This isn't your doing. No, someone with more wits than you, boy!
I AM NOT FOOLISH. I AM...WHAT AM I? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?
Would you two stuff it? There are people trying to kill here! Have a little, respect, maybe?!
WHAT DO YOU MEAN, TWO? THERE'S SEVEN. PLUS ME, BUT MY FINGERS DON'T HOLD THAT HIGH. AT LEAST, I DON'T THINK THEY DO. I CAN'T TRY THAT, THOUGH! THAT'S JUST SILLY. I'M NOT SILLY. I'M NORMAL, RIGHT NOBODY?
...nobody?
"I like your flowers," the doctor says. A kid looks back at him, truly confused.
"But...they said you aren't real. How can you be not real and like flowers?" The kid questions, not scared or angry, just confused. The doctor chuckles and takes a pen from his clipboard. The kid takes this in defense. "I'm not crazy, you know. I was only kidding."
"I know," the doctor says. "Can I draw with you?" The kid shrugs. The doctor takes this as a good sign.
"When do I get my coffee?" The kid asks, relaxing his pen on the shitty paper they gave him.
"Not for a while, Tweek," The doctor draws a butterfly of three year old quality. He starts on another flower. The kid stares at him for a while, before shaking his head and turning to the paper.
"Your butterfly looks like shit." He states, loosely sketching something he can't name. The doctor can't help but smile a little.
"Well, that's why you're here."
"To make...butterflies? Fucking butterflies?!" The doctor knows the best thing to do when Tweek has his outbursts. The doctor has heard stories of Tweek twitching or stuttering, but he's never seen it. This was all before the incident. When Tweek outbursts now...he just stares. He yells something and stares. If you try to snap him out of it, he'll shout loud and he'll do anything to get away from you. So, the best thing to do is just let him be. He looks at the doctor now, eyes shimmering but not sadly. Just in defeat. "...butterflies." He mumbles and snorts, quickly forgetting the fit he'd just had.
"So, do you have any plans for the weekend?" The doctor asks, picking up a purple crayon. Tweek thinks for a moment before smiling slightly at the doctor.
"Me and my pet Yeti will dance all night long to the sound of werewolves screaming." Though Tweek would never admit this, he actually doesn't mind the doctor too much. The doc laughs, which silently makes Tweek pleased because no one laughs at his jokes.
"I'm impressed," the doctor states, looking at the kids' newest flower. It is quite amazing. The kid scrunches his nose up and shakes his head in disbelief.
"It's not impressive. It's bad. I fucked up on the center. Flowers are annoying anyway."
"It's good, Tweek. Really good," Tweek shakes his head again, almost laughing. The doctor sighs. "Wanna give my butterfly a makeover?" Tweek contemplates it before groaning and shutting his eyes.
"I couldn't do any better," he states before dropping the pencil. He looks at the doctor and smiles lazily. "What's on the menu today? Thorazine? Prozac? Shock therapy?"
"Tweek, you know as well as me that we don't do shock therapy."
"Anymore." Tweek added, with slight bitterness. He looks at the doctor with sincerity and clarity. "I'm really not crazy."
"I know."
"Then why the fuck am I here? This doesn't make any sense!"
"We hear you're not who you used to be...that something has changed..."
"How're you going to know? I'm the same person I've always been!"
"Where's your stutter, Tweek?" the doctor asks softly.
"My...my stutter? I never had a stutter."
"Yes, you did. Back when you lived in Colorado."
"I've never been to Colorado. You better fix yourself, man, before you try to fix me."
"Tweek, your parents are worried about you. They want to help." Tweek rolls his eyes and looks painfully up at the doctor.
"Then why aren't they here?" He questions, brutally innocently. The doctor sighs and writes on his prescription pad. "Besides," the kid starts as the doctor rips the paper off the pad. "Who the hell names their kid Tweek Tweek? Everyone thinks I'm enough of a freak, add the name and shabam, hot damn you got me. Which is unfortunate."
"It's not unfortunate, Tweek. You're unique."
"Where has that gotten anyone? Haven't you noticed that the majority of people who make it are like everyone else? And everyone else follows the same people? You can't possibly stand out under those odds. They'll hunt you down. Kill you. Look what they did to Simon and Piggy!"
"Weren't Simon and Piggy the best characters in the book?"
"But they died! I can't die, not yet, dude. I...I want to live...for now, at least..."
"Well, that's a start." The doctor smiles and looks at the clock. He's three minutes late on his next appointment. "Sorry, Tweek. Time flies, doesn't it? How about you come back next week and tell me what's on your mind then."
"If I know now can I tell you and not come back in?" The doctor laughs and hands Tweek the prescription slip. Tweek takes it and doesn't plan on looking at it.
"Tell your parents next Thursday at five," the doctor holds the door open for Tweek, who walks through it eagerly and heads down the hallway.
"I would, but I think my 'stutter' will be too much for their poor ears."
"Have a good weekend, Tweek. See you next Thursday." Tweek doesn't say anything else, because he still doesn't like the idea of someone else fixing something unbroken. He walks out the door and is attacked with the coldness that comes with living in New England. He decides to see exactly what pill he can pull from the drugstore. Legally, too. He won't eat them...maybe it'll be something good enough he can sell to someone else.
"Everyone's looking for a fix..." he mutters quietly while pulling out the prescription slip. He frowns and crumples up the paper, shoving it in his left pocket. "Fucking happiness!" He shouts. Stupid little smile faces were drawn around the note. "Goddamn you, doc." He mutters before venturing home.
"Just for the record, we're not okay." He turns his right hand around. "Just for the record, you're a fucking bitch." He pulls up his left hand again, pitch higher. "Oh, darling, just shut up. I don't want your complaining, I don't want your fucking bills." His right hand goes up again, pitch lower, sterner. "I don't want your goddamn son, honeycakes." His left hand goes up, pitch high. "Well, you're stuck with him, because I quit." His right hand goes up, voice growl. "You can't just quit a marriage!" His left hand goes up, voice higher, sadder. "Oh, why don't you just peel your eyes up, dearie? See the skies? It's making me sick, sick, sick, I'm so goddamn sick." He turns to the edge of the bed, like a ledge, hair falling, chocking in a breezy delight. Pitch is still high. "Goodbye, motherfucker. I'll see you in hell, dear. Don't forget the milk. You forget too easily." And down he dives his left hand, the right hand watches from above. "Darling, no! What the hell do I do with a kid?!" He slips down clumsily after the dispute between his hands. His father opens the door, looks in on his sons' upside down and crooked body. The kids' eyes are closed and he's humming something now.
"Tweek..." his father starts, causing Tweek to jump up. He coughs and looks at his dad.
"Uh, hi, Dad." he says awkwardly, walking over to the door. "What's up?"
"I...nothing...go back to whatever you were doing..." The father leaves. Tweek is confused and kind of pissed for no reason.
"I had a brother once, who drowned in the bathtub." He sings, in his best attempt. He should stick to guitar. But that doesn't mean he's going to stop annoying his father. He sings louder. "Before he ever learned how to talk! And I don't know what his name was. But my mother does!" His father bangs on the door.
"Tweek, could you keep it down?" Tweek walks out of his room. He grabs his boots and jacket. "Going out?" His father asks, only out of sheer awkwardness.
"...something like that..." Tweek mumbles as he throws on the vintage looking pleather jacket.
"Well, just be home by seven, okay?"
"Bye." He says as he slams the front door. He walks down the dirt road. He hopes he won't have to run into anyone he knows. He's quite angry. Maybe he can go get a coffee. Yeah, his dad doesn't have to fucking know everything. Who cares if coffee stunts his growth? Who cares if it makes him hyper? His dad doesn't stick around long enough to see the effect.
Tweek doesn't even like the taste of coffee. It's probably more of him trying to rebel. Coffee was not allowed in their house. The reason is because it reminds his dad of Tweek's mother. But, she's not there anymore and as far as Tweek can remember, they didn't get along at all. Tweek hates being told what to do. Who doesn't?
He's walking to the cafe he's only seen from the outside. This surprises him slightly because he's been here for two years. He pushes the thought from his mind and opens the door. It chirps cheerfully. He walks in carefully, afraid that someone might know the conversations him and his dad have. But that's just stupid because his dad barely talks to anyone in this simple small town.
Someone around Tweek's age is stationed at the counter. He grins wildly and waves.
"Hi, what can I get for you?" He asks, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Tweek stares at his hands.
"Do you play piano?" He asks bluntly. The kid laughs and looks at Tweek strangely.
"Uhm, no, dude. Can I get you something?" Tweek nods.
"Just coffee."
"We've got, like, forty different types. They're up there." The kid behind the desk points towards a black chalkboard with neon pink writing offering too many options.
"Oh, jesus..." Tweek starts. His right eye jerks almost unnoticeable. "Can I just get a plain coffee? With like, nothing?"
"Sure," He smiles and turns around. Tweek shoves his hands in his pockets, feeling around for loose change or god forbid, paper money. He pulls out five quarters and that damn 'prescription' the doc wrote up for him.
"Wait!" Tweek shouts. The kid looks back fast.
"Yeah?"
"Uhm, how much is it?"
"Seventy five cents." Tweek manages a small smile.
"Awesome." The kid goes back to the coffee. He pulls out a to-go cup, hinting for the kid to get out. Tweek puts the two quarters and prescription back in his pocket. He hands the kid three quarters as he whips around with his coffee.
"Have a nice day, man." The kid states as Tweek picks up the coffee with slightly trembling hands.
"You," Tweek starts, walking backwards to open the door. He sticks out his finger, grinning. "Have a wicked day." He turns around as he's walking towards...well, he doesn't know where.
Holy fuck, you made it thus far.
Well, this is my new (second) South Park fanfiction. I used to write MCR stuff. Not so much anymore. I'm on FicWad if you want to read. Just look under nerds_assemble, that's me.
But, CONGRATS FOR not burning your eyes out in horrible imagery and just awful dialogue.
It'd be awesome if you could review saying how shitty you thought it was or how (good grief! Pressure, man!) alright you think it is.
THANK YOU FOR READING. Stay tuned if you want. I might keep going. Craig should be in it at some point...possibly the next chapter. I know it doesn't make much sense now, but it will! If you squint REALLY hard...