The Boy Who Sees Monsters
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Part I
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Prologue
Warnings : Are you sure you wanna read this?
"Maybe there's more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time."
― Veronica Roth, Divergent
Everybody knows about Craig Tucker. Straight, jet black hair tucked underneath a blue chullo with yellow puffball hanging around the top, cold azure eyes which were left uncaring to anyone. And cold and uncaring he certainly was, with a tendency to flip his finger and had the most fights in school, even more than Eric Cartman surprisingly.
Blunt, ignorant, ill-tempered, somewhat handsome Craig Tucker.
In a way, even with his constant obnoxious mien, the noirette was pretty popular in school. He had a whole gang following him around, especially Clyde Donovan — who was a loyalist to him since they were ten, or he was simply just an idiot — and Token Black — like his surname, but hey, the perks were that he was rich and he threw good parties that even the troublemaker gang (Stan's) came occasionally. He dated pretty girls; girls like Bebe Stevens who was practically the queen in the hallways, but they broke it off just last year because she became too demanding, too bitchy — for Craig.
In a way, Craig Tucker was but a good person. Somehow, he was acceptable. Somehow, he was a norm mingling in the crowd. A walking lump of chaotic neutral living in a dysfunctional neighbourhood.
At least, that was the ordinary description of Craig Tucker.
Just a boy who occasionally reeled himself into fights, who used his middle finger the most in the neighbourhood, who had passion and love only toward his numerous versions of Stripe (how he managed to get his hands on similar-looking guinea pigs each time the previous ones faced their demise was somewhat a mystery).
But even boys like Craig Tucker had secrets he kept to his own. Of course, this wouldn't be about inane, foolish keepings like — "Oh hey, I think I might have feelings for Heidi Turner" like Cartman — or something like that. The secret ran deep, it was important to him not to let anyone knows, it was that important.
The fact that Craig Tucker could see mental illnesses.
How did that worked? Mental illnesses were not a form, not a being; living beings : at least to normal people. Mental illnesses were conditions, like cogs in the brains starting to malfunction — theory-wise, it ran deeper than just broken cogs and wires — our brains are much more complex. Still, mental illnesses never did have a solid form, and they never will.
But Craig did anyway.
Monsters.
Ugly monsters lurking, gnawing in a person's mind. Clawed, fanged and downright hideous. Dark, shadowy beasts — gargantuan ones, looming twice Craig's height; tiny midgets, growing like a sprout, these little ones could be meaner than the huge asses, the noirette witnessing them chewing on little pieces of thoughts which slither about like smokes from a person's mind. Some had wings, hovering about in space, their movements languid and slow. Some had countless of eyes, their pupils glaring at Craig as if they knew that he was watching.
He shouldn't be watching.
It was weird.
Normal humans don't see monsters, normal humans doesn't see mental illnesses.
But he had seen them since he was a child, he was five years old and he thought monsters would come from under the bed or the closet, but no — it was when Thomas and Laura Tucker were having a huge argument, Craig witnessed the abuse placed on Laura, by each hits, her short whimpers followed suit. He saw a monster wheezing its way out from her head, as a kid he saw that monster glanced at him, growing bigger and bigger as Laura took a bottle of booze and chugging down its content. Its smile was wide, Cheshire-like with razor sharp teeth showing.
They came from distress.
These creatures only become fully solid when a person was fully diagnosed with a particular condition. When Randy Marsh turned alcoholic, he saw a monster acting like a drunkard itself, the difference was its translucence was starting to add more value to it; almost as if the monster was starting to show itself. Craig could not bear the site, not of a drunk Randy Marsh but to the sight of the monster taking his sanity away.
And the supposedly cold-hearted boy knew of Tweek Tweak.
Finally. . .
Tweek Tweak.
This is where the story begins.
Craig Tucker and Tweek Tweak.
To pair them both would be very odd indeed. To Craig, at least, it would certainly be very odd. It wasn't as if he had anything against the twitching, golden ball of anxiety; scared emerald green pools with deep circles beneath, and a mass of wild golden hair — not anymore.
Not when the guilt pressing in his chest as he saw the hideous monster lurking from his back, contrasting the continuous quiver from the blond's frail figure.
Tweek was skinny as fuck, the monster however, defined the otherwise. With its height perhaps three times larger than the blond, its movement indicated loads of weight. Tweek walked like he might float in the air, his monster dragged his feet that if it was indeed solid, the drag of its beefy, monstrous feet would roar into the hallways. Though the two of them shared the similarity of being lifeless, like any form of life had been sucked out from Tweek Tweak.
What had happened to the blond?
Craig didn't want to know.
. . . Maybe a little.
. . . Maybe a lot.
In his mind, the memories of junior high sprang back, and he reflected every moments he had came across Tweek Tweak.
When they were thirteen, the noirette had pushed him against the locker — hard — and told the blond to stop hanging out with him and his entire gang. Token was about to ask the reason and protest, but he had been a bastard and bitched about to everyone. The glare, icy and cruel, lingered in the emerald pools. He was terrified, he was hurt. Rivulets gushing down in an instant, but Craig left the spot, scoffing.
He didn't remembered the reason.
He couldn't.
When they were fourteen, Craig dumped Tweek's gift into the dumpster, right in front of him. The boy with a chullo ignored the gasp, he pulled away from the cold grasp on the shoulder, and he told Tweek to stay away.
He did.
When they were fifteen, they didn't talk. It was the start of high school. Craig had his bunch of friends, Tweek was all alone.
And now they were sixteen, and Craig knew he was the cause of that hideous monster's growth.
Unfortunately, their lockers were very, very close. Craig felt his body stiffened, the hairs against his neck rose as he felt the intense gaze from blaring, scarlet eyes. Its many eyes, hollow yet left with a linger of a glow reflected against his deep blue ones as he turned, and the noirette gulped before shifting his eyes toward the blond. Tweek didn't look back, he never did anymore.
He gave up trying when they were fifteen.
Talk.
Craig wanted to speak, to blurt out a greeting, to lift one hand and reach out and hug the blond and say that he's sorry. He wanted this tightness to end, the bitter in his heart seeing the deadly glare from the murky beast, and he felt like crying the longer he remained in the similar spot. His eyes wavered, Craig felt the nausea pooling in his stomach.
What have I done? Tweek is. . .
Depression.
He knew the solid creature, its heavy criteria, its notion to stay silent and weighed Tweek from his head, the occasional whispers which reached his ears. Tweek was depressed, and Craig felt like it was his fault over the years.
Well, it was his fault.
Accidentally, he slammed his locker hard — the said blond yelped and turned to meet blue eyes, widened his own emerald pools and stuttered ; "I. . . I'm sorry. . ." He left immediately.
He apologised to Craig.
For what?
Craig wasn't sure. But he felt bad.
He extended his hand, but held back — lips pursing — and turned his heel to go to the opposite side of the hallway.
Heat reached up to his cheeks, he felt like he was burning. It was just that Craig Tucker did not realise the fact that he was holding back a small tear from the corner of his eyes.
TO BE CONTINUED
Mozu : look at me with angsty trash yeesh
Hello! I'm new to this fandom! In FFnet at least, I watched South Park since years ago though but I never thought of writing this. But here I am, so nice to meet you all!
X for love, O for hate!
-Mozu The Mochi (2017)