This Creek story has been bouncing around in my head, so I gave in and wrote the first chapter. Now, I'm going to stress something, here-my other story, Francium, isn't finished yet. I need to finish that before I can go out with this much. I might still write some of this on occasion, but I'm going to try to get Francium finished, first. I do have an ending for that in mind, which is good. So, without further ado, here you are. The first chapter of Stripes and Belts.

It doesn't faze me when I hear a loud shriek come from the room next to my own.

The lady next to me is examining my mouth with one of those pointy things that dentists use. The scrape of metal against my teeth makes me shiver. I guess the kid next to me felt the same way.

"So how have you been, Craig?"

I don't even bother to answer. How can I when she had the fucking metal crap in my mouth? Instead, I just give the lady a glare, showing her how much I am enjoying this.

"Same as always, huh?" she mutters under her breath, moving her chair to get another medieval torture device used to ruin people's day. "Rinse out your mouth."

I comply, spitting out water and noticing the red that went down the drain with it. Great, my mouth was bleeding. Fan-fucking-tastic.

I flip off the lady for the third time in an hour and lay back down in the chair, opening my mouth again expectantly. Just get it over with, get it over with.

I feel a sharp pain in my cheek as she puts in the Novocain. I hate that shit. Having my teeth hurt like hell is better that feeling dead in one side of your face.

She takes out the drill.

Could this day get any fucking worse?

As she works like a mofo on my teeth, I can feel her breath on my face. That, paired with the extremely gross smell of the drill is enough to make me wince. I need to get this over with. Get it done. Clyde is waiting for me.

"SWEET JESUS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

The shout makes the lady jolt, and the drill goes from my molar to the inside of my cheek.

Now would be a great time for the Novocain to kick in, right?

No, of course not. The fucking numbing shit hasn't even begun to spread over my face. So, of course, with my fucking luck, the drill goes straight into my cheek.

Okay, I tried. I really did. I did my absolute best not to just get the fuck out of the dentist's office. But sometimes you don't reach your goals, which is perfectly acceptable.

So I smack the lady's hand away, stand up, rip the fucking cloth she put around my neck off, shoot her a beautiful view of my middle finger, and walk out.

At the same time, the boy in the room next to me runs past me in a hurry. I vaguely remember passing him in the halls and sharing a class with him. His name was Twitch, or something similar. The guy is a total freak. He's a full-blown coffee addict and twitched so much he practically vibrated everywhere he went. If anyone so much as said hello to him, he'd flip out and scream something about the government. He hangs out with Jimmy and Kevin and never so much as thought about introducing himself to everyone else. On top of that, he always wears some assortment of stripes, no matter where he goes. Sometimes you had to really look to find them—I remember once it took me about twenty minutes to realize he was wearing a striped cloth on his finger to school. Today, it was a green shirt with a black and grey striped one underneath. It looks okay, even though he never buttons that green shirt correctly. I had my wardrobe quirks, too. What, might you ask? Well, in South Park, I, Craig Tucker, am known for three things—the kid that flips people off, the kid that's so tall he has to duck his head down if he's going through a normal sized doorway, and the kid that had about eighty belts. Yep, belts. I love them. I always wear a belt, no matter what outfit I'm wearing. So I can't really blame Tweek for wearing stripes all the time.

Yep, that kid is pretty nuts. But it never really bothers me. Sometimes I feel bad for the way people treat him, but I never really do anything about it. One must fight their own battles, right?

His shoulder bumps against mine as he ran off. He lets out a "gah!" and a "sorry!" before storming out the door. I don't really care. People bump into me all the time because of my height. I've grown accustomed to it, even though it's probably one of the most annoying fucking things in the world. I usually flip people off casually if they slam themselves into me, but Blondie runs away so fast that there's no point.

So I just follow him out. The stare the office lady is giving me is making me want to piss myself.

Once I'm out of that hellhole, I look around for the kid in the striped shirt. But he's not anywhere. Damn, that guy can run fast.

"Fuck." I say under my breath. That Novocain is kicking in now, and so is the aching in my teeth. I whip out my phone and text Clyde. As I'm writing that I'm going to be at his house in five minutes, I remember how much he likes to rip on me for not having a smartphone. It's not like my parents aren't rich enough to get me a super-duper fucking sci-fi phone that can do absolutely anything. I just hate those things. Yep, you heard me right. The extra shit on them cancels out the fact that they're supposed to be a phone. A phone is for calling people. With all that extra shit, it's less about it being an actual phone and more about it being a video game or whatever.

I'm ranting.

The point is, that those phones suck.

Which is why I have a plain old LG with nothing special. No touch screen, just a flip-out keyboard and a number pad. That's it.

When I get to Clyde's house, he opens the door before I even knock and pulls me into a bear hug. It's awkward because he's about a foot shorter than I am.

"Hey, Craig!" he says, pulling away.

"Hey." I say back, looking down at him with my usual blank face. People always say I never show any emotion—my mom even suggested therapy- but I don't mean to, really. I'm just not one for feelings, I guess.

"Your voice sounds weird." Clyde points out, reaching up to poke my face. I wince. His finger touches the spot where the drill went into my cheek.

"Watch it, the bitch dentist lady put the fucking drill into my cheek." I warn him. He takes his hand away immediately.

"Why?" he raises an eyebrow.

"Some kid from our school screamed in the other room."

"Who?"

"It was that..uh..the coffee guy. What was his name...?" I wander off with my words, snapping my fingers to try to remember the stripe kid's name.

"It's something with a T...oh yeah! Tweek!" Clyde finally remembers.

"Yeah, him." I nod.

"He was screaming?"

"Yeah. He ran out of there. I wouldn't blame him. I ditched, too."

"Ha." Clyde grins. "I wish I could've been there."

"Yeah." I say. "Now, are we gonna play video games or what?"

He nods and runs to the kitchen. "I'll get food."

I roll my eyes and plop down on Clyde's couch. Clyde isn't exactly the thinnest kid around. He's kind of pudgy, but definitely not fat. Half of his bulk is from muscle, the other from all the shit he eats. I've always managed to stay thin, thanks to my freakish growth spurt I got in seventh grade. Clyde and Token always ripped on me for being tall—I pretty much tower over every kid in the grade. But I, in return, rip on Clyde for being a pussy and chubby and Token for being rich and black, which maintains our perfectly balanced friendship.

"Hey, who else is coming over?" I call over to Clyde, who is filling a huge bowl with Cheesy Poofs.

"Token and Damien." he replies.

Damien, the son of Satan, had filled in the void for our fourth friend. Over the years that the three of us had been friends, there was always someone that would come in and out of our group. Sometimes Jimmy, sometimes Jason, hell, even Tweek. But once, we tried with Damien, and we fit together pretty well. Clyde, Token and I don't consider him one of our tight-knit group, but he's fun to hang out with nonetheless. Damien has a pretty cool sense of humor. He's also almost as tall as I am—I have a few inches on him—which helps me not get singled out as much.

"Cool." I say, turning on the TV lazily. Flipping through the channels, I settle for an episode of Soul Eater. It's at a commercial. A coffee commercial.

"Tweak Bros. coffee is the best way to wake up in the morning. Our fresh beans taste like dewdrops on a green leaf in the spring..."

The commercial drones on and on, until I can't stand it anymore and flip to another channel.

"Craig, get the door." Clyde says. I'm so pissed off at the commercial that I don't hear the doorbell ring. Immediately, I know it's Token. No one ever rings Clyde's doorbell but him.

"Token, come in, I'm too lazy to open the door!" I shout. Token hears me and walks right in.

"Hey, you guys. What're we playing?"

"Call of Duty." Clyde answers, putting our feast on a tray, carrying it in.

I grin when I see a small orb of light come from behind him.

The small, circular thing stretches until it's in the shape of a human. Then, there's Damien, lurking behind Clyde. He leans over and whispers in my best friend's ear.

"Boo."

Clyde drops the tray. Soda and Cheesy Poofs go everywhere.

"What the hell did you do that for, Damien?" Token scolds. Ah, Token. Always the voice of reason. "Now Clyde has to pick it all up."

Damien laughs. "That's what I was aiming for." he sits down next to me on the couch and gives me a high-five. I would laugh, but nothing really rises in my throat, compelling me to laugh. Stupid nonexistent emotions.

"Dude! Stop laughing!" Clyde says, hi voice catching. Oh, shit. He was going to have another meltdown. Token rolls his eyes and gets some paper towels to clean up the mess.

Clyde is now on the floor, bawling like a baby. This is exactly how it went, everytime the four of us hung out—Clyde would start bawling because of some prank Damien played on him, Token would be God and clean everything up, and Damien would be laughing his ass off. As for me, well, I'd just sit there and watch.

When everything is (relatively) cleaned up, the four of us sit down to play. Cylde grabs his favorite controller, still sobbing, Token digs around in his bag for his own—it was some rare, limited-edition thing or another—Damien gets a normal controller, and I got the one that was missing one of the buttons.

As usual.

Everything happens as usual.

Damien wins the first round. Damien wins the second round. The creepy red-eyed kid wins every single fucking game.

"Killing people is fun." is his only explanation.

Just. Like. Always.

"C'mon, Craig. Don't be a sore loser." Damien smirks at me.

I clench my teeth, forgetting about the sharp pain that occurs when I do.

"Is something wrong?" Token asks.

"Yeah, Craig. For this whole game, you've been acting like a pole's been shoved up your ass." Clyde points out matter-of-factly.

"No, actually." I mutter. "A dentist's drill shoved itself into my face."

Token gives me a concerned look. Clyde winces. Damien laughs.

Just. Like. Always.

"You know what? Fuck this. I'm going home." I say, slamming my controller down onto the table. With a flourish of my middle finger, I get through the door.

Which, of course, I have to lean down to get through.

JUST. LIKE. ALWAYS.