.: ~ Saturday afternoon ~:.

"He should not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seenthe nightfall." – John R. R. Tolkien.

The words I have taken to heart and written on my locker door after reading the book over and over as night creeps over the small, white trash, awful mountain town there my house is located. It's not my home, because it's not where my heart is. I escape in the pages of another man's imagination, and find my home in his million dollar remains. Many of the pages have been ripped, as the excitement and the suspense has made me physical in my reactions to the plot. Believe it or not, But words are more powerful than any sword. Well, I might say gun since the era of swords are long gone and now only mentioned in dry history books you read at school. Please, don't mistake me, I love history and science. I love the thought that I am breathing in the same molecules that many a brave knight have suckered into their lungs before they ride into battle. I still have this voice in the back of my head that screams in panic; I probably breathe in the same particles as murderers.
Slayers.
Killers.
Assassins.

I try not to think of it, and I focus my attention on the page in front of me again. It's the book before the book, catching the bravery and surprise you can find in hobbits. How I wish there was a way for me to make the words into actions, and the descriptions into real persons. Not to mention making the middle earth into the real world, and manage to get away from the dump I am currently stuck in. A place and earth where everyone is out to get me, kill me, rape me, abduct me… Nothing and no one helps. Not mom, not dad and my shrink, Jenny, makes things worse than they are. I don't need someone to tell me that I'm insane, or crazy, or different as Jenny calls it. I can see it when I look in mirrors. I am staring at a lunatic with spiraling eyes and a bird's nest of a hair. I find such fancy words on such ugly things.

Flip the page, escape from real life, put on the soundtrack, and ignore the people around you. Oh how much I would give to be a fictional character in a book. Not the hero though, never the hero. I should be in the background, but still important enough to make it to the movies. I would ask to be like Haldir, but he dies. I don't wish to die. Oh god, don't remind me of the dead.
The rotten men.
The lost souls.
The coffin sleepers.

I don't wish to vanish from the face of the earth without something to show for it. But I don't have the attention span or the desire to write like Tolkien. I don't have the original mind or brain capacity to become someone like Tesla. I am not pretty or talented enough to become an actor like Sean Bean, and I can't marry my way to fame and immortality like many plastic women. That's just not how it works. I could become an assassin and kill famous people, but I can't hurt a fly, no matter how annoying it buzzes around me.
Fine, the real reason to why I don't kill flies is because the relatives of the killed bug would crawl into my ear and lay eggs there and-oh god-feast on my brain!

It's not very likely to happen, since we have earwax for a reason. It's not just there, without any purpose or reason. Collectables from cereal are there for no reason, as well as the same annoying TV shows, over and over. I don't watch TV, and I am never on the internet. I don't know if Wendy is till dating Stan or how Cartman's part went. And I honestly don't care. I read newspapers, books, magazines and I listen to CD's like people did before they got sucked into the world of 0 and 1. It's not that I don't have a computer, because my parents bought me a laptop for school work, and that's what it's used for. I type sixteen letters a minute. I get frustrated because I have to use a keyboard all the frickin time, since my teacher's complains about my handwriting. Schoolwork becomes so much slower when I can't use a pencil.

Dad is all into the new technology, and he means that at some point humans will be no need for the world to function. That's why I prefer to stay away from computers and television, or as Pip so dapperly calls it; the telly. We'll Gregory calls it the telly as well, but he has a more handsome and snobby tone. I have a weak spot for Brits and Europeans. Not only do they make the best music but they have fairytales and fables and mythology! The best people are also European like William Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, John R.R. Tolkien, Viggo Mortersen, Socrates, Queen Victoria the first, King Arthur and Nikola Tesla.

I actually have a plasma globe on my homework desk. It's gorgeous how the electricity dances along the surface of the glass sphere that is its prison. I place my finger on it, and they wish to strike me through the thick material. It's one of the only interesting objects between these four walls that is my room. I have managed to make it somewhat mine. The walls are purple and the pillows and sheets are green. My desk is a deep coffee color, just like the mahogany closet. I have white bookshelf taking up place next to one of my windows, filled with a few movies and books .And the curtains are black as coal. My current position is in the closet, reading the hobbit for what I believe is the 27 time. The first time was on the hospital back in the third grade, and my dad came with a graphic novel of the hobbit.

And somehow my mind has crossed over its own tracks, and I am thinking of the person sitting next to me in English and behind me in math and have a locked next to me.
Craig Tucker, the guy with hair as black as the clear night, and with eyes that reminds me of storm clouds. I'm not sure, but I think he dreams of making me explode. He annoys me, stalks me, scares me.
Makes fun of me.

A chill runs down my spine as I taste the name Craig Tucker. He used to be my best friend, until he stabbed my back in the eighth grade. But I shouldn't complain. I have Token, Kevin and Kyle. And Butters, but everyone has Butters so he doesn't really count.

I sight and put the book down. I'll have no peace now that I have ruined what could have been a nice moment with a book in the warmth with my clothing. Not that I ever give myself a moment of peace. I stumbled out of the closed space, and into my room. It was quiet, and I walked to turn on the light. The blinking of the stereo and the plasma sphere were both a bit scary in the dark. Most things manage to scare me in the dark. I dragged my feet over to the light switch by the door, flipping it on an off eleven times. I looked at the clock hanging over my bookshelf. It was five, meaning that I had spent three hours sitting, trying to reading one of my favorite books. It also meant that mom was home, and that we were going to eat something.

I ripped open the door out to the halls and the smell of calzones reeked up the stairs and through the corridors. I could hear a woman humming on some tune from top 40 on the radio. She probably tuned in on the channel where they played the most hummable music in the car on the way home. My mom is like one of the women you see in movies. She has soft hair and warm eyes, and she should have her own cocking show. She's the typical, loving mother that makes dinner for her family and plays the piano. My mom is prefect, and she does everything for me. She doesn't help the OCD, ADD or the insomnia, but that doesn't means she doesn't try. I really love her.

I almost tripped in my own feet running down the stairs. I counted the steps in my head as I moved my feet. Left, right, left, right, much like a soldier's marsh. I rounded the corner to the kitchen, and found my mom standing there drinking sips of what I assume must be coffee from a Starbucks cup from that one time they were in London. It had been their second honeymoon and I had been staying with Kyle and his family. I would really like to go to London myself, but I have Acrophobia, so I'll never be able to get on a plane without some heavy medication.

Mom suddenly realized that I was standing there, staring at her and she walked over with her arms open. We wrapped our arms around each other, hugging softly. I am not a fan of physical contact, but my mom and dogs are special exceptions. She pulled away and smiled at me, letting her soft hand run through what's supposed to be my hair. I was awaiting her usual question as she finished petting me. "How was your day Tweety?" No other human being was allowed to call me Tweety. I'm not sure why she even gave it to me in the first place. Maybe it's my scrawny body type or maybe she just like Looney tunes

"It was fine mom, N-Nothing unusual." The stuttering and random outbursts had calmed down, but I still talked to fast and I fell back in old habits when I get scared. She smiled a slightly tiered smile at me as she brushed her hand over my cheek. I wished I could be a more normal kid for her, so she wouldn't have to worry so much. "I've just hung around at home, reading a bit and cleaning my room. I took a walk as well, but it was a bit lonely.… How was your day mom?"

She rolled her eyes at my hidden;' I really want a dog message', and looked over at the oven where the homemade calzones were finishing off. Her eyes turned back to me, smiling as she sat up on the kitchen counter. I have the same light body type as my mother, and I look more like her then I look like my dad. Something I'm grateful for. "It was fine Tweety bird. A lot of people today, but we're luckily not short on staff. Richard is taking a late shift."

I guessed that, since dad wasn't around. He is a real workaholic, and you almost have to drag him away from his beloved coffee beans and metaphors. You never really get rid of the metaphors though, a great annoyance for the people under the same roof as him. It wasn't that much the metaphors, it was more that it was really bad metaphors that you can't even use in a commercial for bad toothpaste. I'm glad he doesn't work in the advertising business, or we wouldn't have a house and I would have grown up as a hobo. I would have died if I had to live as a hobo; mostly because I hate germs and have OCD and can't touch filthy people. On the up side we could have a dog without my parents complaining about hair in the couch. You know, since we wouldn't have one.
A couch that is.

The oven pinged and informed us that yes, we were going to eat now and I hurried to set the table. I don't get anywhere close to that death trap that could melt my face of if it so wished to. I think I would have to kill myself if electronic devices came to life, because they would surly take over the earth as we know it. Another reason to why the middle earth would be a so much better alternative to a place filled with our need of light bulbs and freezers. I gently opened the shelves, a thing I trust a bit more then the oven since it is made of wood, and grabbed two plates. I was on my tippy toes with my tongue sticking out on the left corner of my mouth. It is actually scientifically proved that doing things with your tongue sticking out boost your concentration and therefore you ability to do the task given to you. The white plates were put on the small dining table and I ran to get knives and forks as well. I approve of the Asians and the tradition to eat with chopsticks because eating with a knife is barbaric. Still, if you really wanted to kill the person you're dining with, you can stab him with a stick. I'll have to point this out to Kevin on Monday.

The cutlery was placed on the table, and the calzones ended up on the plates with some help by my mom's hands, and we sat on the white painted chairs from IKEA. Mom got a water mug and I grabbed identical glasses and filled them with water. My dad bought by a mistake different types of glasses, and I can't really enjoy my meal unless it's the same types.

We don't really have a whole lot to talk about when dad's not here, so we usually listen to the radio and read magazines in silence. Mom likes to read those fashion magazines like Vogue and Elle, while I read scientific stuff I shouldn't really know because it just adds to my paranoia. I read an article about Schizophrenia, and I convinced myself that I had developed the mental illness just by reading about it. It caused a bunch of problems for Jenny and my parents. Not to mention the teachers and other students. I don't envy those being schizophrenic though… it must be horrible to have another person's voice in your head, telling you to do creepy stuff. I'm not allowed to read things concerning brains anymore, which I find a bit sad. I now have to read about electronics, or the human anatomy and such things that scientists work on. And that's not by far as interesting as reading about the darker sides of the human mind.

I am currently stuck with a fashion magazine my mom bought last week, as I pin my meal down and cut through it. The steam from my food and the delicious smell of chicken and cheese bolted up my nostrils. Someone should make a perfume of this, and I wouldn't mind bathing in it. I smell of apples though, and coffee. My mom smells like the cinnamon she powders on the cream top of her coffee, and she smells like the vanilla sticks he munches on while she drinks coffee. She holds a piece of her cooking next to her lips, reading with her glasses on. Mom and dad both have slightly poor eyesight so I'm happy that I have a 'prefect vision'. Well, my optician means I have a perfect vision and I don't argue about if I should have glasses or not, with a man with a doctor degree.

I flipped the pages slowly, as I chewed the bread. I haven't gotten to the filling just yet, and I look at the women filling the photographs. They are all such fairytale girls, with the never ending legs and the face of a beauty queen. But they are always so damn skinny! If they had some more meat on their bones, they would be so much more attractive. I analyzed the face of a girl in something that seemed like a ripped up summer dress. Not one of the ladies smiled in any of the pictures. Didn't they like their jobs? Maybe they would go into a coma if they tried to seem friendly. I skipped the next pages and found an article about some celebrity I didn't know. I'd much rather listen to the radio then read something like this. If it even is reading. It seems so much more like a children's book where there is more picture then text.
… I'd actually rather read some kid literature than this. I can't really understand why my mom likes this.

I stuffed some more food in my mouth, this time with the cheese and chicken. It tastes just as amazing as it always does, but it manages to burn my tongue. I grabbed after my water and pour it in together with the chewed up food. I pulled the glass away, and looked at the water left in the bottom. It was disgusting. Now I have to go empty my glass and get some new water. I prevented getting a blister inside my mouth though. My mom watched me with a slightly amused face as I walked to spill the water out in the sink. It ran through the pipes and far away. I really hope I won't drink it again. Water is a slightly disturbing drink.

I sat back down with the less gross water, and hurried to eat the rest of the calzone, since hot food is covered in less germs then cold food. I stared down at my plate when I was full. Half of the calzone was still grinning up at me, just laying there. I sighted and leaned back in my chair, pouting like a small kid. I never really outgrew my childish acts such as pouting and wanting a puppy. My mother's smile grew wider, and she turned back to her magazine. The slightly visible wrinkles in her forehead just made her seem smarter, and her squared glasses were the ones of a brainy lady. She should really have a thick book to complete the picture, and not a fashion magazine like the ones Clyde's and Butter's moms were into. No offence.
"Why are you reading fashion magazines? I though you didn't like them"

She looked up from the article and removed her glasses. Her face was back to just being the heart shaped and lovingly face of a home staying mother. "Well, I'm not all that into fashion and famous people, but my friends are, so I try to stay up tuned so I have something to talk with them about. It's important to have friends, and therefore I try to have something in common with them. I'd rather talk to them about you and coffee, my two main interests, but I can't sit and talk about those things for five hours with my friends, can I? Well, I could, but I wouldn't get invited when they held dinner parties and went to the hairdresser. You see, when you meet new people, it's good to have a little knowledge about everything, so you have something to talk to that person about. Or you can just show interest in something the other likes, if you don't have a lot in common, and then you can learn new things."

I blinked and tried to remember all that information. Sometimes I forget that my mom wanted to become a doctor until she found her true passion in coffee. It's a shame that she isn't out there fighting illness and diseases. But someone has to take care of the lattes and cappuccinos right? I just nodded because I didn't really find anything smart to respond with. She put on her glasses again and read more of the article so she had a conversation starter with her simpler friends.
"Just let the Calzone stay. I'll wrap it in some aluminum so you can reheat it in the microwave when you're going up on the roof."

" Thanks mom." I shoved the chair back, using my heels. I headed upstairs to my room to read some more before nightfall. Or maybe I should take a shower. I'll go with the shower. I haven't showered since this morning, and I appreciate smelling good and being clean. I almost die when people around me smell like sweat and old socks. Maybe it's just me, but I can't stand talking to people that skipped brushing their teeth in the mornings. I almost have to throw up when Token forgets to use Listerine. He has the worst morning breath ever, and I can't get anywhere near him when he skips it because he overslept. The times we agree that he's going to pick us up I send him a text in the mornings, reminding him to make sure that he took care of his own dental hygiene. Or maybe it's just me, because neither Kevin nor Kyle ever seems to notice his death breath.

I carefully open the door what was my bathroom, since mom and dad has a bathroom with their room. I really, really wanted the room with the private shower, but I made my parents take a holy oath to never ever enter my bathroom. I turned the switch on and off 11 times before I locked the door and double checked that it was really locked. I had a wrist watch on my left hand (like any normal person), which had been a present from Kevin my last birthday. It was a nice watch which I forgot that I had when I was in my room. Out of old habit, I always looked at my larger clock when I was in my room.

I stripped out of my shirt and jeans, making sure not to face the mirror. It felt strange to watch myself undress, and I prefer to stare into the tiles covering the wall where the shower was located. I prefer taking baths, but you get wrinkly skin when you bathe, and I don't like being reminded of growing old.
Senile.
Facing death and mortality through illness and weak bones.

A sudden chill ran through my body, making we throw my head sharply to the left, while flapping my arms around. The twitching had sustained, but these things kept happening! It was annoying as hell, and I sometimes end up hitting someone in the face. Well, just Kevin since he's the only guy shorter than me.

I shook my head from side to side, cracking my bones. The sound is disgusting, but it's just air bubbles in your skeleton, which is more alarming then disgusting. I thought of how Eddie Izzard would describe chiropractors, and I grinned as I turned on the shower. It always took time before the water wasn't freezing cold, or hellishly warm. It was either Craig's attitude or Kyle's temper. Stupid little button that lies. I should really stop watching the same videos over and over. I might become one of those weird persons that laugh too much by the punch line, making it less funny. But Izzard was the only person I was willingly watching on YouTube, ever since Kenny and Token showed it to me at lunch a couple of weeks ago. I went home and sat on the bed with the computer in front of me, watching clip after clip of the same transvestite. He's awesome.

The water flowed from the head and landed in the palm of my hand, and I adjusted the heath until it was warm, but tolerable. The water hugged every inch of my skin, and made my hair cling to my head like a wet mop. I reached for the apple shampoo and emptied what was probably half the bottle as I rubbed it into my hair, making it cleaner and messier. I sat my ass down on the slightly cold tiles, letting the running water massage my head, and wash away the ridiculous amount of shampoo. The good thing about showering was of course the fact that you got clean and could relax. The bad part was getting out of the shower, and remembering the classical killing scene where someone just comes and stabs you with a knife.

My mind still wandered away from murderers as I sat in a locked room with flowing water. I rested my head on my knees, wrapping my arms around my legs. I wondered what I was going to do tomorrow, besides going to see Jenny. I wondered if my friends and Tucker did go to Bebe's party. I wasn't the life of the party. Mostly because I never ever went to any parties involving alcohol and drugs. I knew how it all worked. They got drunk or stoned, did stupid things they wished they didn't do, almost got themselves killed by driving home, and end up sleeping out the alcohol and narcotics the entire next day. I guess I would stay home and practice my keyboard. Kevin had convinced me to learn a number of Zelda themes, since they were surprisingly hard to learn. Maybe I would take a walk and complain about not having someone/ something to walk with. Or I could just cover a shift at Harbucks, if I get really bored. When you look away from having your mind wondering, showering is a bit boring. But most things in your life are. God knows what other people does in showers when their bored, since their already naked. I usually sing in the shower like a normal guy, and not a pervert. I rapped my fingertips against the soft glass door I had instead of shower curtains.

"And I just can't look its killing me,
and taking control.

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea,
turning through sick lullabies,
joking on your alibis.
But it's just the price I pay,
destiny is calling me.
Open up my eager eyes,
'cause I'm mister Brightside."

I had managed to remember some of my favorite song. I don't know why I love it so much, I just do. It's almost like it's touching a part of me I don't even know yet. I bolted out of the shower, regretting it as cold air slapped my entire body. I grabbed one of my towels and rubbed of every trace of water. The white towel got loosely wrapped around my waist as I walked over to the mirror. No pimples on my face. I smiled a bit, grabbing after my toothbrush. I ran my tongue over the now slightly rough surface, and decided that it was a good idea to brush them, before I grabbed my toothpaste.

...

I licked over my now much smoother teeth, tasting the mint. I'm not really that fond of the taste, but it could be a lot worse. It could have tasted like lickerish. It tastes as bad as Token's morning breath smells. I can't stand it, and I had to stop myself from slapping the box of the disgusting candy out of Craig's grasp. Apparently, he loves it, and munches on it constantly. I feel bad for any girl that has the desire to kiss him. He is bound to taste horrible, like an old man. In my world, old ladies eat toffee old men eats lickerish.

I looked down at my wrist, only to see that I had forgotten to take it off when I enjoyed my little one man musical inside the shower. I cursed under my breath as I removed it, and begged that it would still work. I manage to ruin almost all my stuff, including clothing's. I have lost seven phones, and smashed three of them. Water dripped from the clock and mocked me for having a bad attention span. Drying it with a towel probably wouldn't help at all, but that didn't stop me from trying as hard as I could to get it dry. Damn it, Kyle has seven wristwatches, but still manages to take care of all of them. I don't see how he or any other person can do that.

…. Maybe that's why my parents refuse to buy me a puppy.

.:~ Saturday night ~:.

The clock was slowly ticking its way to the next number, and it was currently two in the morning. I was sitting on the roof, packed in a big blanket with a thermos half full of coffee, and a few mouthfuls left of my mother's magic from the kitchen. She used to tell me that her food tasted that good because she was a witch that had attended to Hogwarts, but she got kicked out of her family because she married a muggle and got an un-magic child. I waited the entire summer when I was eleven, but didn't get the owl and the letter. Mom had to explain that she was only joking.

I think that was the biggest letdown I ever experienced.

Owl City's 'Alligator sky' plated in the attic under me. I didn't have an iPod, since I didn't really have the need to give people an easy target that can't hear if he's being tracked. I had a stereo on my room, and portable record player that I borrowed from Kevin, but I think he's forgotten about it. I hummed softly along with the tune, looking up at the glitter spread out on the night sky. They were blinking down at me, winking in different colors. The moon was full, and hanged almost right over me.

My eyes wandered over the twinkling specks, counting them for fun. I always stop at some point, since there are more stars then there are sand corns on our planet. My very religious grandma would tell me stories about how the stars were small lanterns angels held up so humans would never lose faith, but find comfort and light in the darkest of times. I didn't really see the logic in what she was telling me, but mom told me that I shouldn't argue with her because she was old. Old people get away with lots of nonsense because they have lived for such a long time.

My cup rested on my lips, as the wonderful smell danced in the coldness of nighttime, and turned out as smoke. It fascinated me, how it swirled and tried to reach the clouds so far up. I've tried smoking, but I would never admit that to my parents. I'll stick to the hot air that huffs and puffs from a warm cup of coffee. I think it's for the best that I only have one addiction. It would too much for me to handle if I had to spend money on tobacco and my black life liquid. I would have ended up in an apartment, sharing rent with a prostitute or bank robber, and my family would abandon me in shame.

Future is a scary subject that Jenny nags a bit too much about. What do I want to do with my life? Do I want to stick in the family business, or do I want to study something different? Do I want to go to a college far from my family, or simply stay in South Park? If she doesn't ask those types of questions, she digs and questions my love life. Not that she get's anything out of me, because that front is as dead as Stan's old dog Sparky. I used to have a crush on Wendy though, since we jog together and she's my keyboard teacher.
I really don't know what it was, but I really liked her dark hair, and her deep eyes. She had pale, soft skin and wasn't to girly. She was really nice to me, but it turned out that she was a lesbian. And of course she carries that with pride, and is currently dating Bebe.

I don't have any problem with gay people! Quite the opposite really, since two of my best male friends prefer their own gender. Both Kyle and Token are out of the closet. It's easier for them, since they are both star athletes and rather popular. I don't like people. I hate strangers.

Humans are such terrifying creatures. With a super developed mind, they create guns and bullets, drugs and pancakes, forks and cars. People have the power to blow up mountains, travel to space and explored the depths of the sea. Doctors have the ability to heal and mend broken bones and make you healthy. While some men just work as the robots our ideas have created, some kill and create chaos.

I really prefer the company of far away stars, smothered beans in a cup and music, playing soothing songs of the universe. I tap my fingers to the beat, as Florence starts her song of comic love. It was a birthday present from Kyle, burned CD's I could listen to by different occasions. With his elegant writing, he wrote 'Music from the Milky Way'. Such a clever pun I'm pretty sure his little brother came up with. No offence, but the redhead isn't the most creative person I know. Ike on the other hand…

I moved my lips to the words forming a small line of pictures in my imagination. 'The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out.' My eyelashes met the dark bags under my eyes, and when I opened my eyelids, it was as if the stars were moving to the magic. Well, for me they were. I fell on my back, staring up at the sky.

The streetlights were slumbering along the road on my left, shining down on the asphalt. I hate it if one of the bulbs decided to die, because that leaves an area in darkness, a perfect place for kidnappers. Therapy still hasn't really got me over the time in third grade when some sick guy almost robbed me from my own room. I have good locks on my windows and doors.

I wrapped the blanket closer as Apollo had left with all its warmth, and left us in the cold arms of his sister. The moon has its own god as well, but she was a minor god, so Artemis got the moon. I feel bad for the forgotten goddess, or gods. Can you imagine watching foolish men and woman take you for granted, making temples to the most important gods? I would have been sad, not to mention really angry at humans. Well, if the old Greek goods ever wandered the between trees and mountains, they must have faded when we stopped believing in them. Maybe they simply turned to dust in the wind, taking memories and old wisdom with them in their grave?

Perhaps they did. We'll never know.

FIRST CHAPTER. Two of the people Tweek will fall for are allready in the text.

I'm a fan of letting other people think, so I hope this gave you something to think about.

Next chapter will be up soon!

Please, R&R