OKAY so for a while I didn't really know what to do with myself or how to write what I was writing but yeah. i realize i forgot to mention that this story will most likely be in tweeks p.o.v the entire time and this isn't the end so yeah. please leave reviews and stuff

I opened the front door, quietly enough that I don't think my parents heard but I also don't think they would care much. Do most parents care when their kids leave the house at 12:34am? Probably, but my parents trust me.

Sometimes I think about how weird it is, to exist. I think about the ground I'm walking on and how I am always against it, and when I lay on the ground how it feels natural and wonderful and like it's just where I was meant to be. Which I suppose is how it's supposed to feel, because I've never known any other kind of ground.

And I think about space and stars and planets and nebulae and I feel frightened but also curious. I think the thing that bothers me the most about existing is that we'll probably never know exactly why we exist. We have all these theories and we can believe one or a few but we won't really know.

But I don't think you should let that frighten you, because what do I know? Maybe we will.

While I'm having these very deep, intense thoughts I'm also listening to my sneakers crunch the snow beneath. I think I like snow. I like winter in general because I can cover up my entire body and no one has to see and no one has to know. I like the feeling that no one will ever know exactly what I'm feeling, or thinking, even if I tell them.

Clutching my thermos tightly (It's filled with coffee.), I continue my walk towards the playground.

And I see a figure, in the distance, standing on the top of the small playset for toddlers.

I like the idea of fate.

I like the idea that everything that happens, is what was supposed to happen, or it's leading us towards what is supposed to happen.

Because it makes everything feel okay, maybe I have no control over what's happening but that's alright.

I see the figure turn towards me, but since there isn't many lights all I see is a dark sillouhette.

"Hello?" They yelled.

"Hi." I yelled in reply.

I'd like to note that this wasn't really yelling, like at 2:32pm when you hear a kid screaming because he's losing at a game of tag and you were frightened at first but now it's just kind of bearable.

It was more like a loud whisper.

The figure seemed to continously shift their weight from one foot to another, still standing on the edge of the playset.

Meanwhile, I just sat on the swingset that wasn't too far away but also still wasn't close enough to see clearly who it was.

"Who are you?" They asked.

"I'm Tweek." I replied.

I've never really been one for conversations, since I prefer thinking. I like my thoughts to be my own and not have anyone know what I'm thinking or feeling, like I said earlier.

Sometimes even the idea of saying "I'm good, how are you?" makes me feel like puking.

Silence. Silence.

And I'm okay.

"I'm Craig." He said.

Silence. Silence.

And I'm okay.

"Do you want to sit with me?" I offered.

Silence. Silence.

"Sure."

And I'm okay.