Disclaimer: I do not own South Park, the characters, or any of the ideas associated with it.
Authors note: I'd like to thank all the people who have read this so far, and my friend bunny who so lovingly edits for me and collaborated on the poems with me (by collaborate I mean did most of the work for the poem). I'd like to state that this story will end up being about 10 or more chapter I've already about 6 chapters. Lastly I'd like to apologies that it takes so long to update due to editing take much longer then anticipated.
Henrietta looked at me and rolled her eyes before she began to apply dye to my head. "Come on, you moron, spit it out," she prodded.
I sighed and rolled my eyes back at her, "It was a poem, it was random I just wrote it. And what do you mean what's between me and Michael? We're just the same as usual, you know me and Michael are just plain old fucking me and Michael."
She rolled her eyes and coughed, "You're fucking ignorant as always." Her words went right past me; I had no freaking idea what the hell she could possibly be talking about. Due to the absence of a response from me, she huffed and began to smother the peach portions of my hair, avoiding the black. When she was finally satisfied with what she had done she turned off the vent and marched me off to the kitchen where Firkle and Michael sat watching the coffee maker slowly drip coffee into the pot. Henrietta pulled at Firkle's shirt, "Hey you, do you think I missed a spot or got it somewhere I shouldn't have?"
Firkle looked up at me momentarily then returned his attention to the coffee maker. "Nope I can't see any."
Henrietta looked at him disapprovingly. "Uugghh that's some great help Firkle. Michael, please, for Cthulhus sake, check Pete's hair."
Michael breathed out deeply as he slowly stood and walked over to me. He towered over me, so he had to lean quite a bit to check my hair. After about four fucking minutes he felt satisfied he had checked every part. He looked over at Henrietta and breathed in sharply, "No, you didn't miss any spots, or get any anywhere you weren't supposed to. Well, unless you're counting his neck which I know you're not." He chuckled to himself, probably fucking wondering how the hell she got dye on my neck since she was only dying the top of my head.
Henrietta sat me in the chair next to Michael and began to fiddle in the cabinet for coffee mugs, she found four of assorted colors: black, dark purple, dark red, and light pink. She filled them all, and handed Firkle the dark purple, Michael the dark red, and me the light pink. Firkle laughed as he sipped his coffee. "You know Pete, light pink really suits you. It totally brings out your feminine side." Michael nearly took a spit take at Frikle's words. Henrietta rolled her eyes and smirked. We had been sitting there for about twenty minutes talking about different bands and doing nothing really important.
When Henrietta took a long drink of her coffee, and then looked at me, "Go rinse your hair out in the shower, then shampoo and condition it. Got it?"
I stood and began to walk to the bathroom. "Yep, I got it." I turned the shower and vents on, made sure the water wouldn't freeze or burn me, stripped, and got in. I stood in the water stream for a moment, relishing the warmth of it, before I began to run my hands through my hair, the water looked like blood when the dye first began to stream out of it, but gradually ran clear. The shampoo and conditioner smelled of white grapefruit and mint. I lathered my hair, rinsed and repeated. Seeing as Henrietta managed to get die on my neck and back I took the elastic off my wrist and put up my now silky hair. Henrietta's body wash smelled of white clay, pink jasmine, and vanilla. I covered my whole body and scrubbed my neck and upper back to make sure I got the dye off completely. When it was rinsed off, I shut off the water and exited the shower. I grabbed a towel from the cabinet and wrapped it around me. I grabbed Henrietta's face wash and scrubbed my faced making sure to get rid of any dye she might have accidently gotten on it. My face was finally clear, the pock marks gone, and I was not fucking going to deal with that again, and dye sure as hell was not going to be the cause. After I dried myself and got dressed, I exited the bathroom smelling like a girl.
I slid back into my chair and took a sip from my coffee, which was now room temperature. Michael leaned over and sniffed my neck, then my hair. I blushed, turning to him to glare and scoff. He looked a little disappointed. "Michael what are you doing?" I whined.
He grinned, "I was smelling you. You smell like grapefruit, vanilla and jade. I like it."
I flipped him off. We all finished our coffee and walked up to Henrietta's room. Once again we sat in our usual spots. Michael scooted closer to me. Henrietta snapped her fingers to grab our attention, "Now then boys, lets continue what we were doing earlier. I shall read my newest poem and then. . . Michael shall read one." She "smiled" like a Cheshire cat, opened her composition book, and began to read:
Ignorance and frustration,
Irritation of an outsider bidden to lighten the darkness
Because they see not the truth
Though it's clear as cloudless heavens
The two are meant to be.
Alien states befuddle black minds
Broken souls yearn to heal
But stand still due to fear,
They reach for the other
But fingers retract
Due to ignorance rooted deep in the dead heart
Because reality does not strike it.
Time wanes the outsider's patience,
Something must change
Henrietta finished reading and Firkle looked at her satisfiedly. "I know exactly what you mean. It is fucking irritating." Michael glared at her intensely. I shifted forward and Michael followed suit.
Henrietta cleared her throat. "Michael aren't you going to read a poem now?" she said snaredly.
"I forgot my composition book at home."
Henrietta took out a new cigarette and placed it in her holder before lighting it. She took a long drag and exhaled. "I forgive you, but tomorrow you're reading one."
Firkle suddenly began to stir, looking out the window. He stood and began to walk to the door. "I have to go see you guys tomorrow." He left and a few seconds later the door slammed. Henrietta rushed over to the window and peered out, of we course followed her.
Outside stood a fucking conformist: a Canadian about Firkle's age with black hair and dark eyes. He was pale and stood slightly taller than Firkle. He wore a creepy lilac sweater and pale jeans. Henrietta grimaced, obviously upset. I sighed, thinking of a lie to calm her down, but Michael beat me to the punch, "Firkle said he had to do a project with a partner the other day. That's probably why he's meeting up with that fucking conformist."
Henrietta was still upset, but Michael's statement calmed her down a little. I decide it was a good time to take my leave. "Hey guys, it's getting late and I have to be getting home, so I think I'm going to leave."
They both looked at me. "Yeah, I think I'm going to leave with Pete, if you don't mind," Michael stated plainly.
"Well then feel free to go," Henrietta said, impishly "smiling" at Michael's statement. We bid our farewells to Henrietta and left. As we stepped outside, the cold hit us like a brick wall. My house was several blocks from Henrietta's, but I didn't mind walking in the cold. As me and Michael walked we talked about nothing, small unimportant things, his mind obviously preoccupied in deep thought about the next day ahead.
As we approached Michael's house I slowed but he continued to walk, "What are you doing we're at your house, you fucking space cadet."
Michael stopped, took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long drag before breathing out the smoke that mixed with the fog from his warm breath. "I'm walking you home, you freaking idiot."
"No you're not," I argued.
He took the cigarette out of his mouth and shoved it in my own. "Obviously I am, now keep walking." I shut up and decided it wasn't worth arguing with Michael; I never won when I did.
As we approached my house, Michael walked me to the door. "Hey you want to come in for a minute? It's fucking freezing out and you're going to die of the cold if you don't."
Michael just smirked at my offer, "No, I don't, I have to get home myself, you know."
"You sure? I don't care if my parents mind."
Michael laughed and began to walk away. "I'd rather not 'Due to ignorance rooted deep in the dead heart, because reality does not strike it,'" he said, quoting Henrietta's poem as he walked away, leaving me baffled and searching for what he fucking meant.
. . .
At about twelve at night, my phone began to ring 'death and despair.' I picked it up and Michele's voice came in, clear and commanding. "Hello Pete," he said, long and drawn out.
"Hello Michael. What do you want? And why the hell are you calling me so late?" I said dozily.
"I called because I couldn't stop thinking about you. You know I'm picking you up tomorrow at six in the morning right?" Everything was silent for a moment.
"Wait! What!? You're picking me up? And at six?"
"That shouldn't be an issue, I mean, I do have a car and we need to get there at seven so we have to leave at six."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's an hour car ride? Why are you driving? Aren't Henrietta and Firkle coming?"
"Obviously it's an hour if we leave at six and get there at seven, genius. And they're coming, but they will be late because they both have something to do, and since you don't, you are coming with me. No arguing allowed."
"Fine, I get it. I'll go, but don't push it. Now Michael, it's late and I'm tired. I do ever so love the sound of your voice, but I have to get up early to see you tomorrow, so please Michael, just say goodnight," I could hear him laughing from the other end of the phone.
"Yes, I see your point Pete. I'd rather spend more time talking with you, but it is indeed late. You'll just have to spend more time with my beautiful face tomorrow than you planned. Goodnight Pete and dream well." He hung up and instantly the dial tones come on. I hung up and went to sleep.
That night the ghost of Edger Allen Poe visited me in my dreams, reaping lines from the poems over and over again all night: Because they see not the truth, Though it's clear as cloudless heavens, The two are meant to be. They reach for each other, But fingers retract, Due to ignorance rooted deep in the dead heart, Because reality does not strike it. Something must change.