Leaves (Creek) (South Park)

Chapter One: Careless

I've written away countless pages of you- on you, about you. Everything I could possibly write, I wrote already. I wrote about our time together, how you made me feel safe when I was on the brink of insanity, and how you did it all without even really trying.

I wrote you in all those pages so I could get it off my chest, and out of mind. Still, I see you everywhere and your voice is as clear as day and as sweet as honey. You haunt me more than any drug induced terror. Why do I still think of you when I wrote you away? When I know you have certainly forgotten me.

I packed you tightly in sealed envelopes, that never got stamped or sent out, ones that piled up until they became burdensome, but for some reason, I couldnt send you away. These letters Ive had since we met, since I left, since I last saw you and more, are all I have now. All I will have now.

The leaves have changed through out the seasons, growing colorful and falling away only to bud back to life again. I have remained unchanging. If you were the sun, If you were the moon, what would I be to you? The tide that you probably didnt even know existed? The very tide you controlled? Maybe I would be the sky, raining and dark in your absence.

I grew cold and colder on my own.

"Tweek!" He sat up, hair a mess of duck fluff, untamed or cared for. His mother was at his door, coffee in her hand.

"I thought I told you to clean your room? Its disgusting in here." He looked around, though his expression hardly changed.

"Get it done today or I will do it myself." She snipped.

That got his attention. What would she do if she found those letters? More hours of therapy? What if she trashed them? All his words, raw and unpolished, all of his work trying to articulate his feelings, trying to get over Craig, would be lost forever.

Or maybe that would be the last straw and hed finally be shipped to the can, so they could pry his head open and see if they could finally fix his brain, which would likely leave him brain dead. What was it they used to use? An ice pick?

"You're just like your father. Never answering or listening to a single thing I say. Its like talking to a wall." She frowned and turned on her heel, how she always did when angry, and vanished down the hallway.

The blonde pushed himself off his old mattress and the springs squeaked in distress which was exactly how he felt. The carpeted floor silenced his steps, and he walked downstairs like a ghost, grabbing some cleaning supplies and heading back up.

-
By the time Tweek was done cleaning his room, the letters were safely stored in his closet, never to see the light of day again. If that would ever happen, they wouldnt have to worry about an asylum anymore, just a cheap old urn.

He took his trash out, head lowered and gaze down, fingers picking at the white buttons on his green shirt. He tossed the bag in the bin and turned to head back in. Being outside made him uneasy. It was a small town and there were too many times hed nearly made himself sick just seeing the outline of Craig out of his peripheral vision.

Craig never came to the coffee shop anymore. Which was good because Tweek wouldnt be able to serve him anyways. Tricia came still, and that was hard enough. She never asked or brought anything up. It was well in the past now. So who was he? Nobody to her.

He headed back to the door of his house, where he was sure he could hide away, where no demons from the past would taunt him.

He checked the time, fingers itching, twitching to start a new letter. When would they ever end? Never. They would stack up, he'd write more and more until they swallowed him whole. He'd write until they filled his closet, but his mind would still be far from empty. If an outsider ever looked in, opened any of those letters, would they see the writings of a madman? Or a anxiety riddled boy in his descent to insanity? He didn't know, and he prayed he never had to find out.

He sat at his desk, pressed tight against his window where it had been since elementary school. Change was scary, and his room had stayed the same since that day that his world finally fell apart. The day that had inadvertently changed his life forever. It was perhaps the straw that broke the camels back, and there were several letters, months and weeks and years he spent mulling over every detail until he could dance the moves with grace.  In all honesty, he could recall the expression that said it all, could recall Craigs lips moving, but he could not for the life of him, recall the exact words he'd used to deliver the blow.

It was not a warm sunny day, it was never a warm sunny day in south park, it was the monotony of it all that really hurt the most. It felt as if there'd been no warning, no signs. Like the ball was dropped just to see his expression. One day he was sorta popular, in fourth grade, and then the next, he had no friends, no where to go and no one to talk to. In the span of a day, word had got out, words he didn't hear, and soon he hardly heard a thing.

In what felt like mere minutes, his life had changed direction. His tics and fidgets became a red flag, and his friends became strangers, and his boyfriend vanished before his very eyes. He knew it was unhealthy to have dwelled on something for so long, for years even, but how could he stop? His closest friends and companions were  his letters and his shitty keyboard.

He sucked a deep breath in, staring blankly out the window.