They say there is no rest for the wicked, and while that may be true for some, currently there are four sleeping goths in my bedroom floor. I dont know how or why they invited themselves to my house for a sleepover, but they did. They ransacked the snack cupboard, and guzzled down lots of coffee, and yet somehow are still sleeping like babies. Today has been hard. First, they cornered me with cosmetics and Michael offered me a change of clothes that I didnt really want to take. Pete insisted that I become the fifth of their group, and without meaning to, I clung to that hopelessly. And then there was the fiasco that Craig found my note. He was reading it when I found him. I watched his emerald eyes scanning each of my words and I felt enough horror to curdle milk. I snatched it away and fled in a hurry. I am so mortified he read my words of longing and.. worse, my words of hatefulness towards myself and peers. I worry he is making fun of me already, the loser that couldnt get over a fourth grade boyfriend. There is plenty of rest for the wicked tonight, but very little for me. Or maybe I am the wicked.
Tweek stuffed the paper in his closet quietly, with all the other letters with semblances of Craig Tucker and quietly slipped back to bed to fold himself under the covers. It was nearing three am when he finally dozed off. He was correct, there was no rest for the wicked, and from his gothic sleeping bag, Pete watched. When he was sure Tweek was out, he snuck to his closet, and began to dig through those copious amounts of papers and letters and terrifying drawings of things Tweek Tweak could see.
He folded and packed as many as he could into his pockets. This was only step one. His endgame was dancing with the grim reaper, his lips a hair away from death, in all its lovely glory.
He stuffed the letters in his black sleeping bag, making several trips back and forth, and finally, he had every letter written by Tweek Tweak. His friends were not really part of this plan. They would steal all the credit. First though, he had somewhere very important to be in the morning. Hed have to keep his friends close, and his unfortunate enemy closer.
He glanced around and slipped back in his sleeping bag, the rustling of papers a quiet whisper agains the plastic-y sound of the sleeping bag itself. To anyone who awoke, he was just rolling over.
-
Tweek readied for school, but he didnt get the chance to decline the black clothing. It was, admittedly embarrassing to be fitted into Firkle's, the youngest, black pants. They were like a second skin they were so tight, but Henrietta insisted they looked fine while Michael lined his eyes with that terrifying black eyeliner pencil and bitched to him about not moving. He couldn't help it. But at least they were getting along, right?
"Were gonna miss the bus," Tweek told them, and they sighed, packing their things slowly. "We aren't taking the bus. Pete drives. He drove us here, you know." That made him frown, "Oh. Okay... well Ill miss the bus, so." "You're not taking the bus either. Don't you want a ride?" Sighing, and shoulders slumped, Tweek accepted his fate. And maybe, just a small part of him was happy to be getting along with them still. He had the makings of friends.
-
The ride to school had been loud and rowdy, filled with the dreary sounds of edgy rock songs and screaming lungs. By the time they arrived, Tweek was more than happy to go their separate ways with his head hurting.
His classes were quiet and uneventful thus far, and the borrowed black shirt hung lazily on his bony frame. As he exited his fourth period, he found Michael and Pete waiting for him. Curiously, and tilted his head. He pulled his bag pack on and toed the floor. "Lets go get lunch," Pete decided, twining their arms together.
From across the hall, Craig Tucker was fuming. He did not want to see some creepy emo touching Tweek like that, even innocently. His nostrils flared and he glanced up at the ceiling, counting stars that were not visible to anyone else. He took a deep breath. Tweek was not his, he was his own solar system now.
With one last look of longing, he pulled his gaze away and shut his locker, starting his way to the lunchroom. He took his usual seat and jumped when he saw the goth girl sitting beside him. What was her name again? Harriette? He narrowed his eyes at her and she popped a black bubble from her gum. "Hey, star geek." She hummed. He frowned- for starters, who even had black gum? What flavor would something like that entail. And secondly, star geek? Fucking goth freaky bitch. "What do you want Spiderella?" He scoffed, and Clyde took his seat beside him curiously.
"Well I was gonna tip you off on something but if you're going to be a dick I guess I wont," she shrugged, like her words before hadn't been just as rude. "Why should I care about any of your gossiping bullshit?" Craig rolled his eyes. She stood up, and popped her gum annoyingly loudly again. "Because the star of your solar system is dying."
Craig rolled his eyes, about to protest to that absurdity, when Tweek and Pete walked into the cafeteria, and Michael and Firkle followed behind. He scowled, "I have no sun."
Henrietta hummed, "Then prepare for the saddest dying star your world has ever seen." She told him. "Because like it or not, his time is drawing close. See you at your party, Star boy." She pushed off and joined her circle of vultures.
Token took a seat when she left, "what was that about?" Clyde shrugged, "I think she wants Craig to teach her astronomy or something." The way Pete looked at him, that hardened look, that didnt melt away, only covered up when Tweek looked at him, told Craig something really was up. "I dont know. I guess.. I have to face a star."
YOU ARE READING
Leaves (Creek) (South Park)
Fanfiction(Point of view changes to get a better understanding of each characters thoughts and actions.) Why do I still think of you, when I wrote you away?
