I'm trying a new writing style, so please bear with me c: (Or is it bare? I never know)
If there was one emotion Tweek was familiar with, it was loneliness.
Often, Tweek would find it difficult to connect to people, including his friends. Especially my friends. There was so much pressure placed on saying the right thing, and acting a certain way that anyone could be shunned if they should act improperly.
Oh God! What if they think I'm being clingy and annoying! I bet they're sick of me following them around.
So Tweek's natural instinct was not to act at all, resulting in much time alone.
I wish I was with my friends.
During that time, he would sit in his room, doing as many solidary tasks as he could that didn't require much skill.
I wish I wasn't so shaky and twitchy. I can't get anything done. I can't even draw.
When he could sit still, he would read or just sit quietly and look out his window. As his 'ADD', his parents liked to call it, acted up, he would take walks, thinking deeply about calm things that made him happy. It was easiest for him to center his thoughts while walking, which would often make his expression fixed in a solemn and serious mask.
About a month prior, as Tweek was walking up the drive, his mother saw that very expression, and like any good mother, she grew concerned.
"Tweek, darling?" He walked through the door and entered the living room where his mother sat.
"Ngh! What happened! Is dad okay?"
"Yes, Sweetie, you can relax. I just want to talk." Tweek looked terrified. He was being put on the spot! He sat obediently and waiting for his mother to begin, quivering slightly due to his nerves.
"So what are you're friends up to this weekend?" She was doing her best to sound nonchalant.
"Mom! Why do you care! Eek-I don't know! Why-why should I?" What does she want from my friends!
"Well dear, you never talk about them anymore. I was beginning to worry something had happened." This was going progressively downhill.
Tweek knows his mother cares, and he felt terrible for confiding in her.
"I gotta go!" Tweek stood abruptly and took to the stairs, but his mother stood and caught his hand.
"Tweek. Listen to me," He looked at her, "I'm worried. You're friends care about you and yet you never want to do anything with them. You just sit in your room every weekend. Just hear me out; if you want to be alone, that's fine, but you need—something." She didn't know how to finish, so she dropped his hand. Tweek rushed to his room.
I don't want to be alone. I want to do things with my friends, I just don't want to bother them.
He jumped onto his bed, hands on his face with tears falling.
I'm don't want to be alone anymore.
The following weeks, Tweek had made every effort to participate in family life. He would sort the coffee in his father's store rooms, and would follow his mother on her various errands. He successfully converted his parents to follow a strict schedule. As success, really, considering the Tweak's erraticness.
Regardless, Saturday at 4:30 PM was when Tweek and his mother would walk to the grocery store where they would arrive promptly at 5 PM. Their walk goes right through town, passing nearly every store.
His favorite was the pet store. Every week the owners would change the animals in the front window and it was always the highlight of Tweek's walk.
I could never own one, but it is fun to look. I wish I could trust myself with a pet.
He would only allow himself a passing glance, fearing one would catch his eye. They always do.
By now he could see the window, and hear the common commotion from the puppies and birds inside.
Birds? Unusual. They seldom carry birds. They live over 30 years and so the market is incredible small in such a place as small as South Park, that could barely keep it's people alive.
There were four parakeets in a large brass case in the display case. A blue, red, and purple-ish one stood in the front, loudly chirping to each other. But the fouth was the one that made Tweek stop in his tracks, mouth gaping.
He's just like me. And those look like Clyde, Token, and Craig. The feathers even match.
The fourth and smallest bird was in the far left corner, bright green, and had a ruffled yellow crown. He was even shaking lightly. Tweek could only stare curiously, mouth still open, while pressing against the glass.
"Tweek, come on!" His mother called from about half a block away. "Tweek?" He still wouldn't respond, so she went to him.
"What do we have here?" She wrapped her arm around her son. "I didn't know you liked birds."
"Look at the little one in the back. Doesn't he look lonely?" Mrs. Tweak noticed that that bird was the only one keeping her son's attention.
"Why are the others excluding him? He looks like a friendly one."
"Maybe because the others don't know he feels like that," Tweek said quietly, with a touch of sadness only a mother could pick up.
Which of course she did. She grabbed her son's hand and tugged softly. "Let's go."
They snapped together a bit as their arms went in opposite directions; his mother to the shop and Tweek down the road.
"What do you think you're doing?" Tweek was trying to shake his mother with him down the street.
"We're going inside." And in the course of one hour, Tweek had become the owner of the lonely green parakeet, which was named Bean, from Coffee Bean.
What was she thinking. It's a miracle I haven't accidentally squished him. He glanced over to Bean's cage, where he was sleeping peacefully.
For the first week, Tweek wouldn't touch him, afraid to cause harm, until Thursday night, he heard quiet singing. When he came down stairs, he was surprised to see Bean in the bottom corner of his cage. It was just like he never left the store. Tweek hadn't welcomed him into his home.
He thinks he's unwanted. This is my entire fault.
So he sat down in front of the cage, timidly reached in and patiently waited for him to jump on his finger. When he did, Tweek was impressed with himself for only mildly squeaking. Once Bean was on, he lifted him gently onto his shoulder. Once in place, Tweek gathered the cage and things and brought it up to his room.
He spent the rest of the night on the floor with Bean, just talking and gingerly smoothing his ruffled feathers. Once they were all smooth, it was noticeable the Bean had plucked a few. Startled, Tweek looked in the cage and saw about five feathers at the bottom.
Panicking, Tweek turned on his computer, and searched for possible reasons.
Why does my bird hate himself
Does my bird have a death wish
Is feather plucking a form of long and painful suicide
Do feathers grow back
Once the initial shock wore off, Tweek could think a bit better. He learned that birds pluck they're own feathers when they're distressed and they stop when they feel safe.
"Don't ever do that again," Tweek sternly whispered to his new friend, and kissed him on the head. Bean chirped.
Tweek was tired by now, so he put Bean away and crawled into bed.
Maybe I won't be lonely again after all.
Yep that sucked. I wrote this in like an hour and I'm tired and I didn't check it and I rushed the ending and blargh. Be nice and maybe I'll do another one. And if you're wondering, Tweek actually does have a bird and I'm pretty sure it's green.