Muted Voices

11

I stare at the wall nodding my head to the music blasting as loud as it can through my headphones.

There's something wrong with these people.

I mean, who can argue for a straight three hours at max volume? They're crazy.

I wish this could go louder, because I can still hear them arguing.

I sighed, after deciding that it was no use in trying to block out the sound still.

I pulled out my headphones and silenced the music, only to be immediately greeted with much, much louder yelling.

Jesus! Does it really take this long to come up with an agreement? Or a compromise? Or just to get tired of yelling? Or just decide that you can't deal with each other and silently argue for a few weeks or days?

I groaned slightly again, my head still aching from when I smacked it against the door, and all the yelling was definitely not helping me.

I opened my window and crawled out onto the roof and slammed it shut behind me.

Then, I slowly climbed down the side of the house - almost falling eight times in the process.

I walked down the street, deciding that getting away from these idiots would be an effective way of ceasing their arguing.

How bad could it be to just leave for a little while?

... Actually, this could probably go very badly.

I shivered as the wind blew by, slipping through the badly buttoned, thin shirt. I forgot my jacket.

I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping that it would help keep me warm.

"Heya Tweek."

I turn to see Butters standing in a big fluffy coat with his hands in his pockets.

He looks down at my shirt, "Shouldn't you be wearing a jacket? It's really cold..."

I shake my head and continue walking.

Butters smiles at me and decides that he would like to accompany me on this walk.

"So, where ya headin'?" he asks. I shrug, "Oh. Just a walk then? That's nice."

Yeah. It's fucking splendid.

Butters continues talking, but he never expects me to reply, so he just rambles on and on. At some point I stopped paying attention to whatever he was saying.

Then he stops talking. I look over at him and he's staring at the ground, rubbing his hands together.

Hasn't gotten over his nervous habit yet, huh?

"Uh. Tweek?"

I stare at him still, "Did C-Craig kick you out?"

I look away from him and shrug again.

That, my friend, is something I'm still wondering myself.

"That's awful."