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September 14th, 2013 (11:11 AM). Edited September 14th, 2013 by an illegible mess..
an illegible mess.
Join Date: Aug 2011
Location: ivanovo, russia
slayr, you dont play homestuck, you read it.
speaking of homestuck, ive been writing this humanstuck fan-fiction??????? yeah idk have the first few bits of it
putting it under a spoiler because its mildly disturbing and talks about death and gore and yeah
The chopsticks snapped cleanly into two halves, the cheap birch wood offering an even eating utensil only just this once.
His hands curled around them, forming into a position and picking up a piece of sushi. He placed it delicately in his mouth, chewing slowly, the seaweed wrapping the rice and fish together tough and chewy. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbling slightly.
“Is the sushi good?” His parental figure was facing him from the other side of the table, pausing while picking up his piece of sashimi style salmon. His sterling gray eyes were inquiring, while the boy's ocean blue eyes remained emotionless, and just a tad bit uncertain.
“It could be better.” He replied, putting down his chopsticks and taking a sip of the ice-water. He swished it around in his mouth a bit before swallowing, getting the remnants of the sticky rice out of the tightest corners of his teeth and gums. For extra cleaning purposes, he stuck a finger in his mouth, searching around the cracks between his separate teeth and scratching at half-chewed pieces of fish that remained hidden secretly in the nooks. The truth was, he didn't like sushi at all. He hated sushi.
Accidentally, his finger scraped too hard against the gum line, rupturing the fragile surface and capillaries and causing minor bleeding. He flinched and withdrew his finger, noticing watery blood on the tip. He could taste the scarlet liquid inside his mouth, and he licked his tongue around the sore area to hopefully quell the minor throbbing that ensued.
He then proceeded to wipe his finger on a napkin but stopped and instead decided to stare at the half-blood half-saliva mixture on his fingernail. He hated the fact that it wasn't pure. It wasn't the actual, noticeable bright red that he found pleasing to the human eye. With a look of slight disgust, he brushed his finger on his pants and picked up the book he was reading before the food arrived. His fingers slipped against the paper uncomfortably and he recoiled, looking at his finger to notice a slight papercut.
It bled slowly and raggedly, and he was slightly pleased to notice it was the pure substance he was looking for. Red, bright, somewhat enticing. He kept staring at it, staring into the color. His lips turned dry. He licked them.
What if this red was everywhere? What if it was all over the room? What if he was the one that caused red to be all over the room? He shivered, but out of pleasure or fear? The blood dripped from his finger, in a drop to the ground below. It was so intriguing. He wanted the red to be everywhere.
“Are you alright?” The parental figure's voice snapped him out of his daydream. He was now shivering in fear.
“I'm going to go to the restroom.” He changed the subject and sat up abruptly, hurrying along to the back of the restaurant. He was relieved to find it was only a single restroom and not one with multiple stalls. He went to the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He had bags under his dull blue eyes. They were no longer oceans, just shells amongst the bed of the sea. He looked back at his finger and put it in his mouth, sucking on the metallic and salty tang that blood offered. It felt... Good. He didn't know why. The shaking didn't cease. He felt like he was about to throw up.
He dropped to his knees, the cold tile floor hardening his fall. There would be bruising. He thought about those bruises, coming in colors of purples, blues, and yellows. His stomach lurched.
His hands curled around the porcelain rim of the toilet and he began to retch into the bowl. The bile stung against the sides of his throats, adding a sour taste to his mouth and lips. He screwed up his face after the vomiting ceased, shaking even harder than when he started. He let out a choked sob and fell to the floor, grabbing his jet-black hair in his hands and pulling and pulling.
Every night was just like this. He didn't want this night be a night like the others. He wanted to stop. He wanted to be done. He wanted to disappear. He wanted to be a rotting corpse in the ground, his organs strewn across the grass and blood everywhere, his eyes blank and glazed and staring up at the sky. Flies would dance around his ripped skin and lay their eggs which would hatch into maggots that would wriggle around and burrow deep, eating his dead flesh and- no, no, no. No, he couldn't think about that. His stomach twisted again. He didn't want to throw up the rest of today's meals. He opened his mouth in a silent scream and prayed quietly for death.
Karkat Vantas awoke in his bed, the daylight from his window already fading. His eyes were dead. His feet and hands dangled on either side of his bed. He stared at the cracks in the ceiling with dulling boredom. Another wasted day. Another wasted fraction of his life.
But today was different from the other days. Today was Karkat Vantas's lucky day. It was his last day on Earth. And he knew the above statement was true.
That was his first mistake. The thing was, the above statement was not true. Today wasn't going to be Karkat Vantas's last day on Earth. That day would wait. He was still lucky, however, because that day wasn't far along ahead.
His limbs seemed to move on their own, while his head remained on the single pillow, unwilling to get up. He had to get up at some point. His last day on Earth wouldn't go out without a bang. He hoisted himself up, laying his bare feet on the cold wooden floor. He drew in his toes and sighed. For a second he thought he would have smiled, being comforted by the thought that this was his last day on Earth. But he didn't. There wasn't a reason to smile, the numbness covered up everything he wanted to show.
His bed squeaked as he stood. He didn't bother to stretch and yawn and walked right out of his room to the kitchen of his tiny apartment that he shared with his father.
His stomach growled noisily, and he opened the fridge, shoving his hands around the compartments, scrounging around for anything and everything to quell his hunger. He scarfed down the leftovers from today's lunch: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple. There was a frozen pizza in the freezer, so he brought that out and placed it in the oven, pacing around the small, two-person sized kitchen and anticipating his death like a child's first visit to a theme park. He stared at the ticking clock on the microwave, situated beside the oven on the counter. It was six o'clock in the evening. It wouldn't be long before his life would end and he'd be content, floating along in nothingness, or whatever came afterwards.
Karkat Vantas wasn't afraid of death. He relished in the idea of it. He didn't believe in Heaven or Hell, and felt no need he had to to have a good afterlife. He believed he'd become nothing, which was exactly what he wished for.
After an hour, the oven dinged, signaling his pizza was ready. He dragged it out and wolfed it down, not waiting for it to cool. He didn't care. He was going to puke it all up anyway. It was his last day on Earth, he deserved to pig out.
There was shuffling in his father's room, and some mumbling. Karkat cursed silently to himself, he must've woken up his father during his nap. He finished his pizza and quickly cleaned the pan he put it on, leaving it in the sink. Hurriedly, he walked into his bedroom and shut the door quietly, hoping he hadn't really woken up his father. If he did, there would be hell to pay, and Karkat didn't want this last day to end badly. He wanted to feel good about dying. He wasn't going to cry today. Today wouldn't end the same as the others. He knew it wouldn't. He'd be dead by next morning, and that was all that mattered.
thats only a fraction of the chapter but yeah im having fun over here writing it im on a roll.
i look like liam neeson. who the hell is liam neeson.
an illegible mess.
Also Known As:
ivan // viktor // john // razayka
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