Other Side of Me

Help Me

You walk further into the room and then stop abruptly. You feel the presence of the shuffling, sneaking around. You're gonna play dumb until you reel him out, like a hunter setting a trap for prey and then striking. "GAMZEE.." The voice calls out quietly. You stay still and don't answer; you wanna see what your bro has to say. "GAMZEE... I CANT ALLOW YOU TO KILL ANYMORE. JUST STOP OK??!!" //Ahh..// You think. That's the problem. You cant NOT do it. You want to stop and you know its wrong, but something is forcing you to do it against your own free will. It feeds off of your pain, sadness, and the death of others. "ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING LISTENING TO ME YOU FUCKING CLOWN BASTARD???!" You nod and turn around to see your bro standing in front of you. HE does not look happy, a scowl plastered on his face. "BrO... i CAnT aLl mOtHeR FuCkInG cOnTrOl It... HonK" He growls at you and argues back strongly, baring his sharp teeth. "YES YOU FUCKING CAN CONTROL IT OK? I KNOW YOU CAN. YOU ARE VERY WELL CAPABLE OF IT." You hang your head and stare at the floor blankly, swaying your clubs. Could you? Would you? You really don't know.

KARKAT'S P.O.V

You would like to try to talk him out of doing this horrible killing thing he had going. You just wanted the deaths to stop. You grip your sickles tightly, prepared for him if he threw the first punch. "GAMZEE... YOU HAVE TO. I DONT WANT TO SEE MORE DEAD BODIES. I WANT TO VOMIT UP ALL THIS RIGHTEOUS RETRIBUTION JUST THINKING ABOUT IT UGH..." He stays silent and you wonder whats going on in his twisted-as-fuck jumble of Faygo and Sopor Slime Pie he calls a thinkpan. You take a step closer, only to see that hes crying softly. Your expression softens a little bit as you take another step, looking sadly up into his purple eyes. "HEY, DONT CRY OK? SORRY FOR BEING SO HARSH.. I JUST.. I WANT THE SAME THING AS YOU. I WANT THE OLD YOU BACK. YOU ARENT YOURSELF.. I KNOW YOURE IN THERE GAMZ.... IF YOU ARE, GIVE ME A SIGN?" He then sits down and cries into his hands. You sit down as well in front of him and notice the different colors of the trolls he had killed. Their blood is splattered all over him; face, clothes, clubs, hands, arms, like he used himself as their canvas to paint their blood upon. Your heart aches that you lost so many good team mates and you have to try to stop this the best you can and hope that it wont resolve to killing. Thats the last thing you'd want...

You dont know what else to do do except watch him cry. You then hear him whisper through a chain of broken sobs,
"WaSh ThE PoIsOn FrOm OfF mY sKiN, ShOw Me HoW To Be wHoLe AgAiN..." 

You stare in shock. Is he done now, is he ok? You think so. How can you be sure? Well you just ask him. "ARE YOU OK GAMZ? I'LL HELP YOU OK? I PROMISE. WE CAN GET GET THROUGH THIS SHIT STORM EVEN THOUGH IT WAS ALL YOUR FAULT IN THE GOGDAMN FIRST FUCKING PLACE. BUT THAT'S WHAT MOIRAILS ARE FOR RIGHT?" You manage a small half smile and scoot a little closer, reaching up to hold his face up so you can see his eyes. He's so cold, dead cold. His horns look like when wallpaper is old and starts to climb down the walls but maybe that's just because he's an irresponsible shithead that can't take care of his own horns. If only he didn't eat so much fucking pie he'd be half okay, and his hair is just an absolute mess. You put your head closer to his chest and ear the small beat of his heart, not quite, but enough; you wonder if he's even been alive in the first place.