Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you're talking funny. I mean, it's kind of hard to seriously talk when you're beating the absolute shit out of someone. You mumble absurdity into that air and you thrust the man you are harrassing into the wall. Crimson blood oozes from his scalpe as you hear the beautiful crunch of his skull agaisnt the wall.
That is the only image in your mind. Brutal beatings. Savage slaughter. Unfortuantly to you, the man is not real. Well, to be exact, he does indeed live and breathe your precious air and invade your personal space, but the broken and ruptued version of him is non-existant. That displeases you. Everything displeases you. Especially him.
The man you oh so gruesomly fantacise about murdering and tourturing is indeed a human. You, yourself, look much like humans. Well, of course you would, the humans where made after you and all the other trolls. A troll is not like the fables of a nasty green midget with bulging eyes and fucked up teeth. No, not at all. Trolls are carcoal-skinned beings with hazerdiously sharp teeth, ochre claws instead of fingernails, gold glimmering reptilian eyes, and candy-corn colored stalks of cartilage that potrude out of thier heads. And a troll is what you are.
You're a leader, but not a very good one. In fact, you suck absolute ass. But it dosn't matter. Life as you know it is absolute ass anyways. You are merely a pawn in a vast chess game. No, you are not even a pawn, for a pawn role is way to importaint for the role you play. This said role is not even real, and it is indeed a figment of your imagination. Yet, you know that the role is faux, so it is not even part of your imagination. Nothing. You are nothing.
The so called man-human you want to hurt has a name. A stupid one, but it is indeed a name. Dave Strider drips acidy burns into your mind, for that is the man-human's name. He sits next to you, buring a false cigarette into your heart, and then stomping it out and making you internally break.
He is aware of the emotional pain he causes, yet he just simply dosen't care. Selfish is this man, yet he continues on. There should be a punishment, you think. A punishment for the pain, for the internal prison, for the hateful wrath of nightmares and horrorterrors surging through every fiber of your being. You hate him so much. You want to pick him up but his putred neck and dig your thorny nails into his flaccid flesh, you want to tear out his windpipe and spit a heavy slop mix of saliva, mucus, and tears into the wound.
But you can't. It might make her mad.
This HER you think of is your soul. Not litterally, but you feel every ounce of love and would do just about anything to please her. So you put up with this Dave human because they are close. She likes him, but everyone has small flush crushes every now and then. Like your flush crush on Sollux and possibly Equius. She is okay with it, but you are not. But it would be unfair, so you agree to be okay with it to her face. Your dying inside, but, who cares. Not you.
But today, you are going to forget everything about pain and misery. Because today, you're going to suprise her with a visit and flowers. Since she is blind, her nose is very sesitive. She loves smelling colors, and red is her favortie. You smile at that thought, becuse your vital fluid is the brightest red out there.
The flowers you grip tightly in your hands are red and teal. The Alternian version of roses and violet are what you have gathered, but they have diffrent names and colors in the human world and the alternian world. The 'rose' is bright red, brighter than your blood. It is called something sublime, but only trolls can understand. The 'violet' is prefectly teal. You admire the collectiong of flowers in your hands.
Next, you shall write her a letter of your flushed love for her. You pull out a piece of faultless paper and begin a sweetend letter:
