Better this Way
His books tumbled from his tired arms and crashed into the growing stack of papers at the bottom of his locker. Who gave a damn if they got nicked? If the school cared about their precious fucking books they wouldn't have given him such a large amount of them to sprint up and down several flights of stairs. Besides it wasn't as if this sucky school was actually going to punish him for it. No, they didn't have the guts to offend their precious 'prodigy' and maybe have him transfer to another school where his 'peculiar speech patterns' would be tolerated.
He angrily pulled his gray jacket out of his locker and yanked it on. He then took out his school bag and pulled its strap onto his shoulder. He cursed at the lockers damned door as it resisted being shut and shocked him. He kicked it shut and hurriedly moved down the hallway. He didn't want to spend another fucking minute in this poor excuse for a functional educational establishment. Of course they cared about every fucking student, even the ones that got fucked over because they weren't from the right families, and would never put test scores and school rankings over the happiness of brain washed little fools.
He ducked underneath the pungent hairy arm of one his peers and turned the corner. The metal door entered his line of sight. He had one more hallway to endure.
It shouldn't have been a problem. This hall was no worse than any other. The shouts of students, slamming lockers, and slight scent of B.O. filled it just like the other crowded end of the day hallways. No one picked on him. He had just enough influence on the schools administration to avoid that, those humans were so easy to manipulate. But some of his so-called-peers aggravated him by existing.
Damn it.
Why couldn't that be the real problem? Why couldn't he be the arrogantly distant douche they all thought he was? Why the fuck couldn't he stop caring about insane idiots who didn't remember him and had never actually met him because the universe or the fates, or whatever force of power humans dreamed up to make themselves feel safe at night, liked to take his feelings and knit them into some fucked up tapestry of tragedy and self-loathing that somehow ended up looking pretty good. Then stuffing it into a wood chipper, burning the tatters, and mixing the ashes in a compost heap, and after a few years of decay using the finished fertilizer to grow potatoes that would end up as the dried out a French fries dipped in grease that was served in the cafeteria. The fuck asses couldn't even remember who they were.
Their tough gray skin had turned soft. Their once black hair now came in a range of pale blonde to rainbow streaked. Their eyes…he couldn't even look at them without feeling rancid bile rising in his throat.
A cackle of laughter burst from a small cluster of them and clawed at his ears, dragging him forward. He kept his eyes on the door. He scrambled to dodge one of them as they surged forward to capture one their pathetically human companions.
After what felt like three years his hand landed on the door. He glanced back thinking that he must be a masochist in life. He swore he was like a drug whore to their powdered trip. As if one glance wasn't enough to get him addicted.
A pair of feminine blue eyes met his own. Fuck!
He spun around and almost collided with one of the students that was rumored to be in a constant high. Desperate to avoid contact he attempted to dodge. He knew he could deny his addiction if he only stole glances at them but to touch one of them…he would destroy what was left of his think pan getting a douse of that. He stumbled and fell down twelve steps but they didn't touch.
Several students around him moved to help. But he was up and retreating before they could say anything.
He couldn't believe how pathetic he was. Even the fuckasses whose lives revolved around idolizing and writing horrendously inaccurate porn about fictional characters had more dignity than he did. He tried to distract himself from wondering if any of them enjoyed those activities in this life by biting into his lower lip.
Pining over a bunch of useless humans, he had done that before and the body count testified that it had been a stupid fucking idea. It didn't matter that in another world they had been trolls, they didn't remember that.
They didn't remember a thing about Sgrub or Lord English. They had no memory of how hard they had fought or how many of them died. All the hell that they had gone through, they forgot every fucking bit of it. He was only one that had been 'blessed' with that knowledge.
And they-
They-
Damn them, damn them from every universe that was ever created in any time line ever.
It was better this way.
They were happy like this. They had safe homes and loving parents and never had to worry about collection drones breaking down their doors or fighting for an empress that would throw their lives away as easily she would smear glitter on her face. As their leader and friend this was what he had fought for. Even if it wasn't like how he had planned and he was the being emotionally fucked over for it.
The human once known as Karkat glanced at his knee. It was scratched and red blood seeped from it. His friends were happier than they ever could have been remembering. Fuck, they were happier than he ever remembered them being. And as long as he stayed away there was no chance they would remember that they were once trolls. They only thing they had in common now was his mutant blood color. And it was better this way.
AN:
(This fic was in the editing stage way too long.)
Anyways, Karkat's hard to write. He's very creative with his insults and I really need to practice that. But I got some self-depreciating humor in there (kind of). I might make a companion piece for this but I have other projects to do right now.
Thanks for reading! Please review if you have the time.