Hey there stranger, and welcome! This is the first of the many to come chapters of my brand new solkat. It's going to be LOONGG (hopefully, most likely) and it's going to be gritty, folks. I don't exactly know what, and I don't want to spoil it, but I'll put warnings at the beginning of each chapter, da?

Example: WARNING! Extreme teenage bullshittery angst below! And lots of swearing, but duh it's Karkat we're talking about.

Get it? Got it? Good ;D whaaale don't forget to review! I already have most of the second chapter typed but I don't want to continue to update this story if no one likes it D;

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah I don't own, but I will one day when I marry/murder Hussie, ya know whichever is better in my interest ;D (I wish)

ANYWAY, on to the story!

Karkat's POV

-On the line below, describe your life in three words.

That was some pointless question (or demand really) from some pointless survey that I was filling out for some pointless reason. And I don't know why, but ever since that day, it's been a habit of mine to do just that ever since.

That was three years ago I started, but I still can't remember my original answer, and that bothers the hell out of me. But oh well, no time like the present. Anyway, my life hasn't exactly been up to par ever since this started. I keep a record in one (of many) of my journals; did I mention I'm a writer? Yeah…it's a thing I do when I'm stressed, need to vent, or whatever. Of course, my peers belittle me for it, but everyone does that. Whether it be my writing, the singing/dancing, the art I create. No matter what I do, people judge and criticize me for it.

"It's alright, son," my dad (back when I could call him that anyway) would tell me. "People are vicious creatures. But no matter, don't let their jealousy get in the way of your dreams." He would always tell me everything is fine, obviously in blatant denial about mom, who would come home later and later each day, smelling of fancy cologne and stale cigarettes. He'd simply drink his suspicions away.

This (obviously) didn't last very long, maybe a couple more months before one day she just didn't come back at all. I can still remember poor little eight year old me, kept awake hours into the night by all the screaming and arguing. I still couldn't tell you if her finally changing her number was a good thing or not. People (only teachers that were paid to give a shit) would ask me what's wrong, where I got those bags under my eyes. I would just muster up the best smile I could and tell them it was simply because of all the sugar and caffeine I had consumed the night before. I would then receive a (sometimes fondly) stern look and lecture, but that was it. Whether they could tell I was lying or not didn't matter, they accepted what I the lie I had said because it was easier to deal with than the truth. People accept lies over the truth every fucking day of their life.

And just when I thought things couldn't get worse, the first hit came, the first time (of many) that I was beaten to a pulp by my so-called father. And it serves me right for being such a miserable excuse for a human being. I (barely) remember the beginning, how I would outright refuse to believe the things he had said about me were true. There was no way I could be any of those horrible things that he accused me of being. However, soon the evidence started piling up around me. No one liked me; those that did befriended me out of pity or hated me with a fiery passion.

And just how all too true that was, I thought middle school was bad, high school is hell revised and improved better fit for your eternal suffering. I have little to no friends, I sucked at, well, everything, and peers were all too eager to remind me of this…everyday.

So my life in three words?

Really fucking sad.

Goddamn KK, could you get anymore stereotypical, emo, misunderstood teenager? Jeesh! jk jk I love you sweet babies ^.^

Don't forget to Review!