PROLOGUE
There are a number of things you are unable to fathom in this hellhole of an existence.
Each number is neatly color-coded to your liking. Each perky little numerical asshole is then chucked into a pile you like to call "Reasons Why Karkat Vantas is a Whiny, Self-Loathing Piece of Shit." You add to the pile daily –or rather, hourly, because it is a talent of yours (your only talent) to compile all of your flaws in a massive collage of regret. Some days you just add to the pile with the same flaws, flooding the garbage dump known as your brain with repetitive facts about you you'd already known. Common phrases now include, but are certainly not limited to:
"Piece of shit."
"Waste of space."
"Fuck up."
"Idiot."
Lather, rinse, repeat, and you have your typical everyday afternoon. You don't know when you started spending your continuously shrinking social life on not regaining your already-way-too-tiny-give-a-damn social life.
Maybe it started at the ripe age of thirteen.
But maybe you don't want to recall that time.
You were a bratty little asshole. You still are. You were just assholeX1000 back then. A bitch, basically.
But we don't talk about what happened back then, now do we?
No, we don't.
And it's highly likely we never will.