Karkat stifled a groan as his upper eyelids detached themselves from their lower counterparts. A brief thought stumbled into his bleary mind as to why he had to stifle the groan. And then, he looked down. At his bruised, bleeding, scarred body. Ah, that's why.

Examining the damage in his wall mirror, Karkat found last night's pattern of cuts. They were deep, angry lines weeping onto his thin torso. Twisting in just the right way, he found that the lines were letters that spelled out WORTHLESS. Great, nine one-inch letters carved into his right flank.

Stepping back slightly from the mirror, the young teenager examined his other scars. There were many of them, each spelling out an insulting word, each in the same deep, straight, one-inch letters. Noticing something hidden by his thin arm, Karkat turned to his left, craning his neck to see a purple and black bruise the size of… well, his dad's fist. Oh God, please don't let it have broken a rib. He had no such luck.

Awake as he was now, his nerves finally decided to start working again, all at once. Twisted as he was, he felt an icy spear of pain stab him in his bruised rib. No, scratch that, his broken rib. The shock of the pain was so sharp and sudden; it forced him to let a small cry of pain out. He stopped it before it could permeate the rest of his cramped apartment, suddenly wide awake.

Karkat glanced over at his alarm clock. 4:38 A.M. Dammit! You stupid nimrod Karkat! You know he gets up at 5:00. There's no time for anything, just gotta get dressed and get the hell outta here! Looking through his closet, he let a minute twitch occur to a corner of his mouth. Yeah, there are just so many combinations. I could wear grey, or grey, or maybe a nice grey.

Putting on a shirt was an ordeal in and of itself. Thanks Dad! Can't even lift my arm without nearly passing out. Over the shirt went an unadorned black hoodie. Never mind the fact that it was supposed to be nearly 95° today. Glancing at the time, he felt the little color he had in his face drain out. The clock read 5:07 A.M. in dull red letters. No, no, no, no, no! A heavy thump sounded outside of his room, and the doorknob began to twist.

Adrenaline allowing Karkat to ignore his pain for a few seconds, he sprang into action. First, he shoved his chair under the handle. That should hold him off for a few seconds. Then, he charged over to his open window and dove out. Never mind the fact that he was in the third story of a concrete block. Wind whipped at his hair for a moment as his speed allowed him to experience a brief moment of flight, of freedom, before gravity's cruel hand pulled him down nearly twenty-eight feet to land on a small plot of dead grass.

As he hit the ground, Karkat made the mistake of trying to break his fall with his left arm. He felt the shock of impact make a beeline for his rib, actually losing consciousness for a second. When he came to, he saw his wrist was bent at an unnatural angle. Shit! Is it broken? No, just dislocated. Hissing in pain, Karkat made a fist with his dislocated hand and turned his wrist until it reconnected. The feeling of bone grinding on bone always made his cringe.

Now that he was in marginally less pain, he glanced around, making sure nobody saw. He felt his entire upper body drain of color when he saw a doctor-ish looking guy heading towards him. Quickly, he got himself on his feet and fled.

"Hey, kid! What happened?" The doctor-looking guy shouted after him. Karkat dodged around a corner of the building, then dove between two Dumpsters and curled into a ball at the wall. He heard the man run past him, still shouting for him to come back. He waited another ten minutes to be sure the witness was gone, then crept out from the canyon. To most people, two Dumpsters don't form a canyon, but Karkat was only 5 feet tall.

He avoided the side of the building his apartment was on as he made his way to the already busy street. He flipped up his hood to hide his thin face as he made his way down the thoroughfare. He had somewhere to be. This was his first day at Derse High School, and Dad sure as hell wasn't about to drive him anywhere.