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Worth the Kill? Chapter Four"John doing ok right?" Karkat asked hesitantly to the human beside him.
The boy leaned over and watched him wash the dishes. "Yeah, Karkat you honestly can't mess up cleaning the dishes. It's like impossible." He laughed and dried the plates and pans that Karkat would rinse off.
"Good. I don't want to mess up."
"I think tomorrow I'll have you out front," He watched the troll's head whip around and his eyes widen, "Well not alone! I mean, you'll probably just end up restocking the shelves and cases. I wouldn't make you work the register yet!" He dried another dish off and set it down. "Besides I don't think we should shock our customers too fast by introducing you."
"Well yeah. Sorry Karkat."
John noticed Karkat smile a bit, "Fine. I understand. I not ready yet too."
"I am not ready yet," John corrected, "You need to remember that one."
"Sorry. I not, don't, remember everything all the time."
"It's ok Karkat. We'll work on it. Soon you be super fluent! An
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More