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Chapter One
Home
"Hey, bird-thing." A gruff voice said. I recognized it instantly. I had heard it every day for the past eleven years.
"What?" I growled.
"Whatever you're doing back there, stop. It's rocking the whole caravan."
I sighed and got off the perch hanging from the top of my cage. I had been swinging on it, hanging upside-down and flapping my wings gently to get upright again.
I sat down and folded my wings against my back. The entire cage was dark, which made sense, considering it had the cover over it. Not that I necessarily needed to see in the first place. The cage was small, and I had lived in it for over a decade. I knew every curve, every hollow, every bar of that accursed cage.
I lied on my side and began rubbing my wing.
Please don't let it be broken, I thought. Please, please, please don't let it be broken.
It very well could be broken, I knew. In fact, it probably was. But if it was, it would probably never get the chance to heal.
Last week's show, I hadn't paid attention. Not as much as I should have. I tried so hard to just get out of there, Hugo caught me by surprise and tore the muscle near the wing's humerus.
I had torn my wings before, so I knew what it felt like. But this was worse. I wasn't sure if it was just because of where it tore, or if the bone was broken. It was more than likely the latter. Hugo had strong teeth. I hoped that it was just a ligament that got torn. If that was the case, it would be bad, but it would heal. Eventually. I would most likely get beaten worse than usual, but my wing would heal. Eventually. If the humerus was broken, I wouldn't be able to fly. If I couldn't fly, I would get killed.
I wondered momentarily whether dying would be so bad. It certainly had to be better that this.
I shook my head at my own foolishness.
I wouldn't get killed. They wouldn't allow that. They would pull me out just before I was injured too badly, but they wouldn't let me die. I was far too valuable for that.
Or at least, that's what they said.
I sat up and began scratching at the wood with one of my claws. I'd need those to be sharp if I stood any chance at tomorrow's show, and it would take me a few hours to get them all right.
A few minutes later, I felt the caravan lurch to a stop. I squinted as the cover was removed from my cage and the bright light suddenly rushed in.
"We're here, bird-thing." My handler said.
I glared at him, refusing to speak. I had never learned his name, not that I cared to. He was a tall man, whom I guessed to be about thirty years old. He had large arms and always smelled of garlic and gunpowder.
He threw a burlap sack into my cage. I knew he expected me to reach for it the moment it was through the bars, like most of the others did, but I didn't do anything. Something wasn't right. I stared at him, still moving my leg back and forth as I sharpened the claw. It was the one in the back, the one that would help me the most. I had almost taken Hugo's head off with it enough times.
"Aren't you hungry, bird-thing?" He taunted.
"Aren't you stupid, dumb-thing?" I shot back. "Of course I'm hungry."
"Then eat." He continued.
"No." I said simply.
"Why not?" He asked.
"Because there's something wrong with that food." I answered, kicking it back towards him with my free foot.
"No there's not."
"I can smell it. It's got something in it."
"The food's fine. If you don't want to eat, it's your loss." He turned and began walking away.
"It'll be your loss if Mr. Egbert finds out you haven't been feeding me." I called after him.
He froze. Then he turned back towards me, one brow raised.
"My loss how?"
"I'm not eating poisoned food." I said, speaking very clearly. "If I don't eat, I'll get thin. If I get thin, I can't fight. If I can't fight, Mr. Egbert will notice. If Mr. Egbert notices, then he'll want to know why I haven't eating. If he wants to know, I'll tell him you haven't been feeding me. And if I tell him you haven't been feeding me, you'll get fired for nearly killing off one of his most popular fighters."
He stared at me for a few moments. His eyes were burning with anger. He stalked back up to the cage and grabbed the sack. Then he walked away, back to the caravan car he shared with Hugo's handler. That's how the whole caravan was set up. There were cages with us unfortunate hybrids in the back, with a handler car in between every cage. The supplies were in front of that, then there were the cars for the important people, like Mr. Egbert, the ringmaster and owner of this horrible excuse for a circus.
Mr. Egbert was a particularly vile man, or at least, in my mind he was. He had been running this circus for years, ever since I was sold to him. Since then, he'd accumulated about two dozen of us, though the exact number could almost never be determined. Some of the smaller, less dangerous hybrids died with sickening frequency. Most were slaughtered, just to be replaced the following morning.
Mr. Egbert had barely changed in the eleven years he'd owned me. He was a portly man, probably due to the fact that he had a strong fancy for cakes, or, more accurately, for eating them. He was balding, and often tried to cover it with one of his fedoras, of which he had many. He always enjoyed pitting the hybrids against each other. The fighting was entertainment for him, and his sole source of income. This sick fighting was making him rich, and he didn't lose any sleep over it. I doubted anyone other than me ever had. Most of the hybrids were raised in this environment. They liked killing. I was the exception.
Mr. Egbert always took pride in the fact that he trained the hybrids himself. I remembered he had tried to train me, but I wouldn't do it. I couldn't kill anything. I had never tried, I just got close. Mr. Egbert didn't necessarily like that, but I was the 'most impressive fighter', and most of the audience paid to see me. Mr. Egbert honestly didn't care one way or another, as long as he got his money.
I hated the man. I hated him so, so much. He was the one that tortured me every single day, forcing me to fight, ordering me to be fed bare minimum, just enough to keep up my strength, not enough to keep me from being hungry.
Tomorrow's show was supposed to be a big occasion, I remembered, though I really didn't care. We were outside of New York City, where not only would there be enough customers to triple the average audience, the horrible place was also where the rest of the Egberts lived. Tomorrow's show was the first his family will have seen, and it was his way of showing off his success.
The thought of the show made me shudder. He would pit me against Hugo, like he did every night, but this night, Hugo wouldn't be alone. I had heard the handlers talking the night before, and, supposedly, Mr. Egbert planned to add Jack to the fight.
Jack was the scariest thing I had ever seen in my life. I almost felt bad for him whenever I saw him.
He was a couple years older than me. I don't know what had happened to him, but somehow he ended up a cross between a crow, not unlike me, and a wolf, not unlike Hugo. His entire body was covered in fur, with the exception of his wings, which where carpeted in thick black feathers, matching his fur. His dark ears sat on top of his head, like Hugo, but Jack's head was more canine than human. He had a deep scar over one eye, where Hugo had scratched him once.
I almost felt bad for him, because he seemed to have it worse than the rest. But then he ruined it.
Because he loved to kill.
Not just like the other hybrids. To him, killing was a game, a fun game, which he enjoyed to no end. He was so vicious, they left him out of most shows.
And now I had to fight him and Hugo.
My handler came back, holding another sack, then threw it into my cage, muttering angrily as he went back into his car.
This sack smelled fine, not good, they never did, but it wasn't poisoned. I opened it and began to eat. There were a few bruised apples, some stale bread, some kind of dried meat, and a canteen half full of water.
I looked out at the field the caravan had stopped at. I saw a group of about a dozen guys setting up. After I had eaten, I went back to sharpening my claws. I got through one foot by the time darkness fell. It was dawn by the time the other was finished. Exhausted and sleep deprived, I sat on the perch, wrapped my wings around me block out some of the light, and fell asleep, dreading the fight to come, still hoping my wing would heal.
Home
"Hey, bird-thing." A gruff voice said. I recognized it instantly. I had heard it every day for the past eleven years.
"What?" I growled.
"Whatever you're doing back there, stop. It's rocking the whole caravan."
I sighed and got off the perch hanging from the top of my cage. I had been swinging on it, hanging upside-down and flapping my wings gently to get upright again.
I sat down and folded my wings against my back. The entire cage was dark, which made sense, considering it had the cover over it. Not that I necessarily needed to see in the first place. The cage was small, and I had lived in it for over a decade. I knew every curve, every hollow, every bar of that accursed cage.
I lied on my side and began rubbing my wing.
Please don't let it be broken, I thought. Please, please, please don't let it be broken.
It very well could be broken, I knew. In fact, it probably was. But if it was, it would probably never get the chance to heal.
Last week's show, I hadn't paid attention. Not as much as I should have. I tried so hard to just get out of there, Hugo caught me by surprise and tore the muscle near the wing's humerus.
I had torn my wings before, so I knew what it felt like. But this was worse. I wasn't sure if it was just because of where it tore, or if the bone was broken. It was more than likely the latter. Hugo had strong teeth. I hoped that it was just a ligament that got torn. If that was the case, it would be bad, but it would heal. Eventually. I would most likely get beaten worse than usual, but my wing would heal. Eventually. If the humerus was broken, I wouldn't be able to fly. If I couldn't fly, I would get killed.
I wondered momentarily whether dying would be so bad. It certainly had to be better that this.
I shook my head at my own foolishness.
I wouldn't get killed. They wouldn't allow that. They would pull me out just before I was injured too badly, but they wouldn't let me die. I was far too valuable for that.
Or at least, that's what they said.
I sat up and began scratching at the wood with one of my claws. I'd need those to be sharp if I stood any chance at tomorrow's show, and it would take me a few hours to get them all right.
A few minutes later, I felt the caravan lurch to a stop. I squinted as the cover was removed from my cage and the bright light suddenly rushed in.
"We're here, bird-thing." My handler said.
I glared at him, refusing to speak. I had never learned his name, not that I cared to. He was a tall man, whom I guessed to be about thirty years old. He had large arms and always smelled of garlic and gunpowder.
He threw a burlap sack into my cage. I knew he expected me to reach for it the moment it was through the bars, like most of the others did, but I didn't do anything. Something wasn't right. I stared at him, still moving my leg back and forth as I sharpened the claw. It was the one in the back, the one that would help me the most. I had almost taken Hugo's head off with it enough times.
"Aren't you hungry, bird-thing?" He taunted.
"Aren't you stupid, dumb-thing?" I shot back. "Of course I'm hungry."
"Then eat." He continued.
"No." I said simply.
"Why not?" He asked.
"Because there's something wrong with that food." I answered, kicking it back towards him with my free foot.
"No there's not."
"I can smell it. It's got something in it."
"The food's fine. If you don't want to eat, it's your loss." He turned and began walking away.
"It'll be your loss if Mr. Egbert finds out you haven't been feeding me." I called after him.
He froze. Then he turned back towards me, one brow raised.
"My loss how?"
"I'm not eating poisoned food." I said, speaking very clearly. "If I don't eat, I'll get thin. If I get thin, I can't fight. If I can't fight, Mr. Egbert will notice. If Mr. Egbert notices, then he'll want to know why I haven't eating. If he wants to know, I'll tell him you haven't been feeding me. And if I tell him you haven't been feeding me, you'll get fired for nearly killing off one of his most popular fighters."
He stared at me for a few moments. His eyes were burning with anger. He stalked back up to the cage and grabbed the sack. Then he walked away, back to the caravan car he shared with Hugo's handler. That's how the whole caravan was set up. There were cages with us unfortunate hybrids in the back, with a handler car in between every cage. The supplies were in front of that, then there were the cars for the important people, like Mr. Egbert, the ringmaster and owner of this horrible excuse for a circus.
Mr. Egbert was a particularly vile man, or at least, in my mind he was. He had been running this circus for years, ever since I was sold to him. Since then, he'd accumulated about two dozen of us, though the exact number could almost never be determined. Some of the smaller, less dangerous hybrids died with sickening frequency. Most were slaughtered, just to be replaced the following morning.
Mr. Egbert had barely changed in the eleven years he'd owned me. He was a portly man, probably due to the fact that he had a strong fancy for cakes, or, more accurately, for eating them. He was balding, and often tried to cover it with one of his fedoras, of which he had many. He always enjoyed pitting the hybrids against each other. The fighting was entertainment for him, and his sole source of income. This sick fighting was making him rich, and he didn't lose any sleep over it. I doubted anyone other than me ever had. Most of the hybrids were raised in this environment. They liked killing. I was the exception.
Mr. Egbert always took pride in the fact that he trained the hybrids himself. I remembered he had tried to train me, but I wouldn't do it. I couldn't kill anything. I had never tried, I just got close. Mr. Egbert didn't necessarily like that, but I was the 'most impressive fighter', and most of the audience paid to see me. Mr. Egbert honestly didn't care one way or another, as long as he got his money.
I hated the man. I hated him so, so much. He was the one that tortured me every single day, forcing me to fight, ordering me to be fed bare minimum, just enough to keep up my strength, not enough to keep me from being hungry.
Tomorrow's show was supposed to be a big occasion, I remembered, though I really didn't care. We were outside of New York City, where not only would there be enough customers to triple the average audience, the horrible place was also where the rest of the Egberts lived. Tomorrow's show was the first his family will have seen, and it was his way of showing off his success.
The thought of the show made me shudder. He would pit me against Hugo, like he did every night, but this night, Hugo wouldn't be alone. I had heard the handlers talking the night before, and, supposedly, Mr. Egbert planned to add Jack to the fight.
Jack was the scariest thing I had ever seen in my life. I almost felt bad for him whenever I saw him.
He was a couple years older than me. I don't know what had happened to him, but somehow he ended up a cross between a crow, not unlike me, and a wolf, not unlike Hugo. His entire body was covered in fur, with the exception of his wings, which where carpeted in thick black feathers, matching his fur. His dark ears sat on top of his head, like Hugo, but Jack's head was more canine than human. He had a deep scar over one eye, where Hugo had scratched him once.
I almost felt bad for him, because he seemed to have it worse than the rest. But then he ruined it.
Because he loved to kill.
Not just like the other hybrids. To him, killing was a game, a fun game, which he enjoyed to no end. He was so vicious, they left him out of most shows.
And now I had to fight him and Hugo.
My handler came back, holding another sack, then threw it into my cage, muttering angrily as he went back into his car.
This sack smelled fine, not good, they never did, but it wasn't poisoned. I opened it and began to eat. There were a few bruised apples, some stale bread, some kind of dried meat, and a canteen half full of water.
I looked out at the field the caravan had stopped at. I saw a group of about a dozen guys setting up. After I had eaten, I went back to sharpening my claws. I got through one foot by the time darkness fell. It was dawn by the time the other was finished. Exhausted and sleep deprived, I sat on the perch, wrapped my wings around me block out some of the light, and fell asleep, dreading the fight to come, still hoping my wing would heal.
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Still the Same Chapter Four
Karkat awoke early that morning. He groaned and rolled out of bed. For the first time in weeks Karkat had actually had nightmares of his own. They were terrible dreams, but they were not the dreams of his ancestors. He dreamed of his friend's deaths, over and over again, he saw his remaining friends die as well. But the one that hurt the most, the one that had Karkat sitting up in bed, gasping for air, and nearly clawing his blankets to shreds, was his dream of John. It was a dream where John died, saving Karkat.
The troll shook his head and cleared his thoughts. Growling he set off to do what made him wake up early in the first place. His h
Literature
Worth the Kill?
His breath came out in ragged gasps. All his muscles burned, his lungs felt like they were on fire. But he didn't dare stop. He didn't dare look back. A shot was fired and it whizzed by his head, inches from his face. There was a pause then another shot, this time he wasn't so lucky he felt pain from the right side of his head, the same ear that was narrowly missed the first time got hit the second. His hand flew up the wound, part of him was relieved it was only a small chunk and not the whole thing. The downside, he was now bleeding his disgusting red blood. He held his hand over his ear and ran on.
"Great, on the one fucking day I forget
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Still the Same Chapter One
"Hey Karkat, what do you think this does?"
"For the love of god Egbert do not touch anything." Karkat walked over to where John was standing. He had found a large device with what looked like a transportation pad on it. "It sort of reminds me of the machines in the ectobiology lab." Karkat remarked. John agreed next to him. They had been sent down into the lower levels of the asteroid to search for usable machines to bring upstairs. They were supposed to be focusing on finding a new alchemiter so they all don't starve to death. "It's not what we're looking for let's go," Karkat turned to leave, tugging John behind him.
"But Karkat we haven'
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Well, here it is. I've been working on this since January, and I finally got done tweeking the first chapter. That is to say, more is on the way. Lots more. I'm already at like, six chapters and I'm nowhere near done. This has so much plot to it, it's not even funny. It's probably going to be the longest fanfiction in the history of the world.
Anyways, this is my version of Runawaystuck. It's a Homestuck AU fanfic. More will be explained later in the fic. I don't know why, but there isn't a lot of fanfiction for this, and I've never seen it go farther than the guidelines.
And here I am, practically writing a novel.
I'm going to try and post one chapter every Monday, which I will probably stick to, certainly for the time being, unless, of course, any unforeseeable circumstances happen with my mother's work (or other unforeseeable circumstances occur) and I don't have access to the computer. *Silently prays to the gods of good grades*
So, yeah. Runawaystuck fic. Hope you enjoy.
Next Chapter: [link]
Homestuck (C) Andrew Hussie
~~~edit~~~
I screwed around with the title. Finally understand HTML. So happy. But you don't care of course, you think I'm odd. But I don't care.
Please enjoy the fanfiction nonetheless.
Anyways, this is my version of Runawaystuck. It's a Homestuck AU fanfic. More will be explained later in the fic. I don't know why, but there isn't a lot of fanfiction for this, and I've never seen it go farther than the guidelines.
And here I am, practically writing a novel.
I'm going to try and post one chapter every Monday, which I will probably stick to, certainly for the time being, unless, of course, any unforeseeable circumstances happen with my mother's work (or other unforeseeable circumstances occur) and I don't have access to the computer. *Silently prays to the gods of good grades*
So, yeah. Runawaystuck fic. Hope you enjoy.
Next Chapter: [link]
Homestuck (C) Andrew Hussie
~~~edit~~~
I screwed around with the title. Finally understand HTML. So happy. But you don't care of course, you think I'm odd. But I don't care.
Please enjoy the fanfiction nonetheless.
© 2012 - 2024 Qwerty304
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