The Prisoner of Rage

[Gamzee Makara]

The grey kid blinks.

Back into the veil he goes. Gamzee sat stock still, illuminated by the mysterious spotlight in this dream world, knees hugged up to his chin. The only thing that dared move, that dared show a sign of life was his eyes. They darted around with a nervous franticity, afraid to focus in on one spot for too long. For if they did, the shadows and silhouettes would begin to take shape, they would grow solid into a being of terrifying quality that would swallow him whole. Despite the wonderful words of encouragement from his newfound friend, the alien delinquent’s breaths came short and shallow and ragged, like a hand saw scraping against a thick log.

Suddenly, dust falls from the impenetrable darkness above, visible only in the sparse cone of light. It was if an angry tenant the floor above had spontaneously grown to gigantic proportions, stomping on the floor to tell the kids below them to shut the hell up.

His hands claw at his moppy head of raven hair, pulling and scratching. For the first time, he’s realizing a very serious problem.

“THERE IS NO MORE SLIME, BROTHER!”

Gamzee’s head whips around to the direction of the mockery, the dismal chorus that just so obviously screamed at him. His breath quickens. There, staring down on him from a metaphorical pedestal on high, is another Gamzee Makara. His eyes are filled to the brim with a sickly orange. There is something primordial, something ancient and defiant and positively evil surrounding it.

But that- that thing is not him. That thing is something he will never become.

“Don’t motherfucking lie to yourself, kid.”

“SHIT’S A SIN! A MOTHERFUCKING SIIIIIIIIN!”

Gamzee’s teeth grind back and forth, his jaw popping under the strain. His eyes shut. He focuses very, very hard.

“Go away.”

The thing does not go away.

“That other motherfucker, the hellboy. He knows what the motherfuck is up.”

“ALL UP AND EMBRACING THE RAGE, BROTHER.”

“At least he had the balls to free me. To free you.”

“FREE! FREE AT LONG MOTHERFUCKING LAST!”

“Not like you. You’re pathetic.”

“MOTHERFUCKING SORRY ASS MOTHERFUCKER.”

It sounds like its voice is everywhere, but nowhere. The thing’s voice is in his left ear, but also his right. It’s annoying as shit, and so is this verbal abuse. He springs up from his emo-girl position and stomps towards the-

Where’d it go?

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere, brother. Stop denyin’ and get to testifyin’.”

“Leave me alone, you piece of shi-”

“WATCH YOUR MOTHERFUCKING LANGUAGE!”

“You’re in the presence of a God, after all. A true High-Blood. Not like you.”

“YOU’RE NOTHING! SCUM! TRASH! LOWER THAN THE LOWEST!”

It was a whisper, yet also a shout, a command.

Gamzee was angry. Angry at his foolishness, angry at himself for letting Strazio unbind him, angry at himself for being this way, angry at being born, angry at being dangerous, abnormal, and sick in the head. It was at this time that the poor boy reached a boiling point, and it was this boiling point that sent a haymaker straight at the thing’s ugly mug.

*SN~AP*

The monstrosity has latched a wicked grip onto the troll’s wrist, intercepting the blow.

“Heheh. Good for you. That other bright ass motherfucker, well, he ain't around to protect you now.”

“SOAK IT IN, BROTHER. MOTHERFUCKING SWALLOW THAT RAGE WHOLE.”

“Like a pill. A pill for your sickness. Complacency”

“MEDIOCRITY.”

“Idiocy.”

“HERESY!”

“Cowardice!”

“WEAKNESS!”

Struggle as he might, Gamzee is unable to break free from its clutches. So he stares at it. He stares it down with chattering teeth, with knocking knees. It scares him. Scares him more than the flamey skeleton motherfucker and the corpse knight. It terrifies him, but that will NOT stop him from being brave. That will NOT force him to let his new friend down.

But at the same time, he can’t do this on his own. Not in this state. Not like this.

So, Gamzee starts to laugh. Not it. Gamzee. He laughs hysterically, giggling and chuckling and barking and gleefully guffawing until his sides hurt. This fit soon begins to degrade into a sob however, streams of amethyst streaking down his dirty cheeks.

“Fuck you. I’ll show you a motherfucking coward. I’ll show you motherfucking weakness.I’ll show you.”

The normally bright beautiful eyes that Gamzee possesses begin to fill with a sinister, sorrowful orange. It’s a dark color, like a rotten mango, or spilt orange soda. It’s almost unnoticeable at first, but soon all the starry yellow is devoid from the High-Blood’s eyes.

“Oh I already know alllll about you, motherfucker. But you know nothing about me.”

“WE HAVE SUCH BEAUTIFUL SIGHTS TO SHOW YOU, MOTHERRRRRFUCKERRRRR!”

And soon, a hideously twisted laughter rings out victoriously into the void, mixing in haunting harmony with Gamzee’s heart-wrenching weeping.