This is a draft. I need suggestions on the following if possible:
- Realism. Is this possible?
- Can you relate to Dexter? If so, how? The key to this piece is whether or not others can feel for the character, even if they don't agree with his ways.
- Help me fix my run-ons. I have some very very long sentences in here. If you think one needs broken up please give me advice on how to do so.
- Tell me when certain words get repetitive. I know I have a problem with it.

The Art Murderers
By Romance Otaku http://romanceotaku.com/

Chapter 1

Dexter ran down the stairs, fully aware of the fact that he was late for school. As he past the living room TV he couldn't help but stop and admire the gore flashing on the screen.

“Yet another victim of the 'art murderers' has been discovered, the thousandth this year. From these photos you can see that these self-proclaimed 'Arterers' have only increased in gruesomeness and heartlessness and are growing even more so by the month. They are expanding their influence and increasing in numbers constantly. Unlike cults and gangs who gain members via word of mouth, the Arterers have taken to the internet, constantly posting photos of their dismembered victims on popular image boards, both anonymously and under pseudonyms. Many citizens feel trapped in their own homes as they hear about their neighbors being murdered by-” click.

Dexter's father stood up from his chair in front of the of the TV, turning around. He stood several inches shorter than his six foot tall son and smiled a heartwarming smile. “Why, good morning sleepyhead. Shouldn't you be at the bus stop?”

Dexter swiftly slipped his cellphone out of his pocket, checking the time. “Shit!”

Dexter's father only chuckled to himself as he watched his son hastily grab a cereal bar from a cabinet and barrel out the door at full speed, slamming it behind himself. “You are almost midway through high school, yet the smallest things can still attract your attention. Well, that's my son.”

Dexter's long legs propelled him down the street and up the stairs into the bug seamlessly, but he puffed from exhaustion as he walked down the isle. Attempting to to adjust the strap of his bag on his shoulder she lifted his arm up, accidentally bumping someone with his dully spiked wrist band. Dexter sat down in his lonely seat in the far back of the bus, "Fuck off, freak" ringing in his ears.

The ride to school was short lived since Dexter was not only the last stop, but also lived within walking distance of the school. But walking to school required waking up fifteen minutes early, which was just not worth it in Dexter's eyes.

As Dexter walked down the hall he came across Lucas digging through his locker. The average heighted boy looked puny in comparison to Dexter. You would have never guessed that he was the closest thing to a best friend Dexter had. "Hey Luke."

Lucas turned around, change jangling in his baggy blue carpenter jeans. Luke had a mechanic look to him. He always wore skin-tight shirts and loose jeans that were usually stained, torn, or both. Even his hair was a gritty dirty blonde. By just looking at him you would think he worked on cars all day, but Dexter knew better; the stains were from his home made liquid cpu cooling system, the tears and frays were from carelessness, and instead of working on engines he wove code into websites in his free time. "Hey, 'sup Dex?"

"Nothing really. You see the new wave of works from yesterday? They were even on the news."

"Yeah, they're everywhere on the 'net, even on my small image boards. It's amazing how fast those pics spread."

"Yeah, it is." Dexter's voice suddenly grew energetic. "It's amazing what the Arterers have been doing lately. It's no wonder everyone's been posting them."

Lucas grumbled under his breath. "Amazing's right. Amazingly disgusting."

"Hm?"

"Nothing, I just don't like all those images on my boards. If it wasn't for all the traffic they bring in I'd delete them." Lucas watches his words, not wanting to offend his image editor who was an admirer of the gruesome artists.

"I guess I understand. Some of the visitors they bring are complete trolls. But the picture themselves add a... beauty to the site that's hard to recreate."

"Not only that; I wish there was something I could do about all the killings... Sometimes I feel like I'm partly responsible for the murders by just hosting images of them..." Lucas watched Dexter's features harden,then quickly decided to change subjects. "Anyway, how are those new buttons coming along?"

"Not bad. I'm almost done. You have so many that need redone that it's more time consuming than anything."

"I know. Sorry about that."

"It's no problem. I should get going, though. Homeroom's about to start."

Lucas slammed his locker shut. "See ya."

Dexter made his way to his own locker, taking various books, binders, and folders and stuffing them into his bag, then walked in to his homeroom, slumping down in his seat in the corner.

Simply put, school was a drag for Dexter. He found that sitting before a teacher who pretended to be a know it all in their respective subjects with twenty people who either treated him badly or completely ignored him was at the least not a pleasant position to be in. He would often doodle within his notebooks, watches the world through a window pane, or fantasize of doing something - something cool and exciting, something that people would admire or would effect their lives or made them think - instead if paying attention to his instructors. He wanted to leave so badly, but he knew there was no place for him, at least that he knew of. The internet, though, was the closest thing he could find to a getaway; at least there were people who understood him there.

Despite this, Dexter maintained better than average grades, and even managed to remember several facts he learned in class that could help him in the future, though he was never sure how he managed it.

Admittedly, there was one exception to the student body that otherwise tormented Dexter. Her name was Darcie, the girl that sat in front of him the last period of the day.

Darcie, who was often called "Darkcie" or just "Dark" by several people Dexter didn't know, was about a foot shorter than Dexter. In all ways other than height, though, she was very similar to Dexter. She dressed almost constantly in black and white and had dyed her hair the colour of the midnight sky. Her hair stile changed from gothic outfit to gothic outfit, as did her makeup. The little gothic girl's body was even just as skinny and her skin just as sunless white as Dexter's.

Nobody knew, or at least, nobody admitted to know, what she did in her free time or what her hobbies or interests were. They all, though, recognized her constant smile and addictive good mood. Even when she was made fun of at the beginning of high school she never stopped smiling, which threw off bullies and upperclassmen. She was now never, or at least rarely, made fun of. This happy attitude was something that negative and depressing - not to mention still bullied - Dexter admired.

The final bell rang and everyone began putting their books away. For not the first time Dexter considered talking to the girl he hadn't quite admitted to himself he had a crush on. He knew it wouldn't take much; she had began various conversations with him in the hall before and he didn't have much of an issue talking to her, but beginning the conversation with a simple "hi" knowing that your goal was to build up to "would you please go out with me" was a whole other story.

He glanced back at her again as he packed away his school materials, watching her walking out the door. Another day, he said to himself, It could always wait until tomorrow.

Dexter decided that it would be better to walk home. Not only did he avoid any possible confrontation on the bus, but there was no real reason to not go. Dexter never had appointments, or large sums of things to do, so the fifteen minutes were just a few of the many he had to spare. As for the weather, it was a nice blustery spring afternoon. No sin, not too warm, not too cold; just perfect for someone who rarely went outside on his own accord.

Dexter arrived home to the aroma of his mother's delicious cooking. Though most would agree that three or so was too early to start dinner, Dexter's mother believed that slow cooking meals was the key to great taste. Every day she would come home from work a little before two - one of the benefits of being an elementary school teacher - and throw together a meal and pop it in the oven at low heat. By the time six rolled around the meal would achieve its maximum amount of taste and would be served. Even Dexter had to admit that his mother's creations were amazing.

"Hey honey, how was school?" Dexter's mother pulled off her oven mitts and stored them away in a droor.

"Same as always. Nothing really happened that's worth mentioning. What's for dinner?"

"Ribs. I used a few different sauces this time so we can choose the best. I just have to remember which is which."

"Sounds good. Well, I'll be in my room. Just yell if you need anything."

"Okay sweetie. I'll be reading in the living room until your dad comes home."

As an only child, Dexter had become somewhat attached to his parents. He recognized them as caring and open minded; much more than the average mother or father. They respected him, and for that he respected them in return. To them, it didn't matter how Dexter dressed. He was still their son, and they knew that he was simply expressing himself, the same way people express themselves through painting or writing. Expression through one's own visual appearance.

When Dexter was little he was often bullied for being different. His parents were the only people he really talked to, and they talked to him freely. They gave him support and told him he was a good son while his peers tore him down and told him that he was, for some unknown reason, a terrible person; a freak. For that, he was very grateful.

Since Dexter aged into a teenager his parents tried to keep a respectable distance from his school life, but they still were aware of his social situation, so they gave him as much support as possible.

Truthfully, they didn't understand him. Dexter, his mom, and his dad all knew this, but they let him be himself, and for that he loved them.

Dinner itself was a sad yet quaint experience for Dexter. Every day the three person family would is at the small dining room table and enjoy their meals while discussing their respective days, plans for the future, ad past accomplishments. For most teenagers this would be a terrible time, but it was different for Dexter. He found talking with his parents interesting, and didn't mind the accolades he was given when he told of a good grade or of an artwork he completed.

When dinner was completed and everyone finished saying what they wanted to say Dexter aided his parents in washing, drying, and putting away the dishes before returning to his room, awakening his custom-built desktop computer with a tap of the space bar.

Even though his parents worked money was not something that Dexter's family had much of. He himself earned a little spending money from doing chores, yard work, and odd jobs around the house, but money was not something Dexter spent often. Priorities were needed, so instead of putting hid money towards computer parts, Dexter purchased clothes, accessories, and sometimes small art supplies. Lucky for him, though, Lucas made a decent amount from his websites, so all the image editing Dexter did was repaid for in hardware for his desktop. Usually they were parts Lucas did not want or need anymore, but that was more than enough for what Dexter did on his machine. Lucas was also the one who purchased all the image editing software that Dexter used for his hobby, which was awfully expensive.

Dexter minimized the sketch he was adding color to and launched his internet browser. He opened up several different image boards in different tabs and began scrolling through. He stopped at one exceptionally bloody picture, reading the attached text.

"He was the first and, if my rival artists don't leave our territory, he won't be the last."

Everyone knew it was just a matter of time until one arterer killed another, but Dexter never expected it to be so close to home. The man in the picture, who was beyond being recognizable as a human, let alone a man, had a sharp crystal embedded in his forehead, a signature id a famous art murderer only known as "Chrystal". His or her territory was the fifty miles surrounding Dexter's town. Chrystal rarely ever murdered, but with the recent tension of all the artists joining up together in various "guilds" and threatening each other constantly for various reasons it was easy to see why she would crack.

The only thing that came out of these rivalries that mattered to Dexter was the art. Oh, how he loved the art. The medium's blood splattered masterfully around the scene, organs strewn about, limbs cut off and sewn back on in different places, intestines weaved together in spider web like designs; for some reason unknown to the boy, he loved it.

Of course, in his defense, Dexter loved all art, music, and other forms of expression. But it was always the darker stuff that got him, and there was nothing darker than an art-murder. No, he didn't want to be an arterer. He hated hurting people, both mentally and physically; killing was far out of the question to him. His consciousness was always screaming at him as he admired the corpses, but he ignored it. Looking at the gore was his guilty pleasure, one that he lost himself in into the late hours of the night.

Dexter was too enticed to hear the door close behind his father as he left the house, alone, at two o'clock in the morning. The door didn't budge again that night.

Hey romance otaku!
Wonderful job on this! You have an amazing plot line behind this, I've never heard of anything close to an "arterers" so two thumbs up for originality.

Here are my suggestions based on the questions you asked in the beginning.
Realism. Is this possible?
Nowadays, anything is possible. Look back on the Black Dalia(sp?) murder for example. It doesn't seem probable, but it definitely happened. Plenty of other murder stories are like that as well! Serial killers, cannibals, etc. This makes "arterers" very realistic.

Can you relate to Dexter? If so, how? The key to this piece is whether or not others can feel for the character, even if they don't agree with his ways.
To tell you the honest truth, I wasn't feeling a bond with Dexter. Try to provoke his emotions a little more in your descriptions, maybe then readers will be able to connect better (or me at least). Sure you've got some emotions in here, but you should make them more protruding.

- Help me fix my run-ons. I have some very very long sentences in here. If you think one needs broken up please give me advice on how to do so.
- Tell me when certain words get repetitive. I know I have a problem with it.
I'm going to group these together because I didn't catch any prominent run-ons to point out. I do have one sentence that I picked up on that has to do with both questions though.

He stood several inches shorter than his six foot tall sonperiod and smiled a heartwarming smile.

I would put "heartwarming smile" after Dexter's father's dialogue. But don't write smiled a heartwarming smile, it just sounds odd.

Well that's all I have to say, I hope to see more of your story around YWS!
PM me if you need anything!
-SodapopLunchbox

First off, I have to say, I can't wait for your next chapter, because I am hooked! The plot is really interesting and definately grabbed my attention. The whole basis of your story on art murders is not a totally unheard of incident, but pairing it with an adolescent young boy, makes the subject fresh and new.

As for Dexter, I agree that you need to make him more relatable, and I'm sure in the next chapters you can accomplish this. I liked the part where he confessed to himself about having a crush, you should definately elaborate on this, because everyone has had a crush before. Therefore, making Dexter more relatable.

So, keep up the good work!

Hey there, Romy. I'll be your reviewer for today. So red is for corrections, purpleis for comments on corrections, and blue is for general comments.

Dexter ran down the stairs, fully aware of the fact that he was late for school. As he passed the living room TV he couldn't help but stop and admire the gore flashing on the screen. Past and passed are homophones. Past=happened already, passed=went by.

“Yet another victim of the 'art murderers' has been discovered, the thousandth this year. From these photos, you can see that these self-proclaimed 'Arterers' have only increased in gruesomeness and heartlessness and are growing even more so by the month. They are expanding their influence and increasing in numbers constantly. Unlike cults and gangs who gain members via word of mouth, the Arterers have taken to the internet, constantly posting photos of their dismembered victims on popular image boards, both anonymously and under pseudonyms. Many citizens feel trapped in their own homes as they hear about their neighbors being murdered by-” click. The underlined and red part is redundent since you had already said '...have only increased in gruesomeness and heatlessness.' And then to say in the next part of the sentence that that they 'are growing even more so by the month.' even though you already said they were getting worse. I also put 'click' in italics because it's not part of the narrative and it's a sound.

Dexter's father stood up from his chair in front of the of the TV, turning around. He stood several inches shorter than his six foot tall son and smiled a heartwarming smile. “Why, good morning sleepyhead. Shouldn't you be at the bus stop?”

Dexter swiftly slipped his cellphone out of his pocket, checking the time. “Shit!”

Dexter's father only chuckled to himself as he watched his son hastily grab a cereal bar from a cabinet and barrel out the door at full speed, slamming it behind himself. “You are almost midway through high school, yet the smallest things can still attract your attention. Well, that's my son.”

Dexter's long legs propelled him down the street and up the stairs into the bus seamlessly, but he puffed from exhaustion as he walked down the isle. Attempting to to adjust the strap of his bag on his shoulder he lifted his arm up, accidentally bumping someone with his dully spiked wrist band. Dexter sat down in his lonely seat in the far back of the bus, "Fuck off, freak" ringing in his ears.

The ride to school was short lived since Dexter was not only the last stop but also lived within walking distance of the school. But walking to school required waking up fifteen minutes early, which was just not worth it in Dexter's eyes. The two underlined 'lived's are quite repetitive since they are very close in the sentence. As a suggestion to fix it, I would changed short lived because it doesn't fit the sentence very well anyway. Also, I took the comma out of that sentence because there were not two independent clauses.

As Dexter walked down the hall he came across Lucas digging through his locker. The average heighted boy looked puny in comparison to Dexter. You would have never guessed that he was the closest thing to a best friend Dexter had. "Hey Luke." 'Average heighted' sounds awkward. Wouldn't the reader get that he was short even if you took that piece out of the sentence? Re-read it to see what I mean. Another thing is that you made an assumption as an author that says no one would think they were friends. Some people like that, but I think it's quite invasive and instead of flat out telling the reader, you should gently lead them into thinking like you do.

Lucas turned around, change jangling in his baggy blue carpenter jeans. Luke had a mechanic look to him. He always wore skin-tight shirts and loose jeans that were usually stained, torn, or both. Even his hair was a gritty dirty blonde. By just looking at him you would think he worked on cars all day, but Dexter knew better; the stains were from his home made liquid cpu cooling system, the tears and frays were from carelessness, and instead of working on engines he wove code into websites in his free time. "Hey, 'sup Dex?" First, I wouldn't change from Luke in dialogue to Lucas in narritive because it gets confusing. Stick to one name. Second, this is a bit too much physical description in one paragraph. Granted, it's done well, but I would like to see it spaced out a bit more.

"Nothing really. You see the new wave of works from yesterday? They were even on the news."

"Yeah, they're everywhere on the 'net, even on my small image boards. It's amazing how fast those pics spread."

"Yeah, it is." Dexter's voice suddenly grew energetic. "It's amazing what the Arterers have been doing lately. It's no wonder everyone's been posting them."

Lucas grumbled under his breath. "Amazing's right. Amazingly disgusting."

"Hm?"

"Nothing, I just don't like all those images on my boards. If it wasn't for all the traffic they bring in I'd delete them." Lucas watches his words, not wanting to offend his image editor who was an admirer of the gruesome artists.

"I guess I understand. Some of the visitors they bring are complete trolls. But the picture themselves add a... beauty to the site that's hard to recreate."

"Not only that; I wish there was something I could do about all the killings... Sometimes I feel like I'm partly responsible for the murders by just hosting images of them..." Lucas watched Dexter's features harden,then quickly decided to change subjects. "Anyway, how are those new buttons coming along?"

"Not bad. I'm almost done. You have so many that need redone that it's more time consuming than anything."

"I know. Sorry about that."

"It's no problem. I should get going, though. Homeroom's about to start."

Lucas slammed his locker shut. "See ya."

Dexter made his way to his own locker, taking various books, binders, and folders and stuffing them into his bag, then walked in to his homeroom, slumping down in his seat in the corner. This bit here isn't very useful for anything. It just seems like something to write. I would cut this piece out because you could quite easily skip to the next part without it.

Simply put, school was a drag for Dexter. He found that sitting before a teacher who pretended to be a know it all in their respective subjects with twenty people who either treated him badly or completely ignored him was at the least not a pleasant position to be in. He would often doodle within his notebooks, watche the world through a window pane, or fantasize of doing something - something cool and exciting, something that people would admire or would effect their lives or made them think - instead if paying attention to his instructors. He wanted to leave so badly, but he knew there was no place for him, at least that he knew of. The internet, though, was the closest thing he could find to a getaway; at least there were people who understood him there. I don't think you need the though in that sentence.

Despite this, Dexter maintained better than average grades and even managed to remember several facts he learned in class that could help him in the future, though he was never sure how he managed it.

Admittedly, there was one exception to the student body that otherwise tormented Dexter. Her name was Darcie, the girl that sat in front of him the last period of the day.

Darcie, who was often called "Darkcie" or just "Dark" by several people Dexter didn't know, was about a foot shorter than Dexter. In all ways other than height, though, she was very similar to Dexter. She dressed almost constantly in black and white and had dyed her hair the colour of the midnight sky. Her hair style changed from gothic outfit to gothic outfit, as did her makeup. The little gothic girl's body was even just as skinny and her skin just as sunless white as Dexter's. Again, you clumped all the description of her into one paragraph. Although execyted correctly, it is quite boring to read all of that when the reader really doesn't care.

Nobody knew, or at least, nobody admitted to know, what she did in her free time or what her hobbies or interests were. They all, though, recognized her constant smile and addictive good mood. Why is there a 'though' in that sentence? Take it out.Even when she was made fun of at the beginning of high school, she never stopped smiling, which threw off bullies and upperclassmen. She was never, or at least rarely, made fun of now. I switched the place of the 'now' in that sentence because it was worded awkwardly. This happy attitude was something that negative and depressing - not to mention still bullied - Dexter admired.

The final bell rang and everyone began putting their books away. For not the first time Dexter considered talking to the girl he hadn't quite admitted to himself he had a crush on. That sentence was awkward. Rephrase. He knew it wouldn't take much; she had began various conversations with him in the hall before and he didn't have much of an issue talking to her, but beginning the conversation with a simple "hi" knowing that your goal was to build up to "would you please go out with me" was a whole other story. That sentence is HUGE. Chop it up.

He glanced back at her again as he packed away his school materials, watching her walking out the door. Another day, he said to himself. It could always wait until tomorrow.

Dexter decided that it would be better to walk home. Not only did it avoid any possible confrontation on the bus, but there was no real reason to not go. Dexter never had appointments, or large sums of things to do, so the fifteen minutes were just a few of the many he had to spare. As for the weather, it was a nice, blustery, spring afternoon. No sun, not too warm, not too cold; just perfect for someone who rarely went outside on his own accord.

Dexter arrived home to the aroma of his mother's delicious cooking. Though most would agree that three or so was too early to start dinner, Dexter's mother believed that slow cooking meals was the key to great taste. Every day she would come home from work a little before two - one of the benefits of being an elementary school teacher - and throw together a meal and pop it in the oven at low heat. By the time six rolled around the meal would achieve its maximum amount of taste and would be served. Even Dexter had to admit that his mother's creations were amazing.

"Hey honey, how was school?" Dexter's mother pulled off her oven mitts and stored them away in a drawer.

"Same as always. Nothing really happened that's worth mentioning. What's for dinner?"

"Ribs. I used a few different sauces this time so we can choose the best. I just have to remember which is which."

"Sounds good. Well, I'll be in my room. Just yell if you need anything."

"Okay, sweetie. I'll be reading in the living room until your dad comes home."

As an only child, Dexter had become somewhat attached to his parents. He recognized them as caring and open minded, much more so than the average mother or father. They respected him, and for that he respected them in return. To them, it didn't matter how Dexter dressed. He was still their son, and they knew that he was simply expressing himself, the same way people express themselves through painting or writing. Expression through one's own visual appearance.

When Dexter was little he was often bullied for being different. His parents were the only people he really talked to, and they talked to him freely. They gave him support and told him he was a good son while his peers tore him down and told him that he was, for some unknown reason, a terrible person, a freak. For that, he was very grateful.

Since Dexter aged into a teenager his parents tried to keep a respectable distance from his school life, but they still were aware of his social situation, so they gave him as much support as possible.

Truthfully, they didn't understand him. Dexter, his mom, and his dad all knew this, but they let him be himself, and for that he loved them.

Dinner itself was a sad yet quaint experience for Dexter. Every day the three person family would is at the small dining room table and enjoy their meals while discussing their respective days, plans for the future, and past accomplishments. For most teenagers this would be a terrible time, but it was different for Dexter. He found talking with his parents interesting, and didn't mind the accolades he was given when he told them about a good grade or of an artwork he completed. That seems awkward. Maybe rephrase to: a piece of art he'd completed.

When dinner was completed and everyone finished saying what they wanted to say, Dexter aided his parents in washing, drying, and putting away the dishes before returning to his room, awakening his custom-built desktop computer with a tap of the space bar. Whoa! That's only one sentence? Do something about that.

Even though his parents worked, money was not something that Dexter's family had much of. He himself earned a little spending money from doing chores, yard work, and odd jobs around the house, but money was not something Dexter spent often. Priorities were needed, so instead of putting his money towards computer parts, Dexter purchased clothes, accessories, and sometimes small art supplies. Lucky for him, though, Lucas made a decent amount from his websites, so all the image editing Dexter did was repaid for in hardware for his desktop. Usually they were parts Lucas did not want or need anymore, but that was more than enough for what Dexter did on his machine. Lucas was also the one who purchased all the image editing software that Dexter used for his hobby, which was awfully expensive.

Dexter minimized the sketch he was adding color to and launched his internet browser. He opened up several different image boards in different tabs and began scrolling through. He stopped at one exceptionally bloody picture, reading the attached text.

"He was the first and, if my rival artists don't leave our territory, he won't be the last."

Everyone knew it was just a matter of time until one arterer killed another, but Dexter never expected it to be so close to home. The man in the picture, who was beyond being recognizable as a human, let alone a man, had a sharp crystal embedded in his forehead, the signature i.d. of a famous art murderer known as "Chrystal". His or her territory was the fifty miles surrounding Dexter's town. Chrystal rarely ever murdered, but with the recent tension of all the artists joining up together in various "guilds" and threatening each other constantly for various reasons it was easy to see why she would crack. Why wouldn't they just call the person Crystal? What's up with the extra h?

The only thing that came out of these rivalries that mattered to Dexter was the art. Oh, how he loved the art. The medium's blood splattered masterfully around the scene, organs strewn about, limbs cut off and sewn back on in different places, intestines weaved together in spider web like designs; for some reason unknown to the boy, he loved it.

Of course, in his defense, Dexter loved all art, music, and other forms of expression. But it was always the darker stuff that got him, and there was nothing darker than an art-murder. No, he didn't want to be an arterer. He hated hurting people, both mentally and physically; killing was far out of the question to him. His consciousness was always screaming at him as he admired the corpses, but he ignored it. Looking at the gore was his guilty pleasure, one that he lost himself in into the late hours of the night.

Dexter was too enticed to hear the door close behind his father as he left the house, alone, at two o'clock in the morning. The door didn't budge again that night.

All in all,
What a nice cliffhanger to leave me dangling on. And for executing it like that I give you a thumbs up!

Anyway, on to the review. I noticed that all of your sentences are unbarebly long. If you keep the sentences that length, it'll seem like you're droning on and on about nothing, and the reader will get bored. Admittedly, there were no run-ons that I caught in this piece. There were quite a few typos that I saw in there too.

This seemed a bit odd to me, but you didn't use dialogue tags through-out the whole piece. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but you didn't nescessairly specify who was speaking. Especially when Dexter and Luke were talking to each other. I got quite confused on that part and I had to re-read. You never want your reader to have to read something over so that they can understand what they should've gotten in the first place.

Your dialogue seemed particularly bland, and I couldn't understand why the characters were reacting the way they were. As was your narrative. There was no feeling there. Nothing about the murders, nothing about being teased, just nothing. And you certainly need emotion so that the reader can connect to the MC. Otherwise, it's just a waste of everyones time.

I have to tell you, your characters seem a little too perfect. Dexter's parents are the worse example of this. They are virtually flawless and rediculously understanding. There's nothing wrong with Dexter, but he gets picked on anyways. Darcie is perfect; everyone likes her. And Luke seems overly smart and like the stereotypical nerd. I think you need to hash out some things with him.

Now on to the things that you asked for.
-Realism. Is this possible? It certainly is possible, but it doesn't seem like it's something that would happen. I mean there isn't enough motive. Just bump up the motive and the whole art murderer thing will seem just a bit more realistic. Also, don't you think it would be easier for there to be only one murder-like a serial killer-targeting the artists in a certain city, state, or whatever region. I think that would make it all just a bit more believable.
- Can you relate to Dexter? If so, how? The key to this piece is whether or not others can feel for the character, even if they don't agree with his ways. Dexter-for me- is not very relatable. His life is nearly perfect except he gets picked on at school. There really aren't any connecting points for him. During this first chapter, all I felt was indifference towards him.

The other two are discussed up there.^ This was one doosy of a review. Anyways, I'll go review chapter 2 now. And if you wanted to read something of mine, check out my novel Luna. The link is in my signature.

Hey there! Gosh, I'm sorry it took me so long to get to your chapters. You don't deserve to wait. I've had a cold lately that wiped me out so I haven't felt like doing ANYTHING. But enough excuses, let's get on to the story! People have pointed out a lot of things so I will keep the review for chapter one shortish.

PLOT:

Your concept is great. This is something that has just enough a dark tone to keep readers interested, without totally freaking them out. This chapter makes you think about what Dexter has to do with all of this. The term "arterers" didn't make much sense to me at first, but then I realized that it was a mixture of "murder" and "art". I know, took me long enough, right? If you think of a better term for arterers I think you should use it, but it's fine anyway. I will take a deeper look at your plot in the next chapter.

FLOW:

There are some slight issues here. There is a lot of information that can be spread throughout the story rather than stuck in the first chapter. Because of this, this chapter seems a little long winded and rambly. The goal of the first chapter is to get the reader hooked, and while the beginning kept us interested and the ending was fantastic, because the middle part didn't have too much focus the reader may lose interest. But golly, I loved the ending of this a ton.

CHARACTERS:

I think the characters here are quite solid.
You asked me if I could relate to Dexter. Right now I can't too much. You should concentrate on how he feels about things more than just describing his daily activities. Make the readers know how Dexter feels about everything. The fact that he is interested in the arterers is a great hook, but we don't know much else about his personality. For instance, instead of just saying Dexter gets picked on, tell us how he feels from HIS eyes. Don't just say "Dexter felt sad". I like Lucas's character quite a bit and I would be very pleased if he DIDN'T get killed off.

NITPICKS:

I think your grammar is quite good. I didn't notice anything on the first read through. I sometimes find that your word choices are a little iffy, but that's rare for me.

OVERALL:

I want to read more! Off to the next chapter!