Gaz Membrane, Dib, and Zim are the properties of that magnificent son of a bitch Jhonen C. Vasquez.
Gaz's Best Friend
Every evening, when the wind firmly but gently made its presence known and the sun began to relax its glaring grip on the city where she lived, Gaz would go visit her best friend. Today, she was going to show him her brand new Game-Slave II. She was very excited. It took a lot to excite this jaded child, but this friend was very special. This friend made her proud granite heart feel truly warm and loved.
She ran down the hill that sloped like a green ocean wave to the park's botanical kingdom of moss, weeds, and trees, all ruled by the king, the great, thick willow. She ran to this emperor, to the south of its girth where she knew her friend would be nestled comfortably in the roots.
When she got there, she wrinkled her tiny nose and squished her Game-Slave to the chest of her black shirt. "It's a good thing the wind's picked up," she declared. "You stink." Shock at her own remark filled her face. If it had been anyone else it wouldn't have mattered. But this was the one friend who had the power over her conscience. "I'm sorry," she wavered. "I didn't mean to say that. Do you forgive me?"
Her face melted soft into a not quite smile. "I can't stay long today. My stupid brother Dib wants me to go check out Zim's house. Zim has green skin and no ears and Dib thinks he's an alien. I just came to show you my new Game-Slave." She sits by her friend and pushes the button that unpauses it, showing him her agility with the keys for a moment. "That's pretty cool, isn't it? I knew you would like it!"
Suddenly she turns and gazes at her friend in reverence. "I…I really like you. I like how we can just sit and be quiet together. We don't even have to say anything, as long as we're together." Gaz's hands unconsciously snatch a small purple lilac growing in the shade. She impulsively puts it in her friend's collar.
Realizing what she has done, she springs up, embarrassed by her outburst. "I'll see you later," she says, then turns and sprints up the hill, leaving her best friend alone once more.
He would be alone all night. Alone until the next day, when his best friend shows up. Alone, except for the maggots that crawl over the sinews of his exposed knuckle bones, the worms entering and exiting through the eroded holes in his slacks and looping through the scant flesh of this things, and the flies congregating to sip occasionally at the purple lilac in the striped collar of his shirt, but mostly at the bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
August 28, 2002
With special thanks to Primus for "My Name is Mud" and the Scorpions for "Wild Child."