I can't escape this hell, so many times I've tried…

His gaze fell upon the first thing that crossed his path; a small yellow finch. He paused to look at the bird, leaning down slowly and grasping a stone in his hand. He vaguely registered what he was doing, but didn't even try to stop himself. Not this time; it had grown too strong for him to control, he always got hurt when he tried.

The bird hopped across the ground, tilting her head this way and that as she searched for crumbs and seeds. She looked up at the being a moment, chirruped, and picked up a seed, cracking it's shell and eating it as the alien straightened and cocked his arm back slowly. With a snap of his wrist, he flicked the stone at the small creature and it was dead.

Zim quickly moved on, pushing away his feelings about the bird.

When he reached his home, he let himself in and locked the door, unable to escape the image of the small Earth-creature, all feathers and, now, blood, on the sidewalk. There were so many more images just the same… 0ther creatures, people, too. Not that he cared quite so much about the humans, but some… some were innocent. Just as the bird was innocent.

Quiet was all that met him at the door. No GIR. No computer. Nothing.

The Irken crossed the room slowly, having nothing to really do but exist. And even that was becoming a chore. But he could do nothing about it, so he didn't try. He bore the scars of the last time he had tried, and he had hurt it. Hurt it badly. But not enough..

The house was dark as he turned on a few of the lanterns he had gotten from the human stores. No sunlight came in from the boarded-up windows. He had done that last week. He couldn't stand seeing the birds, the squirrels, the people.. They drove him insane. No, he was already insane. They drove him to murder.

He shouldn't have left the house, he knew it. But he had been there a week, and had run out of battery for the lanterns. He had to go out. He had to rationalize why he went out.

As he began changing the batteries in the dying lanterns, he tried to flush the images from his mind by planning out his day.

"Let's see.." he mumbled aloud to himself, something he did often these days. "I can read, clean the house, take a nap.. Yes, that's a good plan." He set the lanterns back up on their posts around the house and started towards his small bookshelf. He didn't make it half-way there.

A spasm rocked him and he stumbled against the wall to steady himself. He grabbed onto the arm of the couch as he was driven to his knees. Something like a snarl escaped his throat. His back bent, curling him over and he released the couch to fall onto his side. He twisted and writhed on the floor, hands curling into claws, antennae twisting painfully. His magenta eyes ran crimson, black streaks tearing down his cheeks from the sick tears he cried. The Irken crawled towards the wall and slammed his head against it, bracing himself as he contorted more, still on his knees. He shook his head, rubbing it against the wall painfully, and placed his palms against the floor, forcing his hands flat, but to no avail. His fingers curled again, forcing his weight against the ball of his hand as the tips of his fingers scraped as claws against the floor. With another snarl, he reached up and snatched at the couch, tearing a hole in it's side.

The feelings slowly began to disperse and he soon slumped into a heap against the side of the couch, panting and clutching himself. It was getting worse, getting worse and he could do nothing to stop it.