Disclaimer: I own no part of this so don't even THINK of suing me! . . .(I have peanuts).
Author's Note: If this fic seems familiar to some of you, don't worry, you may have read it before: I posted it about a decade ago when I was at the height of my immersion in the Invader Zim fandom. I have reposted this story at the request of one extremely patient and understanding reader, whom by the way has been way more of both than I have deserved. I apologize to that reader for the wait and hope she enjoys rereading the fic she remembered reading so long ago. I also hope new readers will enjoy it as well. Please excuse any spelling/grammatical errors, I am posting this fanfic as it was originally written and posted, with no new edits or changes, beyond the removal of some formerly italicized sections.
This is a story about life and death and how the consequences of our actions can make us . . . or destroy us.
A Single Light In the Dark
An Invader Zim Fanfic
By Raina
- START OF TRANSMISSION -
"Hello? Oh. It's YOU."
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"I want to talk."
"Yeah? About what?"
"Just to talk."
"Why?"
"I have no one else to talk to."
"You don't have me. Why me?"
"Because it's YOU."
"Me?"
"Yes."
"I'm your enemy."
"Yeah. Guess you are."
"Then why talk to me?"
"Do you REALLY want to know?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"I won't tell. You'll just want to hurt me."
"I hurt you now. What is the difference?"
"I don't want to."
"So? It is nothing to me. You're making this more personal than it needs to be."
"So are you."
"I am not. You speak lies."
"Then what do you call that statement you just made? Everything you and I do is personal. You can't call me a liar without being one yourself."
"I can destroy you very easily."
"Then why don't you?"
"Stop this madness. Go away. I do not have time for your petty nonsense."
"No! Wait! I need to say this to you. Before anything else happens I want to change things between you and me right now."
"WHAT? What are you . . . where is this coming from. . . You know, you ARE crazy."
"Thank you for that mediocre insult."
" . . . . Why are you calling me? Hey, don't look away when I'm talking to you!"
"I have to go."
"No . . . wait . . . hey, where are you?"
"Good bye Zim."
"WHAT? No! No good bye! Don't turn that screen off! HEY! I thought I told you not to . . . Did you hear me? Dib? . . . Di-ib, hello, I am TALKING to you! Stop fooling around it's NOT funny. Okay, okay, I get it. Pick up. . . . Dib? Tell me where you are. ANSWER ME! I'll make you sorry if you don't answer me."
. . . . .
"Dib. . . ?"
- END OF TRANSMISSION -
The alien's antenna twitches. With each feather light sound they rise up and fall to lie flat against his skull. His large magenta colored eyes spasmodically squint and widen on a lime colored face, smooth and unmarred by discoloration. His hands swathed in long black gloves open and close, digging into his palms with each clench. Thin legs support a small frail looking body that is presently trying to hold itself up. To compensate for unsteady legs, both hands brace a computer. Above his head is a large screen full of white static, its muted flickering light all over the small room. Staring in and through the screen, he waits. And waits. Finally he makes a fist and punches a button on the console. The static winks off.
Abruptly he spins on one heel and walks in a stiff march toward the elevator. Bade it take him to the surface, he ascends. Reaching the desired point, he steps out. Hopping down he walks through what appears to be a modern day kitchen. Reaching the living room, he stops.
On the couch sits a small robot, comatose before the moving images of the television. The robot spies him and raises a tiny hand in a distracted gesture of greeting. The alien does not return it. Instead he walks by him to the door where he stops again.
The robot glances at him. With a supreme fabricated effort, the robot sits up and peers closely at his master. Such silent behavior is noted as unusual in his feeble excuse for an Irken micro processing unit.
The alien's hand rises and rests against the door, palm out flat and fingers spread. Gently he bumps his head against the panel. Twice. After a minute he flips over and rests his back against it. Lifting his eyes, he meets those of his servant's, two teal colored orbs watching him inquisitively.
In due course the alien stands away. Retreating into the kitchen he stands in the center of the linoleum; a vacant stare at the space of floor between his feet. Slowly his head rises again. The sky outside catches his eye. Fingers of soft orange and pink taint the black ink, drawing it through its gray stillness to the color of the new day.
I stared into the forever. Both of my arms were crossed under my head and my knees were bent to the sky. A laptop lying open near me showed endless amounts of nothing, text boxes popping up continuously to remind anyone obsessed enough to watch it that no information had been gathered. Once and only once had a transmission come through and it turned out to be one predating a certain someone's arrival exactly six months later. A certain someone I had caused to run screaming out of the cafeteria, skin hissing and smoking from the attack to his weakness.
Hehe, that'll teach Zim to go even ONE day without bathing in paste, I thought with a soft chuckle. I felt a delicious sense of anticipation. I couldn't WAIT to see what the alien would try next because of this. Despite the fact that I was sure it would be painful – as all of Zim's schemes often were – I thrilled at it. Like my enemy, I enjoyed onslaught and did even more knowing what trick cards I held. I held quite a few more than I thought but mind you, I was eleven, what the hell did I know about using them more intelligently? But hey I'm digressing.
I sat up and glanced again the computer. Draping my arms limply over my knees, my soft brown-yellow eyes were wearied under my large round spectacles. The residual smile faded from my lips. Gradually I flicked out a hand and pushed the screen down until the computer clicked shut. Slowly I removed the headphones and put them aside.
It was five minutes after skool had been let out. My bladder was about to burst.
By the time I got to a urinal, I vowed never again to wait until after lunch to do my business. In a personal undertaking at trying to be a man – go ahead laugh – I'd feared so much at missing anything Zim might do, I held it. Of course my pathetic human bladder, being the size of the average golf ball, was now threatening to explode itself.
While I stood there, I rolled my head around on my small shoulders. My neck was stiff from sleeping on it wrong the night before. When I'd get old I'd probably turn into a human pretzel. It was better than becoming a scorched mark on the floor at any rate. After about a minute and a half, I grew impatient. It was hot as hell in the bathroom and the putrid smell wasn't helping curb the gag reflex.
"Come on," I muttered a little desperately. "I only drank one carton of milk . . . Okay two but still. . . "
Finally.
That done I zipped up and went to wash my hands. The cold water felt good so I let it run over my wrists. I read somewhere when you let cold water run directly over your veins it reached the brain faster. It helped save me from passing out dozens of times after getting overheated in gym class. My Nazi gym teacher ran us tiny things like we were in boot camp and since I wasn't the most physically fit of kids (though I do admit I'm pretty agile) it saved me from embarrassing myself.
To mark the end of peace I was suddenly and quite violently lurching forward over the sink. The collar of my shirt tightened over my windpipe as the scruff of my neck was seized. The next thing I knew, I was bodily shoved against the tiled surface of the bathroom wall. My head jarred from the impact and I slid down to the floor, groaning.
The hell . . . ?
Trying vainly to see through the haze of agony, the only thing I registered was a red and black something coming closer to me. Lifting my chin, I saw green.
Green.
By the time that information reached my brain I was being lifted up by my shirt and pushed up against the wall again. That's when the punching started.
I squeezed my eyes shut and feebly tried to fight back. I made two fists and just starting throwing them, hoping one of them would score. Look at me go I'm ninja boy.
The fist that connected sent a new surge of energy through me. I kneed my attacker in the stomach. Before I could get my leg down, it was caught and pulled. I fell down again, a spurt of pain shooting up my tailbone and into my spine. Unable to help it, I finally cried out.
Lying on the floor, I stayed there. Zim stood over me, unmoving in his imperious stance.
Whoa.
Quickly I got to my feet. I expected backlash. But the alien simply watched me. Just stood there and watched me. In turn I wondered why I was just standing there. My cowardice maddened me.
Moving abruptly I shoved him until he pitched into the bathroom door. Flipping against it, he glared at me glaring at him from inches away. One of his hands crept across the door and turned the bolt to lock. When he made to grab for me I leaped back just in time to avoid his claws.
Keep in mind I was scared. Zim had never acted like this toward me. This whole violent aggression thing screamed the classic warning signs of someone who was out of control. Heck, he might very well intend to kill me today. I'd always kind of figured at some point down the road he and I would square off for the last time. Doing so in a skool bathroom seemed a little undignified. Knowing Zim and his love of flashy dramatics, it was really kind of . . . disappointing.
Whatever. I moved my feet apart and tensed my aching body. A bathroom, outer space, my front lawn, it has to happen somewhere. You can't choose your battlefields.
Or your battles.
Zim started coming at me slowly. Matching his pace, I moved around, snatching a quick glance out the corner of my eye. If I could just get to the door and unlock it fast enough, I had a chance. I mean, Zim couldn't kill me in front of everyone . . . right?
At this point I didn't know what to believe anymore. But I did want to live.
The alien read into my movements and sped up. Already having anticipated the acceleration, I jumped out of the way of a swinging blow but nothing I did stopped the payoff that threatened to knock my teeth out. If my teeth weren't already clenched, I might have bitten my tongue off.
"Bastard," I muttered rubbing my jaw. I tasted a metallic salty-sweetness in my mouth. I licked my lips and grimaced.
Zim watched me, licking his own lips. His chest moved up and down evenly. Damn, he wasn't even breathing hard! It had to be at least eighty degrees in here! Speaking for the first time, he said suddenly, "I'm done here."
What . . . ?
By the time those three words reached my brain, the door was swinging closed behind him.
Feeling like a total idiot, I stood with my mouth hanging open. Gradually my arms fell at my sides and I stared.
"What just happened?"
. . . . . . What just happened?
Yes. I guess that was the question of the moment. I had a couple more. A couple more nobody but me would be able to answer and anyway even if I knew the answers, perhaps none of this would have happened in the first place. But I have plenty of time to think about it after all.
About seven hours of it.
Heh. It's almost funny. Humans spend so much time wondering and worrying about how much time they have left it never even occurs to them that they probably have more time than some others. Time is a human concept anyway. You don't see animals wearing wristwatches and I think if you tried to explain to your pet cat why it can't have a saucer of milk in the middle of the night, you'd be wasting your time. Babies born into this world start off pure like that too only they don't stay that way and until they learn how to tell time by a series of numbers, everything sort of has an endlessness to it. This happened before that and this happened after that and this . . . this thing . . . happened . . . I . . . What was I saying?
Sorry, the air's getting stale. I'm breathing kind of shallow now so I can make those seven hours count for something. I don't know why I'm bothering, I'm going to be dead no matter HOW I breathe. Guess I'm not all that much in a hurry to die.
Yeah. I'm dying. Never thought I'd say that, let alone consider it. I mean, God, I'm a kid. Thoughts of death shouldn't betide until that hormone thingy explodes inside of you and things lose their rose tinted shade. Suddenly the grand revelation: Man, life SUCKS! is making its grand design over your waking hours. Oh sure, I lost THAT rose tinted shade when Zim came to earth but still for the sake of making a point here. I guess for the record I ought to explain who Zim is.
Zim is . . . well . . . an alien. He came to earth (my home) about, oh god, a few months ago? A year and a half? I'm having trouble remembering. To make a long story short – I don't have the oxygen for this – up until recently he's been trying to take over my planet and I've been the lone crusader trying to stop him. It's safe to assume we're not friends. Always fighting, battle after battle . . . no real winner . . . At least he had a means to escape: outer space - listen to me using past tense never thought I'd be talking like that. I didn't accomplish much talking to Zim anyway. Maybe I did. I think he sounded kind of scared toward the end there. I don't know. He doesn't care about me anyway. If he hears this, he wins. But I win too. I'm where I want to be. I'm finally happy. He can't take that away from me. He can't take that away from me ever again.
Too bad Zim's the last person I could talk to. This ship can't talk to anything else at this distance. I'd rather have talked to Gaz or even my father. I really wished I could have been able to talk to my dad. Tell him, hey see, I told you I could do it, see where I am, I told you it was possible. But I don't think they'll even miss me. Too bad. I miss them. Or maybe . . . I don't. Hard to say, I don't really feel one way or another about it. I wish I did. Guess it's like they say: tough shit.
. . . . . . . .
The stars are really pretty. No, not pretty - it's not the proper word to describe what I'm seeing. I really wish I was a poet or something, they're really that beautiful. There's nothing to ruin their purity - Earth's but a memory. I can't see it anymore.
I-I wonder who'll find me? Will anyone find me? It would be nice for someone else to think about me, maybe wonder what I was or how I came to be out here. It would be kind of neat to be a mystery to someone else for a change. It would be a way of living on. Of being remembered. But I'm sick of the not knowing. There's always so much being kept from everything else, I just get so SICK of it.
All I wanted to do was test fly this ship, that's all I wanted to do. I didn't think a piece of space rock would run into the hull causing me to pitch forward and hit the light speed. If the engines hadn't cut out when they did, I probably would have shot past Pluto on my way out. It's just my luck the rock also damaged the oxygen tanks including knocking off the reserves leaving me with this seven hour countdown.
What more can I say? Life's not fair. Then again, that's not such a new thing where I'm concerned . . .
Mmmm. . . . I want to say more but . . . I guess . . .
This is Dib, pilot of this godforsaken vessel, signing off.
. . . She burst into my room, panting like she was running a marathon race. I glanced up at the intrusion. Lying on my stomach, I had my laptop open in front of me and my arms folded beneath my chin. Until Gaz disturbed the peace, I'd been faltering in and out of consciousness. Lazily scratching one leg against the back of the other, I didn't have to feign the yawn I gave.
"To what do I owe the invasion of privacy?" I asked nonchalantly, more than slightly annoyed.
Gaz stood at the threshold, reluctant to enter. Her rarely seen eyes were two round circles of panic for one brief second before returning to their normal size. She approached the bed and tugged my arm.
I sat up. "What?"
"There'samouseinmyroom," she mumbled.
"Huh?"
She repeated it, a little louder and intelligible as ever. Something, something, "in my room."
"Gaz."
A touch of pink colored her face. "There's a MOUSE in my ROOM," she growled through clenched teeth.
I squinted one eye at her, the other on the laptop screen. "This has what to do with me?"
My sister tugged a little harder, a wordless demand. Rolling my eyes, I got up and followed her insistent tugging down the hall to her lair. Gaz halted immediately at the entrance and pointed inside. Peeking around the corner, I scanned the place, flicking on the light switch.
After a moment, I shook my head. "There's no mouse in here."
"It's under the bookcase," she muttered again before promptly shoving me inside. "Don't come out until you've caught it."
Then she slammed the door.
I faced the door in impatient rage. "Oh C'MON, Gaz! It's a stupid mouse! Don't tell me YOU are afraid of mice! That's - That's just ridiculous!"
No answer.
I kicked the door angrily.
"Oh great," I muttered. "Catching a mouse. THIS is on its way to becoming a gratifying experience." Armed with that as support, I got on my knees and began to crawl around on the floor. I did that for quite a while, checking first under the bookcase and then the bed and dresser.
So this is all I'm good for, I thought sourly. The lone hope of planet earth, defending against . . . a MOUSE! My talent and genius again go unnoticed.
After ten minutes, my sister poked her head in. "You got it yet?"
Popping up from the other side of the bed, I glared at her. "You can't possibly expect me to catch a mouse with my bare hands. It might have rabies. I need something - like a jar."
I got a Look.
What was she expecting for God's sake? "Hey," I snapped. "You want this thing caught, you're going to have to help a little."
Silently she closed the door. I exhaled loudly. Honestly I didn't get her. This whole new fear-of-mice thing threw me. My sister, unafraid to defy a crazy alien including shooting him down, got all jumpy over a silly mouse. Yeah, I know everyone's got some weird phobia. Me, I'm literally scared to death of - ready for this? - footy pajamas. Seriously those things freaked me the hell out. I can remember as far back as three screaming as my mother tried to wrestle me into a pair. How sweet, my first traumatic memory!
Oh well. Scary and fearless as she was, Gaz was, after all, only human.
Gaz returned with a glass jar and a lid.
Here we go. I plopped on the edge of my sister's bed. I placed the jar between my knees and waited. Afterward for a little change of pace, I waited some more. Fun. Yes, I was having a ball.
Then something dark and tiny shot between my feet and desperately made for the open vent on the floor. Luckily the mouse's tiny body was unusually pudgy and it got caught halfway through the other side. Its miniscule bottom feet kicked the air, tail whipping around like a lasso. Calmly I went over and knelt, jar in one hand, lid in the other. I took pause to smile and shake my head. I caught the swinging appendage and gave it a gentle tug.
Hunh. Stuck.
Working my fingertips beneath the vent, I pulled the top off, wriggling rodent and all. The mouse froze immediately and instinctively when I turned it over. Two tiny black eyes met two large amber ones. Poor thing was scared to death. For a minute I was sorely tempted to keep it for scientific study. Instead I took the mouse/vent cover down to the garage and used a pair of pliers to bend the rungs around the trapped rodent. The mouse struggled the entire time, squeaking and urinating all over the worktable. It was disgusting. Believe me it was worth it to finally fish the creature up by the tail, walk out to the front lawn and set it free.
Ceremoniously I brushed off my hands and went back inside. Gaz sat on the couch, reading a magazine. She jumped when I tossed the vent cover gracelessly onto the coffee table.
"Happy?" I grumbled dryly, trudging back to my room. Behind me, my sister picked up the crooked vent and inspected it. Confused she shrugged, put it down and returned to her reading.
So thus the world benefits because I exist.
. . . . I can still see that tiny mouse combating the vent cover, little eyes bulging out from a tiny yet perfectly shaped face. I see my hands struggling with the pliers, the beads of sweat forming on my forehead, trying to free the animal without hurting it. When it ran across the lawn I was so happy. Not happy because I succeeded in ridding my sister of another annoyance in her life but because the mouse was FREE. Free from the bonds that held it, free from its fear, its pain, its small insignificance suddenly made all the more genuine to it as it struggled to get away. As it did get away.
"You're NEVER going to get that thing to fly again," my sister stood over the bottom half of me sticking out from under Tak's spaceship. "Not after what happened last X-mas."
"That's what you think," I told her smugly without pausing in my ministrations. "You'll see."
"See what? Another explosion as you try yet again to start it? Face it, you can't make the kind of power that thing needs to fly without causing worldwide blackouts."
Here we go again. Sigh. I turned off the blowtorch and pushed out. Taking off the protective mask, I exclaimed, "Do you MIND?"
Gaz simply folded her arms and leaned against the side of the ship. "If you mean that I MIND that our house may one day go up in flames because of your stupid ambition, YES I mind very much."
"So?" I pushed the mask back over my face and used my heel to roll back under the craft. "It's not like you're being especially empathic about it."
"I am now." Gaz hooked her boot toe beneath the skateboard I was lying on and pulled me out. Panicked, I shut the torch off just in time.
"HEY!" I ripped off the mask and held up the torch in a pointed manner. "Do you SEE what I'm using? Do you have ANY idea how hot these things are?"
Gaz wrinkled her nose, as if I had just made a pewy pun.
I ignored her reaction and stood up. "Out." I pointed to make sure she took the hint.
My sister didn't take lightly to being ordered about by me. In one little word I managed to unleash the tense body shaking rage that so often wracked her small form. Representing the control she literally possessed none of, she took a handful of my shirt and twisted it out of shape.
"Listen to me, Dib," she said low, "you do not tell me what to do." That spoken, she let me go with a shove and left, despite what she'd just said.
I smiled behind her back ruefully. Gaz knew her place as I knew mine. Little say as I had, when it came to my paranormal pursuits, she preferred to give me the widest berth possible. It made me a little sad sometimes but other times, like now, I could only be too glad for it. Significantly relieved, I turned back to the job at hand, none of the previous moment's arrogance and charge present in my mannerisms. Truthfully for all the verbal onslaughts I both incited and fell on the back end of, I hated them. Perhaps it was pre-programmed behavior for self-preservation keeping me from acting against my kin. Or maybe . . . I'm just scared to.
Scared. Yeah.
Close. So close to completion to being fully flight-worthy. It was just missing . . . SOMETHING. I didn't quite grasp WHAT. Nothing parts-wise was missing. Hell, I'd stolen (read: hacked) into the weakest parts of Zim's network for information on 'Voot Cruisers' to write a repair manual on them. Not being able to understand the hidden mystery flaw made for more aggravation than I felt ready to take.
"Stupid Irken technology," I mumbled at it. "You flew okay before. You're just . . . just, UGH!" I kicked it in the rear left engine. "You're doing this to drive me crazy, aren't you? Why?" I threw out my arms, yelling at the thing as if it were capable of talking back to me. "Huh? Can't something go right for me for once?"
"BE QUIET!"
"Sorry," I called back automatically. Fuming I climbed into the open 'cockpit' (well, what would YOU call it?) and slouched down in the firm but soft pilot's seat. "Computer," I grouched at it. "Run a diagnostic on all internal and external systems."
"All right."
I smiled, despite my current bad mood. Modifying the ship's personality download to configure its new pilot (me) was like having a conversation with myself. Kind of scary since I didn't actually need one. I did just fine without it.
I rubbed a bruise on my back absently, wincing. Stupid alien, I thought automatically.
"Diagnostic complete. No internal or external errors were detected."
"Then what's wrong with you?" I asked it. "Why won't you fly? Is it a power problem?"
"No."
"Then what is it?"
"Insufficient data."
"Huh? I didn't ask for you to . . ." I rolled my eyes. Man, maybe it really didn't WANT to fly. Maybe to it I wasn't WORTHY enough to be its pilot. Forcing a grin I remarked lightly, "Phst, I bet you just hate me."
"Define 'hate.'"
I waved it off with a flop of my wrist. "Forget it." Let's try another angle. "Computer, who is the pilot of this ship?"
"Dib is the pilot of this ship."
Thought so. "Show me a picture of your pilot."
A tiny hologram popped up. My jaw dropped immediately. "Gaz?" I glared at the console, wishing the stupid thing had some point of reference just so I could dish it a dirty look. "Maybe that's the problem," I muttered. Louder I said, "Computer, that picture is incorrect. Scan me and then compare."
Beep. Done. Man, that was fast.
"Well?"
"DNA scan matches picture."
"DNA scan matches picture?" I repeated. "How in the world could you mistake . . . Oh!" It hit me. "Gaz is my sister, of course our DNA codes would be similar. Hmm, perhaps a modification of the scanning device is in order."
I set to work. Rudimentary earth tools worked amazingly well with the complicated, centuries advanced alien technology beneath my hands. Sometimes when I worked on the Voot ship, the vague realization I was the ONLY human being on earth to possess such a vehicle would occur to me. Often it lead me to wonder why Zim hadn't paraded on over to my garage after he found out I had it to claim it. Maybe because it wasn't his? He hardly mentioned it at all – or maybe he forgot about it. The Irken seemed to only remember certain things only when I brought them up. Doubtless if I covered this thing with a tarp and Zim were to walk into the garage right now, he probably wouldn't even notice it. Unlike me (or so I believed) the alien's view of life stood a bit closed to the small cosmos in front of his face. If it didn't fit into his perception of how things ought to be, then it didn't exist. One could argue me possessing an equal advantage over him in regards to owning a spaceship didn't fit into the 'picture.' So unable to accept the 'new thing,' he just ignored it.
Or maybe that wasn't it at all, I went to the other hand. Maybe Zim KNOWS I can't fly it and KNOWS I'm too selfish to give it up to the authorities and therefore since he regards me as nothing more than a mere stink-beast he figures I probably wouldn't know what to do with it even IF I managed to get it to fly. Certainly if its sitting here for three months in a garage has convinced him of this fact already.
Reluctantly I accepted the second hand. Doing so gave the stupid green guy too much credit but I had to give my enemy the benefit of the doubt. By turns he managed to narrowly prove his mettle in battle. To not do so would be suicide.
In battle. I dwelled on that. I'm at war for my planet, a REAL war, a war no one believes is happening except us. But it IS happening whether I want to believe in it or not.
In the midst of tinkering with the disconnected scanning device in my lap, another thought occurred to me.
I'm too young for this.
I wondered where it came from. Musing over it for a second, I tucked it in the back of my mind for future reference. I thought too much anyway. Busily I reattached the mechanism and told the computer, "Okay. Now scan me."
Beep.
I looked at the tiny hologram again and smiled.
"That's MUCH better."
Of course then from there things go downhill. It seems the direction my life heads in, building me up under false illusions of success before stabbing me in the back with utter grinding defeat. How I managed to keep cocky and self-assured was no great feat. After looking for so long, trying to dig up some sort of facet of proof to earn creditability and getting absolutely NOTHING to hold in my hands - it drives me crazy. People weren't helping either - GOD people are so stupid! - all they do is write me off.
"Ha ha, crazy UFO boy, with his pointy hair and insane theories pay him no mind!"
God, I hate all of you. I hope Zim conquers you, every last one of you!
But . . . no. I can't wish that on anyone, even though what does it really matter now? Out of a personal sense of honor, I can't bring myself to wish for something I used to fight so viciously against. Even out of anger. Even if I have every right to feel this way. I won't.
I won't . . .
". . . try that if I were you, Dib-monster."
"Why not?" A grin started to stretch across my face. Finally I had Zim cornered between a Dumpster and a brick wall with nowhere to go. In my hands was one of those water guns that squirted out incredible amounts of water. This was perhaps the THIRD time in a month Zim had forgotten to bathe himself in paste. You'd think he'd take the hint: June, summer weather, hot sun. Unfortunately he never did seem to learn. "I very much think I would enjoy trying this!"
Zim double-checked his doomed position. "Ah yes, indeed you would. But as you can see - !"
- spider legs sprung from his pak and nimbly he leaped to the top of the building -
" - I'm a little bit more equipped than your stupid human brain can imagine!"
What an idiot. I pointed the squirt gun up, pressed the trigger and got him in the torso. He fell back on the roof, screaming in pain.
"Poor Zim!" I mocked in false sympathy. "Did you really think I wouldn't buy a new water gun after seeing how you'd learned to keep a certain distance?" I laughed when he replied with more screaming, this time in rage.
Two small black hands appeared, eventually followed by a head, shoulders and the rest of him as he climbed on top the building's ledge. His skin smoked and burned yet it didn't wipe off the sincere hate on his face that reached his eyes. The wig on his head hung lop-sided, at one point an antenna popped up and stuck out. I would have laughed however sensing from the expression on his face it probably wasn't a good idea.
He panted, tensing, ready to launch himself down at me. I held up the gun to make sure he saw I still had it.
Zim halted. His lower jaw tensed and he bit his bottom lip.
Stalemate.
"I'm not letting you off the hook this time, Zim," I told him seriously. "After what you did to me yesterday in the bathroom, you HAD to have seen this coming."
His eyes narrowed.
"You can run if you want," I went on. "I'm just going to make sure it's as painful an escape as possible. Take your pick." I aimed at him. "I have all day, Zim."
Uh-oh. Just gave him ammunition. "Then you don't have much of a life, worm baby."
"Wrong," I grinned. "YOU are my life. So HA!"
"FOOL!"
Unexpectedly he fell upon me, first jumping off the roof, landing lightly on his feet and using his momentum he jumped again, this time on ME. The whole time I unloaded my water gun on him until he managed to knock it aside and push me down. Planting a foot in my stomach, he launched off me and ran. Lying, again, on the ground I watched upside down as my enemy disappeared in the distance. A second later I groaned and rolled into a ball, clutching my stomach.
"Damn you, Zim."
It's hard to move . . . my legs fell asleep hours ago . . . my arms are useless . . . I'm so cold I can't feel my ears, my nose, my fingers . . .
From where I am I can see the condensation on the instruments, if I wanted to I could have written my name on the glass.
I can't see much of anything. All I can think about is the cold, how much I long for warmth, the heat . . . the sun. . . My planet had such a wonderful star, the biggest, brightest most beautiful thing in the sky. The sunset in the window, the orange light in the darkness of my room and for twenty minutes it wasn't such a scary place to be.
All I can hear is my own heartbeat. It's all of me I have left.
So sleepy . . . if I close my eyes, I won't open them again. I won't close them, I won't close them, I
won't
close
them.
"DAD!"
I ran through the house, waving a piece of paper in one hand. Stopping at the kitchen, I spotted him just leaving it to head down to the basement. A smile lighting my face, I made after him.
"Dad!" I called again. When I caught up to him, I tugged on the edge of his lab coat. Like a white flag, I waved the paper back and forth. "Look at this! I did it!"
"Please," he blocked me off with a hand. "No more insanity, Dib. I'm very busy."
"But . . ." the word bit off at the end of my tongue. "I want you to see this." The arm holding the paper dropped to my side.
"I'll look at it later." Said of course in tones meaning he wouldn't. "Right now I need to discover another cure and invent a new type of itching powder before five o' clock!"
"But . . ." I began helplessly, not able to come up with anything more useful.
The door to the basement closed behind him - and in my face.
"FINE," I glowered at the door. "DON'T look, DON'T listen. It's not like I CARE about impressing you. I mean what's a son for, HUH?" I threw down the paper and stalked away.
Gaz looked up from her drawing. "Dib, why do you keep doing this?"
I glanced toward the garage door, eager to leave. "Because I have to. . ."
She frowned. "Nobody makes you do it, Dib. You've got more power over your life than you think." Down she went back to the picture. "You don't have to."
"I wish that were true, I really do."
"It IS true. Why don't you see it?"
"I see it." I stop at the threshold, looking back at her for another moment.
Gaz put down the crayon angrily. "Then WHY do you keep doing it?"
Taking a silent breath, I turned to the ship. "Nobody else will . . ."
"STOP IT! Leave me alone!"
"So you can take over the world? I don't think so, ZIM!"
"THINK WHAT YOU LIKE!" He shook his fork at me.
"I think I will! You know, you sound a lot stupider than you look you stupid alien!" I jabbed him in the center of his noseless face.
Zim smacked my hand away. "I could say the same about you!" Then he reached across the table and stole my plastic knife.
I dove for it, missing by miles. "Hey! That's not fair! Give that back!"
"Nah, I don't think so!" He mock stabbed at me, scratching my hand almost by accident.
I moved away, clutching the hurt spot. "I'll get you for this!"
He laughed. "Oh like I haven't heard THAT one before! Best you leave now, Dib-human, while you still amuse me."
"WHAT? Okay! I WILL leave but I'll be back, Zim! You'll NEVER be rid of me, never . . ."
You'll never be rid of me.
Nobody else will.
"No more foolishness son!"
Dad, you never had time for me . . .
"It might not be as much fun without having you around . . . but it will be more PLEASANT. HAHAHAHA!"
Zim, I never stopped you . . .
"Your voice is stupid!"
Gaz, you never were there for me . . .
"Foolish creature . . ."
"You stink Zim . . ."
"We've only seen what's come to US from up there . . ."
I wish I never saw that alien
I wish I never -
". . . Don't you just want to fly out there and see it all. . .?"
I wish I – ne-ver -
- wait -
I see -
oh
my
god
It's dark. I guess that's what happens after you die . . . or something. I don't know where I am. It's so . . . dark. There's nothing to see, nothing around me but . . . nothing.
There's a tapered candle sitting before me, burned nearly to the wick. Its single tiny flame flickers and dances, casting a small glow around it. I lean over it, putting my face close to its bright warmth. Sensing a presence, I lift my chin.
There's someone standing outside my field of vision. It can't be though. Can't be anyone here. I'm alone, I'm alone. There CANNOT be anyone else here.
He steps into the small ring of light, in his hand clutching another, full tapered candle. Its light reflects in his ruby eyes, mirroring my own image back to me.
No.
I fall back on my bottom and crawl backward as he approaches. Denying his presence I make a violent slicing gesture. "Go away!"
He stops just inside the ring of light.
I gesture again. "GO!"
He sinks to his knees before the candle in the holder on the floor. Holding his own close to his chest, he waits.
Waits for what?
I crawl close to the candle on the floor, the weak warmth drawing me in. Copying his sitting posture, I watch his eyes staring down at the flame between us. Shadows dance on our faces, deepening the lines, highlighting our pupils so neither of us can hide our thoughts from the other.
There's a long silence.
Might as well go first. "How did this happen?" I ask quietly.
"It doesn't matter," he replies smoothly. "You can make it unhappen."
"How?"
Our eyes meet again. "Blow it out."
I look at it and then know it's not something I want to do. Maybe not ever. Fear knifes me. "No. I can't."
"You have to let it go," he commands sternly. "You can't keep holding on to it. It's done you too much harm. Let it go, MAKE it go."
I lower my head. "If I blow it out, then it will be gone."
"It's already gone. You just have to make it go."
"Why?" I shoot back tearfully. "It's done me nothing but heartache. I'm not going back to that. You can't make me."
"I'm trying . . " he said but then softly, "I can't without your help."
"I-I don't want to help," I whisper. "Please don't make me do this."
He narrows his invidious eyes. "I'm NOT making you do anything. I'm trying to help you."
"Why?" I want to know. "I-I don't want your help."
"If you didn't want my help, why did you call me? Why am I here then?"
"Because there wasn't anyone else!" I cry. "There COULDN'T be anyone else! Besides I didn't ASK you!"
"Then why did you call at all if you didn't want help?" he queries simply.
I'm lost. "I-I wanted . . . I wanted . . ."
"Blow it out, Dib." He gestures. "It's the only thing you can do now."
I cover my face with my hands and start scooting backward. "No . . . no . . ."
He panics and reaches out to me, unable to move from his side of the fire. "No! Dib, don't! Come back here! COME BACK HERE!"
I freeze and look behind me, the darkness beckoning so inviting, secure, welcoming. I want it. I turn back to him. "I-I'm going."
"NO!" he shouts, pure rage filling his face. "DIB!" He holds up the candle he has with him. Desperately he begs calmly. "Please, Dib, please come back. I won't let you go."
"Which is why I want to," I reply carefully. "Besides what do I care if you blow out your own light or not?"
"This isn't my light," he growls. "This light, this one here is YOUR light."
"I don't want your light." I point to the small paler one on the ground. "I want that one but it doesn't look like it's ever going to become anything. It's been burning for too long. It's time I left it behind."
He shakes his head. Finally he gets up, grabs and pulls me effortlessly close to the ring of illumination again. "I won't let you do it," he whispers viciously. "You have a chance here," he puts the longer tapered candle under my chin, its flame licking my skin. It burns me. "I'm giving it to you freely. I'll give you nothing else but this. It's a poor substitute for what you really want but you can MAKE something of it."
Doubtfully I look at the tiny candle, wanting it so much, behind me at the dark I want even more and then finally back at HIM, the thing I want least of all yet somehow need and desire more than everything else.
"I-I don't know," I murmur lamely.
"Yes. Yes, you DO know. All you have to do is blow out that light and you WILL know."
"What do you care?" I pull away from his grasp. "All you've ever done, all anyone's ever done is HURT ME! I can't anymore, I can't stay."
I feel myself drift again but he holds me there. I start yelling. "Let me go!"
"No!"
"LET ME GO!"
"Blow out the light, Dib!"
"No!"
"DO IT!"
"NO!"
"DIB! COME ON!"
"LET ME GO! PLEASE!"
"I WILL NEVER LET YOU GO!" he screams. "Don't you understand? Don't you GET it? This ISN'T you! When did YOU ever give up on ANYTHING? You know, I HAD some respect for you! I DID! NEVER would I have believed you'd be the coward, Dib. Not here and NOT for this!"
"What? How can you say . . . I'm NOT a coward!"
Zim shakes his head, making a tsk sound. "Poor doomed creature, afraid to stand in his own light, what a shame . . ." He ends it with a grin, THAT grin and then he throws back his head and starts laughing. AT ME!
I gaze at the small candle with its weak light, its useless energy casting only enough light so it can see and not much use for much else. When he offers the candle he holds, it is full, casting light so I can see everything. Its energy is strong, exquisite, seductive. It's mine if I want it.
I want it.
I lean over and breathe on the little light. It goes out. Snatching the new candle out of the jackal's hand I plunge it into the soft wax of the old candle and . . .
. . . my body jerks. Painful fire fills my chest. Coughing, gasping, a thousand knives have plunged into every pore in my skin. My eyes roll back in their sockets. Someone holds me, pushing something hard, hollow and plastic over my nose and mouth. The fire in my chest blazes and the thunder in my brain no better yet no worse for it. Despite the mortal agony, I inhale deep breaths of the fire. I don't want it, I don't want it, I need it, I NEED it. Tears run down my face, my neck. Faintly a voice speaks from faraway but I don't recognize it. Slipping away again into darkness, I cling to the voice until there's nothing left to hold.
I must be out of my mind.
"Are we there yet?"
Had be something I ate this morning. Yes. It was something I ate.
"I want go HOME."
I wonder if it's not too late to turn around?
"Master? Hel-looooo!" A tiny hand waves back and forth before the Irken's face. "Anybody in there?" He jumps on top of his head, screaming, "ANYBODY IN THERE?"
"GIR!" Using one hand to control the ship, he plucks the robot from his cranium. "YES there is someone in there and that SOMEone is going to be making you feel VERY sad if you don't quit bothering him!"
"Okie dokie." Desisting, Gir presses his small face against the pane with a metallic clunk, a pink tongue hanging out the corner of his amazingly tiny mouth. Abruptly he asks impatiently. "When will he be able to come out and play?"
Zim only exhales loudly. Trading wits with a defunct piece of SIR unit on a daily basis has never engendered itself to him as a pleasurable activity. Certainly suffering his company on THIS excursion burns the alien's short fuse. It makes for a heck of a mood killer.
I don't need anything else to kill the mood. I am not sure this is what you would call a mood though. More like a deranged state of mind.
Of course of these thoughts he never speaks aloud. One eye is cocked at the computer monitor while the other stares straight ahead dispassionately. Unlike the humans, he shares no such fascination for the celestial bodies passing his Voot Cruiser.
"Before anything else happens I want to change things between you and me right now . . ."
"If he hears this, he wins . . ."
"I'm finally happy. He can't take that away from me. He can't take that away from me ever again."
Zim's claws grip and dig into the dashboard.
"This is Dib, pilot of this godforsaken vessel, signing off."
"Oh no you don't," he grumbles under his breath, "not on my watch, not while I'M around you won't, happiness my squeegily spooch, I can take away what I please, you'll see, YOU'LL see . . ."
I'm getting upset, he notes. Breathing out, he refocuses his attention on the task of manning the vessel.
"WARNING! PROXIMITY ALERT. IRKEN SHIP IN SIGHT."
Of course Zim doesn't need the computer to tell him the other Cruiser is in sight. It's kind of hard to miss, drifting through the vacuum of space, its purple hull faded from all the times Dib carelessly left it out under the Earth's punishing sun. The glaring blatancy of the missing oxygen tanks and the deep scores the meteoroid left behind show plain to the casual observers' eye the ship is no longer flight worthy. The engines not even being on at a low burn are a dead giveaway.
Quickly he tries to establish a hail. "Hey Dib thing! This is Zim. Can you hear me?"
Static.
"Di-ib," he calls in singsong, "it's me, ZIM. I'm closing in on you. That means I am getting CLOSER."
More static.
"Dib-monster, not answering isn't an option! If you don't answer me I'm going to blow you up! Heh, I'll blow you up anyway but it would be NICE to hear you object to it. Wait . . ." Zim trails off when he realizes that if Dib hadn't already answered, he probably isn't going to answer at all.
Pulling up alongside the quiet craft, he's surprised to discover the cockpit is completely fogged up; seeing through the vacuum resistant glass proves impossible.
"Computer, scan the interior of the craft for life signs."
It takes a second. "SCAN COMPLETED. NO LIFE SIGNS DETECTED."
"What?" the alien exclaims, shocked. Uneasily he stares intently at the silent ship. "Computer, give me an oxygen reading."
"OXYGEN LEVEL IS AT 5 PERCENT."
"FIVE percent?" Zim repeats incredulously. "Not even the mighty Zim could survive on that!" Losing it, he grabs the sides of his head and breathes fast. "No! No, this can't be possible," he panics, "I cannot allow it."
"Can't allow what?"
Zim ignores Gir's rhetorical question. "Listen to me closely. I'm going to transfer to the other ship. I want you to hold our position while I'm over there. Got it?"
"Yes."
"No, Gir, you can't just say 'yes.' I need to know if you really understand what I'm saying."
"Yes. I understand."
The alien gives up and sighs. "Just . . . stay put."
It's one thing to put up the protective head shield and jump ship when one intends to work outside. It's entirely another when one needs to enter another ship without killing the (possibly) unprotected inhabitants inside.
Hmmyep. That poses a problem.
Tether adjusted to keep him from flying out into the void he crawls insect-like over the allegedly derelict Voot Cruiser. Under the bottom toward the back there's a small door. It won't open easily without a switch. Of course what sort of invader was he if he didn't prepare for such difficulties? Reaching into the tool belt attached to his waist, Zim selects a wedge shaped tool. Meticulous in his movements, he carefully pries open the small round door. There is reason to be nervous. If the seal breaks open too fast, it might kill either himself or the passenger. Caution is of the utmost importance here.
Creak. POP! Ssssssssss.
Hurry up, it's depressurizing. Get inside get inside.
Squeezing in the hole, he heaves, strains and pulls his weight up and through. Kicking a few times to create lift, he grunts and sweats profusely. POP! THUNK. "Ow!" He's inside. Resting on his knees Zim takes a moment to gather his bearings.
A hefty condensation covers every piece of equipment, casting an eerie, ghostly cadence around. Some of the milky glow falls across the craft in places of light and dark. None of the equipment appears to be functioning. It's almost as if . . .
"It's dead," Zim marvels softly. Taking the two steps to get to the front of the ship, Zim nerves himself. Expecting onslaught, he braces himself for an A-HA! I FOOLED YOU! When he crawls around to the pilot's seat, he is met with terror.
Dib.
His enemy is slumped down in the seat. His hands are still and useless in his lap, fingers curled into loose fists. The human's head is slumped over to the side, his chin tucked down, his eyes closed. There is an unnatural blue tinge around the lips, contrasting the sick pallid white of his skin. The most disturbing aspect is the face once so furious and bright with passion smoothed into a clean slate of bizarre peacefulness.
This is not right.
Rather boldly he grasps the small boy by the shoulders, pulls him forward and immediately lets go. To his surprise, the human's limp body flops back and starts sliding down sideways. "Dib?" he sweeps in and grabs the boy's shoulders anxiously. "Come on, wake up." He shakes him a few more times. At one point he even smacks his cheek. "HEY BIG HEAD!" he shouts. Nothing.
"This cannot happen," Zim whispers in horrified awe, absently touching his own cheek. "This canNOT happen!"
There's still time. There MUST be.
Zim crawls in next to Dib and slips his arm around the other's body. "Sweet jumping jellybeans he's so COLD!" Goose bumps pop out involuntarily all over his skin. With the other hand he opens his pak and pulls out a plastic breathing mask. After a quick adjustment to reroute the oxygen feed to go through both for the mask and for himself, he grasps the human's chin and digs his fingers into the lower jawbone to force the mouth open. Subsequently he fixes the mask over the open maw. Rapidly realizing he's forgotten something crucial, he mutters, "Stupid." Of course it doesn't occur to him he DOES have a choice however the time for second-guessing has passed.
Ugh. The things I do . . .
He removes the mask. Then he opens the human's mouth even more and pinches the small nose closed. "Here's to hoping you never remember this." Shudder.
Then quickly turning off his head shield he seals his own mouth over his enemy's lips. After blowing oxygen into the lungs, he moves off and pushes on Dib's ribs to get the air to go out again. He has to turn the head shield off between each session in order to keep breathing himself. Finally unable to work in this manner, he attaches another oxygen feed between the ship and his own so he can keep the head protection down indefinitely. No use in trying to revive someone if they're in an airless environment.
"Come on," he pants after the sixth time. "Breathe you stupid creature. You haven't been dead THAT long." It's awkward getting the air in with Dib sitting up so he lays him down across the seat. Sweat pours down his face, his chest aches and all he wants to do is rest. Yet he does not cease. He knows he can't stop.
At the tenth round, Dib's hands twitch spasmodically and suddenly his whole body jolts as if from an electric shock. Startled Zim sits up and watches. "Dib?" he whispers hopefully. It stops. No. It wasn't anything. The alien sits back on his heels, thinking. Compelling a more direct approach he cradles the child's upper body to him and pushes more air in.
"Come on worm," he mumbles, nearly drunk from his own deprivation. "Take this air, USE it, c'mon Dib . . ."
Nothing. NOTHING.
"Stupid, stupid," Zim mutters, feeling a ball of misery congest within him leading his words to come out short and thick. "I won't let you . . . I won't LET you . . ."
Moving away, he pulls the human back up into a sitting position. Totally livid he slaps Dib swiftly across the face. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" he screams hysterically. "Are you so COMPLETELY substandard a species? THIS ISN'T YOU! You NEVER give up!" Though he expects silence to answer, the mere fact it does makes him go to pieces. In pure anguish he presses his face against the gray blue T-shirt, almost nuzzling it. Every muscle inside his body is flaccid. He does not know how to grieve. All that is going through his mind is I failed. I FAILED. This . . . This cold, limp thing – this thing I HATE, this HORRIBLE Dib creature I hate him, I hate him, I HATE HIM, I HATE HIM!
Suddenly Dib's whole body jolts again as from an electric shock yet this time he gasps. Overcoming his astonishment – and inexpressible joy - Zim seizes the boy and immediately puts the mask over the earthling's gasping mouth. When he feels the painful fire of life fill his lungs, the human's eyes roll back in his head. A moan slips between his lips to join the tears tracing lines down the child's slender throat. The amber eyes roll in their sockets once more and drift closed into the nothingness of sleep.
Zim pulls the human close and wraps both arms about his shoulders. He's too exhausted to care about being so close to his enemy. If pride went before the fall, it's fallen farther and faster than anything in the Irken's life has.
He decides he doesn't care.