Chewing On Barbed Wire
I look up at Ms. Bitters. Her nose wrinkles as I answer to my name on the role call. It's best if I don't open my mouth at all. I know that my bovine voice cuts through people, and the sour, rancid stench of the food caught on my braces could strip paint. That's the reason I don't speak. The reason I'm an outcast. I know this, and so much more. I know about him.
I watch people, I know about people, and I know about the odd, green kid that sits at the front of the class. Zim. He's no kid. At the moment he's attaching some kind of rocket to a pencil. How can they not see him? But of course, I know that as well. They're too busy talking to their friends. If I had a friend, I wouldn't notice either. And to think that he himself considered me as a friend. As a disguise, of course. Yes, I see all and I know all. How cliché.
He points the pencil-rocket at Keef, and pressed the eraser. The lead shoots into Keef's ear, and he slumps onto his desk. Zim looks around, grinning. Nobody saw him. Apart from me, of course. But who would listen to me? Gretchen, the loser kid with the braces.
Perhaps he would. I look to the front, where he holds up a model of Zim and pulls a scalpel from his trench coat. He sticks the scalpel into the dummy's stomach and rips it across, revealing a set of alien organs. Because he sees too. Dib sees, he too has no friends, and he too watches Zim. But unlike me, he voices his opinion to this idiotic class. They don't listen to him. They wouldn't listen to me either. The bell rings for lunch, and as we trek out of the classroom, Zim trips up Dib. Most of the kids laugh. I wouldn't if I wanted too. I shouldn't open my mouth.
As we sit down in the cafeteria, Dib stares intently at Zim. I prod my food with a fork, which melts instantly. I sigh. All of the cafeteria food melts metal. That's why I can't even open my mouth here. Dib squirts his juice at Zim, who falls to the floor, writhing like a garden hose.
"See? See? Humans don't burn when you squirt them with juice!" Dib exclaims, and Zim drags himself to his feet.
"On the contrary, Dib-Stink, if you had this… Juice of Oranges… squirted in your face, it would hurt."
Dib snorts, unimpressed, and Zim seizes the juice box from his hand and blasts him in the face.
"ARGH! MY EYES!" Dib screams, running to the bathroom to find paper towels.
"Pathetic human eyes! Bwahahaha!" Zim crows, before adding quickly, "But not as pathetic as my own human eyes! See, 'cause I'm a human too. I'M NORMAL!"
How can they be satisfied with this? I have to speak up. I clear my throat and walk over to Zim.
"No you're not," I croak uncertainly.
Zim looks up sharply, and one eye narrows.
"Hmm? Hmm? You! Beast of meat with the robotic mouth! You dare question the Zim? I'm HUMAN, I tell's ya!"
"No… No you're not," I say defiantly, not used to using my voice so much. I hate it.
"HUMAN!"
"ALIEN!" I shout back, and slap my hands over my metallic teeth. I've never raised my voice before. Some people look round, and Dib comes back in from the bathroom. He looks over, and knows that Zim's doing something. He starts to walk over. This is my chance to tell him. I've tried before, you know. Carving 'I believe you' on Valentines meat slabs was the most recent attempt. Ignored, of course.
I turn to him.
"Dib!" I call, still uncomfortable with talking. He quickens his pace. "Dib, I belie…"
Zim slaps me in the face. Suddenly, I can't open my mouth. My teeth are locked together. I'm dimly aware of another weight in my mouth. Zim put a magnet in my mouth! A magnet! As I struggle to separate my heavy jaws, Zim laughs manically. Dib reaches us.
"Zim! You can't just slap Gretchen in the face," he says, but without conviction. "I'm on to you, Zim. I'll find out what you're planning."
As they go their separate ways, hurling insults at each other from across the room, I feel my eyes well up. I want to tell him that I believe him, that I know that Zim is an alien. But how can I speak out when I can't open my mouth? How can I say what I think when my teeth are stuck together? How can I have friends when my jaws are weighed down by steel bars?
Each and every day, I'm chewing on barbed wire.
AN
I've never written a POV for any character before, and I notice Gretchen doesn't get mentioned that much, so I thought I'd have something to work on.
Please review.