A/N: I wrote this story based on several comments Jhonen Vasquez made during the DVD commentary n the episode "Bestest Friend." He said that Gir is simply "trapped in a cute body" and only wants to die. This sparked an idea in my head, and thus,this story was born! I know this is a very strange and dark take on Gir, but I just wanted to depict him from a perspective closer to what Jhonen originally had in mind. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One: Where to Start?

I do not know where to start. The logical place would be at the beginning—the beginning of my existence. That would explain why I am who I am today. But that seems too ordinary, too mundane, and I am neither of those. So I will start at the ending—the ending of my existence.

~(*)~

It was a particularly normal winter day. Snow was falling down upon the roof that covered my head, and upon the city that lay beyond my quiet suburbs. Well, our suburbs, I should say. And they certainly were not always quiet. Anyways, today was nothing special. As I understood it, it was late December, only several days away from Christmas. My… master kept a calendar up in our kitchen which counted down the days until Christmas, starting with the number twelve. He loathed the holiday, after his attempt to teleport every human to the Massive to be enslaved—just another brilliant part of his mission.

Now, before I continue, I must say something in regards to my master: he was dumb, or at least very naïve. It had been seven years since we had first arrived here. For years I had been under the illusion that the mission the Tallest had given him was real, that he was truly supposed to be the conqueror of this planet. But over time, as I stood beside him and watched every one of his plans fail, or be thwarted by his dear friend with the big head, I realized that he would never complete his mission. At first, this concerned me. But then I remembered all his calls to the Tallest, reporting his latest attempts at conquering this "spinning ball of dirt." They never seemed to care that his plans failed; in fact, by the look in their eyes, it seemed to me like they were expecting his plans to fail. This caused me to deduce the truth: there was no mission—no real mission, anyways. The Tallest had lied to him. He was incompetent, and they knew that. I had always known that they hated him, but this realization made everything crystal clear. They had set him up to fail, so they would never have to deal with him again.

Anyways, now that that is established, back to that December day. I was sitting on the couch, watching The Scary Monkey Show. I was at peace with myself for once, as I had diverted all thoughts from my head; also, to keep them at bay, I had put on this mindless television show. When I first arrived on Earth, this show had been the one thing keeping me sane—well, sane enough. It had calmed me by erasing all thoughts from my head, which I needed to do if I was going to continue living. However, now it was like a drug. I had become addicted to it, with its mind-numbing qualities and pointlessness.

Once I had finally entered a blissful state of numbness, I leaned back on the couch, resting my metal head against the pink fabric. But it was not long before I heard an angry growl elicited from somewhere in the kitchen. I sat forward and looked into the other room, which had no door to separate itself from the living room. I regretted looking the moment I did. My cyan eyes caught sight of a very short, very angry green figure who looked prepared to strangle me. I just stared at him, an absent look on my face.

"GIR!" he screamed in his high-pitched voice. It was a voice that had always irked me, and I restrained myself—with much effort—from twitching my left eye at the sound of it. "Why aren't you guarding the house? Those horrid singing drones could arrive at any moment and bombard our house with disgusting yuletide carols!"

I internally sighed, thinking to myself that I was guarding the house, seeing as the front door was within my peripheral vision from my placement on the couch; therefore, I would notice if someone entered. I knew arguing with him was no use, though, so I decided to pretend as if I had not been paying attention.

"I wanna taco!" I screamed, causing my master to roll his eyes and shake his head in annoyance.

"Just do as I say, GIR!" he yelled. He then turned around and stormed away, disappearing from my view. I heard him open the lid of the trashcan next to the kitchen counter, which was actually an elevator down to his secret base. Then, I counted to twenty to ensure he was far enough below the main house that he would not be able to hear me.

"I feel like `splodin," I said to myself in my obnoxiously high-pitched, childlike voice. I hardly sounded anything like a threatening robot. But, then again, I wasn't designed to be such a thing—only to appear as one. Over the years, I had adjusted to speaking this way. At first I had only done it to divert people's attention from my misery, which worked remarkably well. But after a while, I decided to make it my permanent voice.

However, my voice was not the only annoying, overly-happy thing about me—it was my whole way of life. Nonetheless, it did obscure the truth from people, even though I am sure no one would have cared if I had expressed my true feelings; so, I ended up accepting it, just like my voice. I acted like I was a child with ADD, who was also incredible naïve and overly-excited about everything in life. While it did not kill the pain inside, it allowed for me to lead a simple existence, one of no true consequence. That is what I wanted, for when I left this world, I wanted no one to remember me. Of course, that would be impossible, seeing as I had been living with Zim… I mean, Master for seven years now. Also, I was sure his little friend Dib would notice if I were not around. Thinking of him made me think of his pretty sister, the scary girl with the violet hair. She had been so beautiful. The best moment of my life had been with her, when she danced with me. Ah, the memories…

That was one of the few happy moments I had ever had, and thinking about it awoke the rest of my memories. Luckily, I stopped myself along my train of thought before many of the bad ones flooded my brain. It had been seven years, seven miserable years of unbearable life. It needs to end, it has to end. It must end today; it must end now.

I wanted to shrug that thought off, as I had so many times before, but I could not. I just could not. Today was different; I did not know why, but it was. It seemed that for once a decision had been made, and so I forced myself to act upon it. It would be an early Christmas present to myself, and what a lovely one it would be.

I let the memories of my miserable life flash before my eyes, as fast and as slow as they wanted. When I found no more to view, I closed my eyes; however, I reopened them seconds later. I wanted to see this happen. I did not want to shy away from it, for I did not fear it. I briefly wondered if I should call out to Zim, to tell him to come watch this happen—to watch him lose his only companion, and the closest thing he had ever had to a friend. Nonetheless, I decided against it, as I probably would not get to see much of his face during the incident anyway.

I briefly closed my cyan blue eyes for the last time, giving myself enough time to prepare for what I was about to do. I opened them again, and stared straight ahead. I kept my vision in focus, not allowing my eyes to glaze over in blissful relief like I wanted to. I then activated the function in my wiring by thought.

And then I self-destructed.