Author's Notes: I did it! I finally finished my first Zim fic! I'm so proud of me ^_^ Anyway, this is my first Zim fic, so go easy on me. Please? And I'd like to thank Vegetes for beta-reading this for me. This is the result of studying for a science test and angst. There is Zib in here, just 'cause I like the couple slightly more than Zim and Gaz. However, I promise that I WILL write a ZAGR once I get off my lazy butt ^_^
~*~
Title: The Way Things Are
Author: -Cerena Montanyu-
~*~
In a thousand years, everyone sees future so bright that sadness doesn't exist, only happiness, only happiness. All memories of hate, of war, of sadness are erased.
The only way that that will happen is if computers fused with the world, erasing the badness, replacing it with goodness, and we, its creators, were their prisoners. But it will only a matter of time before the seed of insanity is once again planted within the faulty generations, and the Keeper will once again be released. And I worked too hard to keep the world from one alien, from one race, from one unwanted future to have it end that way.
They call me crazy.
All I see in the future is darkness, is shadows. I see a world overrun by fear, by beings that do have that seed containing humanity, and yet they are not quite human. Normal, yet so abnormal, that it is parallel to our familiar creatures.
The Paranormal.
"And right where Dib's undone math sheet is, there was i nothing /i!!!"
I snap out of my reverie, looking back down on the sheet of math problems which they claim will help me in the future. But really, what do I care about exponents and their properties? Humanity's numbers will have dwindled down to practically nothing if I let that alien, Zim, run free.
Ms. Bitters is ranting in the background about how doomed we all are, doomed to die, and doomed not to die. At least someone sort of understands.
My classmates chitter behind me, exchanging useless pieces of gossip. Does it really contribute to our well-being if we know exactly who has a crush on who, and who dumped who? Of course, I'm not like them.
They say I'm insane.
They don't realize that the evidence is right in front of their noses, sitting in a desk in their own classroom. No, they'll belive anything. They'll believe his pathetic excuses. But, on the other hand, I sort of want to believe his excuse...
Zim sits three desks away from me, but distance doesn't matter. I'm watching his every move. I'm attracted to his every move...
Then again, I does /I it matter? The future's bleak, anyway. Will it actually be worse to be enslaved by an alien race?
No, I wipe that thought from my head. It will always be worse. We will be robbed of our ability to shape our future.
Then again, wasn't it always the past that destined our future? We're all destined to die. That's obvious, it's a fact many deny. But I've stared in the face of death many times over. And I'll do it again.
My mother... She's the one who started it all.
I can't remember her at all, even though she died when I was five, and I can recall memories from my third years. Dad claims that she died in a car crash in Pennsylvania. Gaz didn't dare to ask anything more. She's much too busy to care, anyway. She stopped caring years ago.
But only I know the truth. It was always me.
Mom drove out one day to run some errands in Pennsylvania. She never came back, Dad told me. "Car crash." Right.
You might think I sound crazy...
But one day, in a fit of mischeif, I was browsing through Dad's files on Mom (You know... The usual letters and photos...) and it turns out that dear old Mom happened to stumble into a spiral wormhole. Spiral wormholes are very complex (although the idea of it is simple enough to grasp). Trying to keep this simple enough to understand, Mom... Ceased to exist. Gaz and I would've disappeared also, if it weren't for my dad. He tempered with the time line somehow (haven't figured out how yet) and so here we are, we that shouldn't exist but do.
Ever since then, I've been striving to understand how, why it is that cruel fate took that twist the way it did. One thing kind of got into another, and here I am, a boy with an extensive knowledge of math, science, and the paranormal.
That's one reason, anyway.
When I meet people for the first time, usually they go into great detail about their great past. A past with sunshine and rainbows...
A past with Christmases where Santa Claus actually came, a past where dreams were preserved, not broken.
A past filled not with loneliness and tears, but with friends and smiles.
A past I never had, in short.
A past which was never normal, and probably never will be. The next best thing is the not normal, the reflection of normal. Paranormal.
I sigh, interrupting my thoughts and look down on my math sheet. I grudgingly scrawl the answers down, knowing that they're correct. I shouldn't waste my time doing things below my intelligence, but that's the way Ms. Bitters is.
The way things are.
"Class is over. Go home now!" Ms. Bitters slides out the door, escaping the horde of ectastic school children. Zim follows the rest of them, trying to blend in, but really failing miserably. If only they knew...
I pick up my books, and head for the door.
I've seen counselors. They all say the same thing. I like the paranormal because "it's a way of running from my past." I like the paranormal because "it's the only way to hide my fears." And they all agree on the outcome: I have phobophobia. Fear of fear, the ultimate paradox.
I shake my head, still trudging towards the door.
No, I know fear. I know it well. But it's not that feeling of fear that I'm afraid of, in fact, I rather relish it. It makes me forget reality for that split second. But no, I'm afraid of being so different that I'll cease to exist, like my mother, who's memories only live on in her children and her husband.
No, I'm afraid of being forgotten, we all are. I'm afraid of a future so twisted that all of my work will have been for nought, just another freak with a dark past. Another freak who shouldn't exist.
I reach the door and look back, at that cold, empty blackboard.
I want to be remembered. At least in the heart of one person...
Oh, but I am. I will always be remembered, whether as a freak, brother, son, or arch nemisis. I'll at least be remembered in the heart of the one I love, whether I want to admit it or not.
I love Zim. I always have, I always will.
But I can't take the strain of living any longer, knowing that I have no purpose. There's no need for me. But I'll still live on, at least, in the memories of others.
I'll finally be happy...
My hands shaking, I stare grimly at the blackboard, slowly approaching. I clasp the chalk, squeaking as I wrote my life story in just six lines.
"If I were to be wiped off the face of Earth,
And my name to disappear from books forever.
If I were to have existed, but now never had existed,
Would you remember me, my name?
For there's nothing to fear, but fear,
And it is the fear of being forgotten."
I hesitate for a minute, before scrawling my signature and slipping a note in Zim's desk.
I walk out the door, my heart lifting.
I'm finally free...
~*~
Ending Notes: Did you like it? Do you have any suggestions? Did you hate it? Please review. All flames will be used to makes smores.
~*~
Title: The Way Things Are
Author: -Cerena Montanyu-
~*~
In a thousand years, everyone sees future so bright that sadness doesn't exist, only happiness, only happiness. All memories of hate, of war, of sadness are erased.
The only way that that will happen is if computers fused with the world, erasing the badness, replacing it with goodness, and we, its creators, were their prisoners. But it will only a matter of time before the seed of insanity is once again planted within the faulty generations, and the Keeper will once again be released. And I worked too hard to keep the world from one alien, from one race, from one unwanted future to have it end that way.
They call me crazy.
All I see in the future is darkness, is shadows. I see a world overrun by fear, by beings that do have that seed containing humanity, and yet they are not quite human. Normal, yet so abnormal, that it is parallel to our familiar creatures.
The Paranormal.
"And right where Dib's undone math sheet is, there was i nothing /i!!!"
I snap out of my reverie, looking back down on the sheet of math problems which they claim will help me in the future. But really, what do I care about exponents and their properties? Humanity's numbers will have dwindled down to practically nothing if I let that alien, Zim, run free.
Ms. Bitters is ranting in the background about how doomed we all are, doomed to die, and doomed not to die. At least someone sort of understands.
My classmates chitter behind me, exchanging useless pieces of gossip. Does it really contribute to our well-being if we know exactly who has a crush on who, and who dumped who? Of course, I'm not like them.
They say I'm insane.
They don't realize that the evidence is right in front of their noses, sitting in a desk in their own classroom. No, they'll belive anything. They'll believe his pathetic excuses. But, on the other hand, I sort of want to believe his excuse...
Zim sits three desks away from me, but distance doesn't matter. I'm watching his every move. I'm attracted to his every move...
Then again, I does /I it matter? The future's bleak, anyway. Will it actually be worse to be enslaved by an alien race?
No, I wipe that thought from my head. It will always be worse. We will be robbed of our ability to shape our future.
Then again, wasn't it always the past that destined our future? We're all destined to die. That's obvious, it's a fact many deny. But I've stared in the face of death many times over. And I'll do it again.
My mother... She's the one who started it all.
I can't remember her at all, even though she died when I was five, and I can recall memories from my third years. Dad claims that she died in a car crash in Pennsylvania. Gaz didn't dare to ask anything more. She's much too busy to care, anyway. She stopped caring years ago.
But only I know the truth. It was always me.
Mom drove out one day to run some errands in Pennsylvania. She never came back, Dad told me. "Car crash." Right.
You might think I sound crazy...
But one day, in a fit of mischeif, I was browsing through Dad's files on Mom (You know... The usual letters and photos...) and it turns out that dear old Mom happened to stumble into a spiral wormhole. Spiral wormholes are very complex (although the idea of it is simple enough to grasp). Trying to keep this simple enough to understand, Mom... Ceased to exist. Gaz and I would've disappeared also, if it weren't for my dad. He tempered with the time line somehow (haven't figured out how yet) and so here we are, we that shouldn't exist but do.
Ever since then, I've been striving to understand how, why it is that cruel fate took that twist the way it did. One thing kind of got into another, and here I am, a boy with an extensive knowledge of math, science, and the paranormal.
That's one reason, anyway.
When I meet people for the first time, usually they go into great detail about their great past. A past with sunshine and rainbows...
A past with Christmases where Santa Claus actually came, a past where dreams were preserved, not broken.
A past filled not with loneliness and tears, but with friends and smiles.
A past I never had, in short.
A past which was never normal, and probably never will be. The next best thing is the not normal, the reflection of normal. Paranormal.
I sigh, interrupting my thoughts and look down on my math sheet. I grudgingly scrawl the answers down, knowing that they're correct. I shouldn't waste my time doing things below my intelligence, but that's the way Ms. Bitters is.
The way things are.
"Class is over. Go home now!" Ms. Bitters slides out the door, escaping the horde of ectastic school children. Zim follows the rest of them, trying to blend in, but really failing miserably. If only they knew...
I pick up my books, and head for the door.
I've seen counselors. They all say the same thing. I like the paranormal because "it's a way of running from my past." I like the paranormal because "it's the only way to hide my fears." And they all agree on the outcome: I have phobophobia. Fear of fear, the ultimate paradox.
I shake my head, still trudging towards the door.
No, I know fear. I know it well. But it's not that feeling of fear that I'm afraid of, in fact, I rather relish it. It makes me forget reality for that split second. But no, I'm afraid of being so different that I'll cease to exist, like my mother, who's memories only live on in her children and her husband.
No, I'm afraid of being forgotten, we all are. I'm afraid of a future so twisted that all of my work will have been for nought, just another freak with a dark past. Another freak who shouldn't exist.
I reach the door and look back, at that cold, empty blackboard.
I want to be remembered. At least in the heart of one person...
Oh, but I am. I will always be remembered, whether as a freak, brother, son, or arch nemisis. I'll at least be remembered in the heart of the one I love, whether I want to admit it or not.
I love Zim. I always have, I always will.
But I can't take the strain of living any longer, knowing that I have no purpose. There's no need for me. But I'll still live on, at least, in the memories of others.
I'll finally be happy...
My hands shaking, I stare grimly at the blackboard, slowly approaching. I clasp the chalk, squeaking as I wrote my life story in just six lines.
"If I were to be wiped off the face of Earth,
And my name to disappear from books forever.
If I were to have existed, but now never had existed,
Would you remember me, my name?
For there's nothing to fear, but fear,
And it is the fear of being forgotten."
I hesitate for a minute, before scrawling my signature and slipping a note in Zim's desk.
I walk out the door, my heart lifting.
I'm finally free...
~*~
Ending Notes: Did you like it? Do you have any suggestions? Did you hate it? Please review. All flames will be used to makes smores.