~Writing welcomes with open arms, whispering how long I've waited for our sweet reunion. I know no bounds, no test of time. I am, I have always been, I will always be. I am here, though you come and go, I am here. Welcome home, sweet lover, welcome. Consummate our reunion, bathe in the blissful words and patterns you know so well. Welcome home. October 14, 2015.
Crimson eyes stare hazily into the hungry red eye of the camera poised above his head. Watching him. Recording him. Eager for what he might exhibit in his last moments. Do they know these are his last moments? Perhaps. Perhaps they have no idea what they've done. They never seem to. The capacity of understanding within the common human mind is limited by past experiences and unfounded expectations.
How long now? His antennae pick up the minute ticking of his PAK, only five feet from him yet a lifetime away, ticking away in time with the dying pulses of his weak, ineffective heart. So reliant is his species on their technology that their bodies know not how to survive without it anymore. It would be better, his kind thought. We would be better. Stronger. Smarter. Merging organic with mechanic to become something so much more than meat. Yet what have they done but to bring themselves down to provisory, needy creatures. The humans are quickly moving on the same path his own kind found so long ago and he smiles ever so slightly though it is terribly tragic. If only they knew. But humans do not learn from others' mistakes. They do not even learn from their own. It'll be just another page in the history books, if not their downfall altogether. They're already so reliant on their medications and drugs and machines. Noses shoved in their phones as they shove edible propaganda down their greedy, needy throats.
Three minutes. How long now? Maybe two, maybe one. He closes his eyes, turning his face from the ever-watchful camera. Harder to breathe. That sweet oxygen reserve running low. Slowly suffocating. Not long now. He opens his eyes to look at his PAK. Simple, stupid thing yet so important to his life. Ridiculous. He envies the humans, at least, for being able to live without such a thing, though it really is remarkable. The engine powers his next-to-worthless body, giving him the energy to exist, circulating his blood as his heart can no longer do on its own, purifying the air around him and delivering the oxygen directly to the bloodstream. Incredible. His kind has poisoned their planet's air beyond salvation and this simple machine takes it in and adjusts it for his system. Amazingly, this planet's air is near polluted enough to choke it's inhabitants and they have yet to develop a survival system of their own. This species won't last long, not at this rate.
Zim closes his eyes again as the darkness creeps forward on his vision, head fuzzing and muffling his thoughts. His antennae twitch at a sound but he doesn't bother to look. Not important, not right now anyways. Maybe when he wakes up from this little nap he's sliding into, then he will be more interested.