Secondly: it's disclaimer time! Yay! All Tak-ness belongs to Jhonen. I'm just stealing her for a while. Zim and everyone else all belong to Jhonen, too. Whoot! Go, Jhonen!
Now, to prepare you all for seriousness...
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The Invasion
Fragments of a world
Dissolving from my eyes
Shards of my insanity
Scattered in my mind
You are my nightmare
My vision of pure hate
Killing my disheartened soul
And stealing back my light
Leave me to my insanity
And my enveloping dark
As the last sliver of my life
To die begins to start...
She set the pen down, studying over the freshly-inked words. Something about them didn't seem quite right. Perhaps the stanzas were too run together; or maybe some of the lines didn't have enough syllables. She rapped her pen in against the soft cushiony blanket in accord to the beat of the work, scanning it over quickly. Disheartened, she found nothing, no last-minute changes she could make. She raised her soft violet eyes upwards, looking at the small digital clock hanging above her bed. It was nearly nighttime, and parents would soon be home from their work. The poem would have to do.
Frankly, she was happy that her parents had been taking such an interest in her writing. She had no siblings, after all, so she couldn't show her poetry to anyone else, but she had read in a magazine that a developing authoress should always have someone check over their work for them. Her parents were very keen on this, always going on about what a gift the teenager had. Normally, as the praise-craving girl that she was, she would have enjoyed this, but lately her parents (and mother especially) had been pressuring her for more and more poetry. So, each afternoon after her daily training at the local school, she would write out a little poem and hand it to her parents when they returned from their workplace. They both got back at the same time, so this was not generally a problem. She had grown used to it, but it was a little frustrating. They couldn't seem to understand that she couldn't just write poetry, it had to come from somewhere, and lately, her schoollife had just been exhausing her muse.
She listened in for the sound of the returning autobus that always dropped her father off around that time. Her mother's bus would be just trailing it. It seemed to be running late that day. Clambouring out of her bed, she paused and admired herself in her full-length mirror-screen. She had only just recently become a teenager (a scant three years, making her only sixteen), but already her body was beginning to show it. Her legs were long and thin, her waist narrow and her arms skrawny. Oh, how she hated those arms. She was, however, especially pleased with her upperbody. Her face was crisp and clean, and she admired her bright green flesh. Of course, she could never look as beautiful as Tallest Miyuki, but she was still happy with how she looked. She stood erect, trying to make herself look taller. She was growing; her clothes were several inches too short for her now. She was rather pleased with that, too, even if it meant buying a whole new wardrobe for herself. Yes, most girls at her age looked clumsy and awkward -- and it wasn't as though she was any exception, however, she was incredibly proud of her height and balence. Now, if only she could do something about her skrawny arms...
Her antenna were just beginning to curl around, as they did with all girls her age. Her mother said it showed that she was becoming a woman. She flicked them in front of her face, wrapping a finger around the loose spiral. "Don't play with it, it will curl on it's own," her mother would always say to her. She gave a disgruntled sigh, pushing her antenna back, trying to fight the urge to curl it herself. Her reflection was something akin to an enemy whenever she noticed her antenna. She blinked, and took a step back from the mirror-screen. A minute ago, she was frustrated, and second ago, she had been happy, but now she was angry. It was an odd feeling, these surging emotions. Her father said that it was natural, and that she was supposed to have these mood swings. She didn't like that. She almost wished that she could just somehow turn into an adult Irken and be done with it, but she knew that it just wouldn't work that way. Although, she was thankful that she had passed through her smeet stage. That was an age she never wanted to repeat, always feeling so short and awkward around the adults -- even her parents. Now, she was even taller than her father! Her parents always joked with her that someday, she might even be the next Tallest and overthrow Miyuki. Of course, she was certain that that wouldn't happen -- most Irkens had already hit their growth spurts at her age, so it wasn't likely that she would get to be any taller.
She picked up the poem from her bed cover. It was odd, really, that she be given a bed. Her parents had none, and she rarely used it herself anymore. It was getting to be too small for her new height, anyway. As a younger smeet, she required a lot of sleep, though. Her mother had told her that as she got older, she eventually wouldn't need to sleep at all, just like the rest of the adults. She rather liked the prospect of that, and found that as a teenager, sleep was slowing her life down. Already, though, she was staying up whole nights with no ill effects, and that meant she was that much closer to becoming a true Irken woman.
She grinned to herself, picking up the sound of the returning bus. It was just approaching the curb outside their dwelling. She rushed over to the window screen, smiling proudly. Her father stepped out of the bus, and, upon noticing his daughter in the window, waved to her. She waved back. Her father's bus travelled on, but he remained standing at the curb. He would wait there for his wife, the Irken girl knew. She opened up the automated door to her bedroom quarters, and it swung open with a 'whooshing' sound. Her tight shoes, about a size too small for her, pinched her toes, making her wince slightly as she ran down to greet her parents.
The two suns shone down brightly outside, despite the fact that they were already steadily sinking beneath the horizon line. The Irken girl smiled widely, sucking in a deep breath of fresh air. Although she had not been around for it, her parents had told her of a time when everything had run on magma fuel, pumped out from the core of Irk. This form of fuel filled the air with soot and smoke, making the planet seem dirty and hard to live in. She was glad that the Control Brains had figured out a way to stop using the polluting fuel. Now, most everything ran on wires and electricity that the power cores supplied.
Night was approaching quickly, purple streaks dancing across the sky that chased the suns like ribbons. Faint outlines of distant stars were beginning to make their presense known against the darkening background. Her mother's bus arrived on the curb, and the teenaged Irken girl watched from her front porch step as her father helped her mother off of the bus. Their mouths met, and greeted each other with a warm kiss. She couldn't help but smile to herself. It had only been a few years ago that she would have frowned in disgust at the open display of her parent's love, but now she was happy that they had such love for each other. It was just another way she had grown and matured over the years.
Her father was tall and strong, with bright but pastel green eyes. He held his wife's hand gently as the pair made their way back to the house. Her mother was slightly smaller, she had ruby red eyes with long eyelashes. Her arms were thin and tiny (probably where she got them from), but she had a suprising amount of strength. She had found this out the hard way, after asking her mother to spar with her for practice for an upcoming school training event. Her mother rested her head upon her husband's shoulder, smiling gently. Her antenna wrapped around her fathers, forming a second way of holding hands as they moved down the walk.
The Irken girl waved, a grin splitting her face. Both parents looked up, returning the gesture. The little Irken took off running, meeting her parents about halfway down the walk. "Mother! Dad! I finished it," she called, smiling as she gestured to the paper. They laughed; her father gave a nod of approval. He paper fluttered in the updraft, the refreshing breeze that always kicked up at nightfall.
"C'mere," he father chuckled, pulling her into a group hug. She playfully tried to resist, pulling away gently. "Oh, no you don't!" he laughed, tugging on her arm and eveloping her. Her mother followed suit, wrapping her arms around her daughter's thin torso. The Irken girl looked up, bright purple eyes flickering with joy. She managed to jump out of the hug, giggling her high-pitched laugh. Her mother gestured to the house, and the three headed for the door. They walked in, still clutching each other's hands. The girl shut the door, pressing her bare hand up against the DNA panel. The metal doors shut behind her.
"Now, let's see what you've got," her mother said to her, extending her two-fingered hand out to her daughter. She gave her the poem, however hesitent. Her mother and father both scanned over it, nodding as they read. Her father finished reading first, looking up at his daughter with approval.
"It's not quite finished yet," the girl whispered, kicking shyly at the tiled floor. Her mother smiled warmly at her.
"Oh, come on, honey, it's fine," she insisted.
"Yes, I like it. It's very good. In fact... I heard that Tallest Miyuki is accepting applications for an official writer for her data files. Maybe you could apply for the job! Working with the Tallest is a good way to climb the ladder, you know..." her father mused.
The data files -- big, chunky slabs of technology that were filled up with current event news. The teenager wasn't even sure why people wrote for them, no one ever read them again. They were simply stored away for future Irkens to read, and the likelyhood of even that wasn't good. Certainly not something she wanted to devote a lot of time to, let alone the rest of her life.
The Irken girl just shook her head softly, taking the poem back from her mother's hands. "You're going to write another tomorrow?" her mother asked, grinning at her. She gave a slight sigh, nodding. She couldn't disappoint her parents, and besides, writing poetry was something that she enjoyed immencely.
"Of course I will... if you want me too," she admitted.
"That's my girl," her father chuckled, wrapping his arm around her neck and rubbing the top of her head with his knuckles. She yelped happily, trying to pull out of his death-grip. "Oh, I almost forgot," he mentioned, letting her go. She slumped to the floor, then quickly regained her posture. Rubbing the side of her head, she tried to clear her thoughts. Her mother just chucked at her.
Her father had the habit of doing that with her. It had almost become a routine. Roughhousing with her, as her mother called it. The Irken girl always was more of a tomboy -- preferring to fight or to be in some form of compitition than the traditional "feminine" things. But she was, by no means, closer to her father than mother. She loved them both equally (or, as equally as she could get, anyway).
Watching her father in confusion, she studied his face as he rushed over to the living room, returning with two large shopping bags. He seemed very happy, but also rather solemn. The girl stepped foreward, cocking her head.
"These are for you," her father smiled, setting down the bags at her feet.
"We bought them together, just for you," her mother added, "and we hope you like them."
The girl lifted up the contents of the first bag. It was a sparkling box, decorated with glitter and ribbon. She looked over at her parents, disbelieving. They simply nodded, urging her on. Taking care not to damage the box, she set it down on the floor, then scrambled to hr hands and knees to undo the ribbon. She lifted the lid, setting it aside. Inside the box, a pair of black, shiny boots lay atop a purple and black ensemble. The girl yelped with joy, leaping to her feet and enveloping her parents in a hug.
"Well, don't just stand there, try them on!" her father joked. The Irken teenager quickly removed her older, tight shoes, and pulled up the new boots. They fit perfectly. She snapped the buckles into place, adjusting them accordingly.
Grinning improbibly, she lifted her head. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" she squealed.
"Don't worry, it was no problem. Actually, it's about time you got a new outfit. You're growing, after all, and a girl should wear comfortable clothes," her mother offered, "You can wear the new clothes tomorrow to school."
The Irken looked down. There was still another bag. She plunged into the bag curiously, withdrawing another box. This, too, was covered in glitter and ribbon. It, however, was composed of only gold and silver-coloured material. She undid the ribbon on that one as well, now incredibly confused. What else could they have possibly bought her? The box was suprisingly light and tiny, relitive to the shopping bag it had been in. She lifted the lid and gasped.
Attached to a thin chain, a tiny little golden locket sparkled in the falling sunlight. She lifted it carefully out of it's packaging, as though it were fragile glass. Upon the front of the locket, her name was inscribed. Carefully opening the golden heart-shape, inside she found pictures of her mother and father.
"You're getting older now," her father began solemnly, "and you'll have to leave us and get a life on your own."
"This is so you won't forget us," her mother offered.
The girl looked up at them, tears brimming in her violet eyes. She carefully pinned the locket around her tiny neck, then rose to her feet. She looked at them both, trying hard not to cry. A small smile cracked on her face, and she rushed over and hugged both her parents again.
"I'd never forget you," she whispered, buring her face into their clothes. "I love you. I would never, ever forget. ...thank you." tears rolled down her cheeks; she choaked out a sob. Warm arms wrapped around her, pulling her closely.
The girl had often heard that If you had to do anything you didn't really want to, time would seem to crawl. The opposite, of course, was also true. Anything that you really enjoyed would seem to take far less time than it really did. Believing that the assertion was true, she may have stood there just being held by her parents for hours, but it only felt like a fraction of a second before she felt them release her. She pulled back and let her arms drop to her sides, still crying.
"We know, honey," her father began, smiling warmly at her, "we just want you to remember our faces when you grow up, that's all," he added as a joke. She laughed quietly, happy that her parents thought so well of her.
"Now," her mother began, "hadn't you best be getting to work on your homework?" The teenager groaned, but nodded. She thanked her parents again, and gathered up all the ribbon that had been lying on the floor. She would go back up to her room, but she really had no intention of doing her homework.
Just like her mother -- suggesting something practical like that. She really was the only voice of reason in the household, after all, so she really had to be focused that way. The Irken girl heaved a sigh.
She took the compression elevator back up to her bedroom, clutching the locket protectively in her claw-like hand. The elevator stopped outside of the hallway, where her quarters were located. She stepped foreward, opening the door and shutting it behind her. She tossed the boxes and ribbon down on her bed. The bag opened as it hit the comforter, strewing bits of ribbon over it. She didn't plan to sleep that night, anyway, so it didn't particularily matter. She set her new clothes out on the edge of the bed, smiling as she unfolded her new shirt. It was a greyish purple colour, with a bright Irken design in the middle. Her pants were dark black, matching the rest of the outfit perfectly. She giggled to herself. She rarely got gifts, despite the fact that her parents were failry well-off. Her father believed that their love would be the best gift, and insisted that he and his wife not "spoil" their daughter by getting her a lot of expencive things.
She paused in front of her mirror-screen, admiring her locket. It sparkled brightly. She lifted up the heart, studying the words carefully. Her parents had gotten it engraved with her name.
Tak Miex Miyen.
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Crystal: Ahehe...it's so short. (hides under her computer chair) Sorry about that. The next one SHOULD be longer. Please note, before you click the review button (and you will, I'm sure nn;;) like I mentioned before...I HAVE DONE MY RESEARCH. I ALREADY KNOW about everything that is "wrong" in this chapter. It will be "fixed" in later chapters. Just please be patient, and wait for me to show you what I'm doing. I allow (but don't encourage) flames, but don't flame me for that reason. Please? Okay, now...REVIEW! nn;; You will review for me, yes? Poke the little purple button...unless you have a bad screen and it happens to be the little green button...