Why do I keep writting things that make me cry?! ;_; I don't have depression-really! D:
Anyway, this was mildly inspired by a clip of a movie I saw- I believe it was called 'Marshain boy' (Not sure how to spell marshian) I just felt sad for the little kid hiding in the box and it went from there.
I'll work on 'My Tallest' eventually. I have almost no ideas for it now though. :/ Please suggest things for it if you follow it.
As for this, the rating is just to be safe. It's more ZADF but I won't stop you from seeing it as light ZADR if you want.
Enjoy! Please read and review!))
Grey. Cloudy. Softly but firmly opressive. Like a forced ending, a knowledge that you have to simply give up and let it all fade black. Life fade to death.
To those watching someone effected by that, there would perhaps be an added sense of urgency- to save them. But to the effected, there is only the painful surrender to an end. It is hard for them to hear the calls from outside, because by definition, their surrender robs them of their hope, which robs their senses of the ability to perceive the world beyond their own misery, and be able to recognize the deeply wanted sympathy, comfort, and help truly being offered. They don't believe in such things anymore.
Grey-black. Dark, thick, heavy clouds. It would start to rain soon, the factory-smog-dirtied-water-drops darkening everything, washing and blurring and fogging. Circle of life. One thing into another, rebirth, all of that.
One irken invader wasn't going to let it happen though, and was running down the road with a desperate intent to make his call heard, and throw a brick in the system.
Stupid, smelly, ugly earth monkey! How dare he let this happen when it was about to rain?! Zim was going to get all wet thanks to him! Good thing he had paste...
He was close now. The tracking device he held was beeping furiously and its compass needle pointed in... THAT direction.
A large cardboard box on the side of the road.
Well, that could be taken as good or bad. The boy was at least, -hopefully- not dead yet, the ally didnt smell of decaying flesh, and Dib had perhaps enough sense to seek shelter from the rain. That was something.
~•~
The cardboard didn't have much solid substance to it. It was thin, stained from dampness and sagging, but when Zim tapped it lightly with his knuckles, like knocking on a door, it was noticed. Enhanced, red, alien eyes, hidden beneath contacts that made them look almost human, noticed movement inside through a hole. A dark, animated shape huddling deeper into itself in a corner.
A hidden antenna twitched as a personal scent reached them over the threat of rain and reek of smog. Dib. The human smelled of fear and... What Zim could only describe as a lack of reason. Insanity.
Poor, primitive beast.
Despite everything... The boy didn't deserve this.
Swallowing pride as instructed by a confusing instinct, Zim bent his knees to crouch closer to the dirty, ally concrete.
What was he to do now?
He cleared his throat, going with the first thing that came to mind.
"Uhm, let Zim in human."
It came out with a weird tone variation, having started as a question and ended as a demand when Zim's ego backhanded him for being too polite.
The sound of rubbing fabric came from Dib's oversized jacket as he shifted inside his safe-house, nervous.
There was a long wait.
Then cold, pale white fingers scratched at, and slid under the rim of the box, lifting it up off the ground, just an inch, wavering with hesitance.
Zim reached out and his own two digits curled around the rim. Dib let go and scooted back further into his corner as the alien crawled inside with him.
The box was large and its inhabitants were rather small, so there was room for both of them to sit indian style, uncomfortably on the hard ground, but without touching each other. Zim idly wondered what their makeshift house had originally been intended to contain.
Then he looked over at Dib.
With the mild darkness that had enclosed them, Zim's night vision turned on and his eyes began to glow, becoming the only source of light besides a few holes in the walls.
The human sat with his arms draping down in front of his chest so his hands could pick at the muddy bottoms of his boots, for something to calm his twitchy mind.
His hair was a mess, it almost looked torn in a couple spots. His glasses blocked the view of his eyes, light reflecting off them. His cheekbones were more sunken then usual, his lips; dry, cracked, and bleeding, were forming an unfeeling strait line. His shoulders hunched, his coat bagging around his thin form- thinner then usual.
He was decorated with a few new, color-blotch bruises.
His breathing sounded less then healthy.
He smelled, 'not very good', to be polite, which Zim rarely was.
His backpack sat beside him, stuffed so it was a wonder the zipper had closed over its contains. Even so, what it contained couldn't be much, especially as it was all Dib had now.
From the look of Dib's midsection and ribcage, hidden under a shirt that nearly hung off him, he was either out of food or too frightened to eat if he had anything.
The fears connected to food, trying to stretch out meals as far as possible to keep alive longer... It was unknown to many humans, and sickeningly awful.
Purportedly, anyway. And one would imagine so...
"Dib?"
Zim was uncomfortable. Not claustrophobic, that was near impossible for his species, insectoid under-grounders that they were, but he didn't like this... Box. This stench. The MEANINGS.
Dib being lowered to this, and the vomit inducing, crushing, sense of sheer opression closing in from all four walls and the ceiling and floor with them.
The sadness. The misery.
Unwanted. Confused. Not good enough. Surrender. The rotting stench of a dying will to survive.
A parent unit wasn't supposed to treat their offspring like Dib's father did. Neglecting, then abandoning him for whatever reason...
Dib didn't look up.
The glasses reflected off light, but Zim felt those near animalistic eyes beaten into shape by a fight to live growing in difficulty, he felt those eyes on him. A feeling that chilled his insides, like a frozen unknown beast watching, motives unknown, hopefully because they were yet undecided and not because they were hidden until the right moment to strike out.
Preposterous.
That was just his own, carnivorous instincts talking.
Well, he had the human's attention. But what should he say now? Trust. He would need trust. He'd need to build at least a foundation for it, lay down the right beams and blocks, gently, in their own, comfortable places.
Zim didn't know how to build trust. He could try though.
But so many thoughts and questions kept buzzing, distracting him with hummingbird colors.
How long had Dib been out here? Three to five days, but how many exactly? Today was Wednesday, but he hadn't been to school Monday forward. When had he been kicked out? Monday? Sunday? Saturday?... Friday evening maybe even?
Poor earthling. Sad, abused little creature-pet. Not good enough for those who had power over his life and discarded.
In that last point, both cardboard roommates had something in common.
Red, alien eyes caught on a shining, rainbow of pastel colors, a crayon box, falling out of one of the sections of Dib's backpack.
He'd packed himself a box of crayons.
Zim's chest ached.
Dib was still just a child.
Another assortment of color caught his eyes a moment later, and it was as if a light had been shone on the wall behind the earthling, in highlight of several scrawled depictions.
On Dib's right was a simple picture of a house. Gaz was there, alone, not a stick-figure Gaz, but a childishly drawn yet easily depicted Gaz. She looked angry, or upset, and was playing her gameslave.
Off to one side of the house were tall city buildings. Zim saw an equally tall, white-coated human, emotionless and pointing decidedly away from the house, to a place where Dib was. Black crayon had surrounded little-drawing-Dib with shadows, and he looked sad, a blue tear on one of his cheeks.
Above their house was someone Zim hadn't seen before, and almost failed to notice. A faint picture of a woman dressed in white, with Gaz's hair. She was flying with angel wings, a halo over her head. She looked at the Dib-drawing with compassion, but was too far away to reach him. There was a line drawn between her wrist and a tombstone.
Zim had never met Dib's mother, he realised, and suddenly felt a sinking weight in his spooch.
He opened his mouth to try to speak again, but there was another drawing on the other side of Dib.
Little-drawing-Dib hung upside down over dark, black spikes, a string tied around his ankle suspended him over that fate. The string went up, to become the line of a fishing rod.
Zim's throat clenched.
A depiction of him, in all his green skinned, red uniformed recognibility, sat on the edge of a cliff, legs dangling off comfortably, hands holding the fishing rod that could either pull Dib up or drop him to become impaled.
Well, apparently he hadn't been far from Dib's mind.
Why hadn't the human come to him for help then though, rather then Zim having to come out so far and deep to find him?
Maybe he'd been too hurt to think of it, and when he did stop to think he was already lost in the unforgiving city.
Silence reigned in the box kingdom.
Then Zim picked up the crayon box.
Dib actually moved his head to look up at Zim, as the irken started to draw on the wall across from the human.
A cute, turquoise house, with unearthly proportions, just like something out of a childish drawing which it was now becoming.
Out in the yard stood the irken, tall and proud. Beside him he gently, slowly, perfectly, drew up another little-drawing-Dib. This Dib was happy. Because drawing-Zim was holding his hand.
On the other side of little-drawing-Dib was a smiling robot, with pretty, light blue eyes. He was holding the boy's hand also. Minimoose floated over him.
They were all very happy, with big smiles.
Real Dib stared at the drawing, then turned to Zim with a sense of desperation. The irken could feel the air trembling along with the earthling's body. Pained and tense.
"You should come home with Zim.
Zim misses you.
And I don't like seeing Dib so sad."
~•~
The alien's house was warm. The sofa was comfortable. The TV was a quiet background noise that held Gir's attention as he sat beside his master and the human he called Mary or big-head-boy.
Zim smelled nice. He was warm, and firm, holding up and not crumbling away to dust, something secure Dib could cling to. He lay on the couch, crying into the alien, letting out his hurt while Zim tenderly ran his claws through the earthling's hair. He didn't know what this human smeet was to him. But he knew he was endeared to the pale-skinned-creature. He couldn't let him die. Couldn't let him hurt.
He let Dib cry into him, sobbing, wailing inarticulately. He let him, so it would fully pass, and he could reintroduce the boy to happiness after.
Outside it was dark, and raining. Thunder rumbled distant and quiet. But the tears from the sky would not make Dib fade away.