Author's Note

Thanks to those who are continuing or starting to read this. I hope you like it. R&R

"Excuse me, can you repeat that again young lady?" my boss, Miss Gili, repeated a squinty eye staring at me with golden accents. Other than her PAK and typical Irken writer uniform she looked barely like an Irken, still like an alien, but a different race. Her wavy, short antennae, bright yellow-gold eyes, and straight teeth made her look more human than anything.

"I said, I would like to do a book about the Former Invader Zim." I answered back, bored, for about the fifth time.

Hey eyes seemingly darted but she maintained a smile nonetheless.

"Dear, you do remember what we discussed about saying his name around here."

I rolled my eyes but returned politely, "Yes I know about Rule 13457 Code 97683 Subject: mention of Zim's name to be strictly frowned upon and be dealt with by consequences. But Ms. Gili, it's just not right how they treat someone who is long gone. It's not right. And I think Zim's name should be revived in a more appreciative tone!" Many others around me gasped under their breath but I ignored them, I knew I was right.

"Oh. My dear, -. I really do love your strong sense of justice, but among these grounds, Zim is and always will be a menace. Dead or alive. I'm sorry, but that's how it is. And you can't change it. Do you understand?" her bony palm folded into mine.

Sighing I replied, pressing firmly to her hand, "I don't ma'am. And I'm going to do this, permission or not."

I shot straight up and stormed out ignoring the mutters behind me. Glancing back briefly before pushing open the large glass doors to the writer's headquarters I saw Miss Gili, her golden ocular implants lowered a shade as she watched me go, sadly. Feeling angry at myself suddenly, I flung the doors open and slammed them shut, tears welling up in my eyes, "Oh dear God, help Irk."

I sat at my desk in my house staring at a family photo, my dad, Ex-Invader John, my mom a maid/worker for the Tallests, my sisters Angiela, worked for the Irken Forensics Association as a class one graduate, and Amanda the rebellious but sweet house mom for a newborn smeet, Malikai with his father, Tavares, a technician who boarded the Massive every random now and then for work that paid well enough to support his family. And there I was a writer/artist… but mostly… a secret defect.

Ever since smeethood I had wanted to be either one, writer or artist of course. My friend's, who came rare but when they did, came loyal and true to me, said my drawings were outstanding and close to exactly like the original artists. I'm not at all good at realistic, but sure as heck good at cartoon styles. Then came my writing abilities, my family embraced my vivid imagination and my friends shrugged it off as a childish phase. I don't mind though, after 13 years I'm use to the abuse from my fellow academates. It took way too many lies, way too many lies, way too many lost friendships, way too many broken hearts, way too many heartless relationships that seemed to be perfect but drove at me like a knife, leaving scars that I was aware would last a lifetime.

I growled, slapping the frame off my picture and sketch scattered desk involuntarily. As soon as I realized what I had done I picked up the photo and placed it back in place. I had to calm down and soon before Dad returns home from work. I don't like worrying my father. He already does so much for me and at my current middle academy I had learned how to mask my feelings in my voice in forensics. Not science forensics, but acting out books and poetry forensics. I had a great teacher; she was very firm, truthful, and enjoyable at the same time and made me feel like I was worth something on this God-forsaken planet.

Anyways… Dad came home shortly after with Mom.

"Hey, -." He smiled as we embraced, I could smell his strong and confident aroma.

"Hey, daddy." I replied hoping he would never let me go, in his arms I felt safe, like nothing would happen to me. Then I realized my word choice, no Irken was to call their parental units anything other than, Mother unit and Father Unit. I don't care though; my family isn't like other Irkens. And I completely accept and encourage that.

The next morning I was woken up by dad, it was Sunday, time for Studies. But to me and my family Studies, was more than what it sounded like, it was sooo much more.