Security Blanket
Monday, September 29th
The galaxy, how infinite and diverse a spectrum of beings, I'm just an ant, a lowly, depressed creepy-crawly; I pondered during the lunch hour and as jubilant children trotted and skipped to their puerile games of kickball and hopscotch. Might be nice, I thought, and instantaneously kicked a pile of mud, its little rocks and gook splattering across the pavement. Too damn shy, that's what I am unless I'm angry. Anguish doesn't make friends. And if it does, it's not a cult I'd like to follow. (Leader might be a nice position for me though…) I mean I'm above those stupid, immature sports, but that's not the point. They're conversing, those kids are having a good time, not even screaming or punching one another. If someone approached me, my doppelganger, more interested in the virtual worlds of fun and competition then perhaps a smile or two could be rendered out of me. The only one I know that half meets that criteria is that loser/lunatic Iggins. I mean what kind of name is that? Anyway…
I went into the grimy cafeteria, not to order any slop, but to see what was going on in there. Perhaps by luck there was some new, lonely kid in a corner collecting cybernetic coins on his Game Slave just begging to get whopped by another player. A glance around the ugly panorama and nope, not today. A too-giddy lunch lady spilled over a rack of food supplies upon turning. At first, I was annoyed by the slimy smudges the veggies left on my boot, but when wiping it up with a fresh napkin for some crazy reason the smashed peas reminded me of a certain foreign boy. It was his hue after all. This time, I strolled around in search of the Irken child. He could be entertaining at times with his wild, convoluted antics and spastic sputtering. No sign in there. Just out of curiosity I checked a janitor's closet. It was a space where evil, human-destroying plots could hatch, right? Not there either. Oh, well, off to unplug my Game Slave 2 from the charger now. (I said I couldn't play in school anymore, due to my grades, but that doesn't mean I can't revitalize the system up secretly in Mr. Meaner's biology class for the bus ride home.)
Two hours later, bored out of my mind, every level beaten thrice in Vampire Piggy Hunter and I was left to my own devices, school done, Dib and Dad out fulfilling their respective research. What to do, what to do, I thought to myself, sprawled out on my bed, kicking my feet in the air. I pulled myself from such a lounge, shrugging into my purple hoodie and zipped it up. I took myself around the block twice, listening to Nine Inch Heels on my GS2 to squander some time before stopping just short of my house, right at my eccentric neighbor's. I peeked briefly around the corner of his fence until I saw Zim carrying a few boxes outside. My curiosity was set aflame as a funeral pyre. "Gir, stop slacking, will you! Heh? Do you hear music coming from somewhere? Investigate!" the blue-eyed boy shouted to his poorly disguised robot companion, dropping the pastel pink boxes from his gloved hands.
"Oh, crap!" I scolded myself in a whisper, scouring for the pause button on the gaming/mp3 device. I pulled the hoodie over my face and pushed in my headphones as to look ignorant.
"Gir, watchdog mode! Ah, what's the point? Useless SIR unit…"
Zim patrolled the plot of his front lawn theatrically as I leaned to his fence. If I skirted across the street or the gap in posts there's no doubt in my mind he'll catch me spying.
Too late.
Swiveling his head briskly to the outer right side of the fence, he proclaimed, "Earth girl, what brings you to my glorious domain? Can you not see that you're trespassing on my property?"
I just smirked. He was so unthreatening it hurt to look at his practiced combat stances and slouched demeanor. No one can win a fight looking like that.
"Nu-uh! I'm on the sidewalk, which is public property, Zim. You'd know that if you paid a little less attention to yourself," I teased.
He snorted irritably, an eyelid quivered; his jaw clenched though his fists loosened.
"Scary human, I knew that. I was just making sure you knew your place, is all. Why not gawk at such a beautiful creation as I? I-"
"I? Since when don't you refer to yourself in third person? It's always 'Zim is this' or 'Zim is that,'" I corrected, arms folded like dish towels.
I had him cornered now. His mouth dropped and he stuttered.
"I-I- I mean Zim, he… Nevermind, pathetic child, Zim has elsewhere to banter… or something. Run along now."
He tried to wave me off, the pompous jerk. I ignored him.
"What's that behind your back?" I inquired.
The extra "special" extraterrestrial shuffled from side to side, failing at evading suspicion.
"Nothing! I- Erm, Zim knows not of what you speak. Just go on and p-"
I walked leisurely beside him and picked up one of the thin, steel boxes much to his dismay.
"What's this?" I asked smugly, running a hand across the top.
To an outside viewer, one oblivious to Zim's pernicious (though often foiled) dealings, who might think it were nothing more than a box filled with chocolates for his girlfriend or mother.
I did not belong to such a group.
