The vibrancy of a new day seemed to be lost on all the adolescent children spilling into the Skool that day. They blabbered in the way they normally did, talking about the topics that seemed interesting; Sleepovers, fashion, gossip, sports ECT. It was all sorts of normal. The girls wore frilly scarves to fend off the nippy, autumn morning, which really did little against it. The boys wore basket ball shorts or really, low, low pants that nearly fell down when they walked. All was right with their calm, superficial world.

Dib glared at them all hatefully from a good distance of 30 feet. He leaned in this same spot every day. In sunshine, rain or snow to stare at his fellow students. He would make plans for the day, scheme in ways that no one here would ever understand.

He took in the fresh air, the frost that cleansed away the constantly hovering scent of pollution. From here he could spot every escape, every person, and every horrible, boring thing. And for the last four years he'd stood here alone.

But, as the weeks had passed a voice had begun to accompany him. A teeny, tiny voice that sounded…well, it was higher than an average boy's. It had an accent that made it thick. It spoke with arrogance and authority. It sounded like Zim.

The teenager ran a bare, scarred hand down his face as he took a deep breath. The carbon curled out over the frigid air and created a fine mist that dissipated within seconds. Dib didn't want to admit that he was hearing this voice. Had been hearing it in increasing volume and frequency since that night in the park. The bell rang and the adolescents rushed inside, eager to be out of the cold. The gawky teen stayed where he was, wrapping his faithful trench coat tighter around himself.

"What's a matter Dib-Stink? Afraid?"

Like a wind breeze the voice of his old enemy floated out into the air, hovering instead of disappearing like his breath had done. Logic told him not to respond to it. All those hours of therapy demanded that he not so much as make a motion to suggest that he had ever heard it.

But, instinct demanded something entirely different of him.

"Of course not! I can do this!" He snarled, angrily, sticking his button nose up in the air, puffing out his chest with pride. But, then of course he realized a few seconds later what he'd done and scowled before shuffling off towards the entrance of the learning establishment that had been his prison for over 4 years. No longer. Today he starts a new day. A new goal. No one would keep him quiet any more. No one ordered him around.

The dream from that night…the one that had broken his numb shield was still in effect. He no longer wanted to sit by and let them ignore him. He didn't want to be invisible anymore. He longed to be the kid he was so long ago. At least back then he'd been alive, if not happy.

Right now he was half-alive AND un-happy. He ignored the faint evil laughter that seemed to flutter around him.

Aware that he was well over five minutes late to class because of his dawdling, Dib was prepared to slip into the room and just hope that like normal his invisible demeanor held up.

"Humph, I knew you didn't have it in you, Coward."

The human nearly bit his lip, clenching his hands into tight fists.

"Fuck you." He hissed, spitefully. "I can do whatever the hell I want." Turning away from nothing, he shoved open the door so hard that it banged against the wall and he marched inside, chin held high. Every head in the room turned towards him, nearly forty pairs of eyes staring in surprise. He fought the urge to apologize and shrink over to his seat.

"Sorry, I'm late . I was outside trying to capture the Snow demons." His voice rang out like it had so long ago, with the excuses he'd used back then too. His classmates seemed lost for words although whether it was out of shock that Dib was still alive and actually speaking or because tey were trying to figure out what the hell a snow demon was, was anyone's guess.

As if it was normal, Dib sauntered over to his desk and plopped down, removing his notebooks and textbooks. (how she was still alive, was also anyone's guess), scowled in the teenager's direction before barking, "Whatever! Class, open up your books to page 110. We will be learning about Airplanes and the horrible contributions they have made to society."

After a few more seconds of pure silence, the rest of the children obeyed. With the obnoxious turning of pages came whispers and those whispers changed to normal speaking and then full blown conversations about the unstable kid, what was his name, oh Gretchen is dating him, oh um, Oh yeah I remember him from elementary skool, That's Dib.

Dib. The name swept through the mass of students. The ones who'd known him in his younger days began to tell the tale of his sad life and all about his strange obsession with the paranormal that ended him in the Crazy House for boys when he'd freaked out the day he'd discovered that there was no such thing as aliens.

Dib stayed calm, breathing deeply and began taking notes on their lesson. When the first question was asked his hand shot up and before he was called on, he answered the question earning several glares from the kids who had also had their hands up. He'd gotten the answer right of course, and he attempted to ignore them.

This was what he'd wanted. And soon, if this went as he expected, then the news would get around the whole skool by lunch, that the crazy kid was back. Soon, the first names would be whispers behind his back. They would become braver and the names would become common on everyone's lips, enough to be spoken out loud and in his face. The threats, the objects thrown, and then the outright physical abuse.

Dib's lips curled up into a cruel smirk, glancing down at his sheet of sliced tree shavings. Unbidden, his burnt orange eyes darted over to the opposite side of the room that even after all these years was empty. Of course as always it was empty. And as always a cold lump of pain and rage settled in his throat.

Zim was gone. Zim wasn't real. Just his voice in his head. Just the scars on his skin. The memories of their war.