Author : Roku [sesshoumaruchan@aol.com]
Rating : NR. I can't think of a rating... I put PG for the thingie, but
it's a personal thing. There's suggested stuff and there's angst, but
it's not really anything I find offensive. Decide yourself, though, okay?
Fandom : 'Invader Zim'
Pairings : Nnn... nothing blatant, just read... ;D
Sidenotes : ...'tis Dib's POV, and reflective.
-------
I'm not claiming in any way, shape or form that Dib (or Zim) belongs to
me. I'm not sure if you can even tell this is a Zim fic, cause it's all
angsty reflection, but believe me, I'm not making any money on this. Zim
is not mine in any way... 'tis just inspiration.
-------
*Black Tuesday*
-------
I hate Tuesday.
It's six twenty-seven am when I'm suddenly awake enough to feel
the slight muscles in my arms twitch. I want to keep my eyes closed-
stay in the dream I was dreaming... although it wasn't anything good.
Actually could be considered a nightmare, if those kinds of things
scared me. It's more interesting to me.
I've been dreaming of a stream I have to crawl through...along
the bottom... no breath. On the shoreline are armies of shadows that
want to tear me apart. In the water there are leeches and it is so dark
I cannot see where I'm going. I get tangled in something... a giant
solid underwater spiderweb I can't see... I'm trying to make myself
shrink to weave through the mystery pillars...
...but then the crashing outside wakes me up. So I lay here
with my eyes closed, hoping that if I pretend I'm still asleep, the
dream won't stop... like a movie. I want to keep watching. But now it's
on pause. On the other side of my shades, which I can hear flapping in
the wind of the open window, mechanical buzzing echoes off of a thousand
suburban outer walls of stucco and white-painted siding. Every Tuesday
morning the lawn-care people come. Really early. And I always forget to
close the window.
I try to shut it out- squint my eyes tighter and focus on my
dream theatre again. Now it's like one of the choose-your-own-adventure
books I used to read and still sometimes do when no one's paying
attention. I creep through the dark web, unbreathing. I feel the water
cool against my cheeks, and my short hair swaying like some underwater
plant. I move until it's like I'm dancing.
But it's not the same. Nothing around me responds. I can control
myself, but nothing else. When I am dreaming the water moves around me
and the shadows flicker on the surface. Now the water is a still
hologram of black jello.
I open my eyes. The buzzing outside rings in my ears, and my
room is already obnoxious-light, even through the thin fabric of my
windowshades. My eyes feel burnt, staring up at the crackly white paint
on my ceiling- and the places where there's leftover masking tape. I
blink harshly. My head is pounding. I feel like I'm strung with wires...
I'm going to explode, just as soon as I finish imploding.
The machines outside hum louder. I grit my teeth and purse my
lips and want them to go away. I guess that I lay there for a long time,
because my alarm starts screaming in my ear- beepbeepbeeping in time
with the buzzing outside.
My bed barely creaks as I flip over and clap my hand down on
the glowing blue 'sleep' button. Even though I'm not sleeping. I turn
back over and fold my arms behind my very, very heavy head... look down
and I can see my feet. I blink and it hurts.
Faded yellow sheets are tangled around my skinny ankles. It
looks funny. It looks like I'm staring through a peekhole- my body is
getting smaller and smaller until it is my feet. I am a skinny blair
witch stickman dipped in ink. I am wearing black knee socks and black
sweatpants and a black X-files t-shirt that is way too big for me. The
sleeves touch my elbows. All of these things are tangled around my
limbs, and it is seventy degrees outside.
I feel misplaced in this bed. Yellow-white sheets that used to
be bright like dandelions make me look like I'm a shadow, except for my
skinny pallid arms, sprawled on either side of me. I should get new
sheets. I found these in the closet a week ago. Mom bought them for me
when I was little. I wouldn't mind being little again.
Mind drifting and bouncing off itself, I look near my feet
again. The tangled once-yellow sheets have a small dark stain I didn't
notice before. My head screams through my temples as I sit up and
untangle myself, holding the sheet in both hands and looking at the
thin fabric. There is a small, dried spot of blood. Maybe from a long
time ago.
I'm not going to school today.
---
Much later, my alarm goes off again. I unplug it. The buzzing
outside is getting further and further away. My head hurts so much I
keep moving it like maybe something will fall out.
I think about my dream and my sheets, which are now on the
floor. I lie on my stripped matress in my cocoon of black cotton and
squint my eyes at nothing.
I'm not sure what time it is. I think it may be around noon. At
skool, I would be eating lunch... right now I'm not hungry. I think
about the lunchroom. I think about eating alone. If I close my burning
eyes I can see tables full of kids who are probably talking about me,
and I can see a petite boy with greenish skin sitting in the corner and
scowling. He's alone and his eyes are hard, but he bites his lip. I
blink slowly from the opposite side of the room, and he doesn't see.
Everything is still as I push the papers in front of me on the
table around aimlessly. It's been a while since he arrived. I remember
the obsession I had with exposing every secret.
The hands on the clock don't seem to move.
I still wonder. Still think about it, and about him. I don't
feel a drive now, anymore. I sit here and wonder too much, and I feel
him staring and probably wondering why I don't attack him anymore.
My eyes are closed. I can see all this. My temples pound pulses
that are the soundtrack to the movie playing inside of my eyelids.
I can't tell the difference between silence and noise as I stand
up and push my chair away from me, the cuffs of my trenchcoat brushing
my knuckles. Everyone seems monotonous as I cross the dirty floor to
the corner wall... so slowly. My boots click, and I blink my eyes
behind the transparent wall of my glasses. Ink-black hair is creeping
into in my peripheral vision.
It's a million years until I reach the table where this small,
decevingly quiet boy-but-not-really is sitting all alone. It seems that
every body is another string of a web pulling me back. My feet are
heavy. My eyes sting. My throat screams silently. I touch my pale hands
to the surface of the round table. No one moves.
The only sound is a shy plop as a tear I didn't want to fall
drips onto the faux-wooden table. I drag a hand over it- deny its
existance and circle around to the other side of the table to where
the only chair is. Thin, long-fingered hands clad in shiny black gloves
cling to the edges of the seat. Everything is still like the winter,
and I feel like I'm suddenly in the eye of a storm... so horrendous...
I'm the calm...
I lean down, thoughts and fears and confusion rushing out of me
in torrents, and my eyelids feel heavy. My hand rests next to a tray of
untouched food on the table, and I can't even see the cool, smooth skin
I press my lips to, so softly. Can't see the red-tinged green cheek, or
the thin frame. I move away, eyes still closed, and brush my fingertips
over the skin I just kissed.
When I open my eyes I'm laying on an empty matress in a dark
room. My cheeks burn. My eyes sting. I touch my warm fingers to my lips.
And it makes perfect sense, but none...
...there is no response in a waking dream. I will never stop wondering...
I am suspended in a web of black-jello-dreaming, and I can't
open my mouth to breathe in or out. It really is... suffocating...
Rating : NR. I can't think of a rating... I put PG for the thingie, but
it's a personal thing. There's suggested stuff and there's angst, but
it's not really anything I find offensive. Decide yourself, though, okay?
Fandom : 'Invader Zim'
Pairings : Nnn... nothing blatant, just read... ;D
Sidenotes : ...'tis Dib's POV, and reflective.
-------
I'm not claiming in any way, shape or form that Dib (or Zim) belongs to
me. I'm not sure if you can even tell this is a Zim fic, cause it's all
angsty reflection, but believe me, I'm not making any money on this. Zim
is not mine in any way... 'tis just inspiration.
-------
*Black Tuesday*
-------
I hate Tuesday.
It's six twenty-seven am when I'm suddenly awake enough to feel
the slight muscles in my arms twitch. I want to keep my eyes closed-
stay in the dream I was dreaming... although it wasn't anything good.
Actually could be considered a nightmare, if those kinds of things
scared me. It's more interesting to me.
I've been dreaming of a stream I have to crawl through...along
the bottom... no breath. On the shoreline are armies of shadows that
want to tear me apart. In the water there are leeches and it is so dark
I cannot see where I'm going. I get tangled in something... a giant
solid underwater spiderweb I can't see... I'm trying to make myself
shrink to weave through the mystery pillars...
...but then the crashing outside wakes me up. So I lay here
with my eyes closed, hoping that if I pretend I'm still asleep, the
dream won't stop... like a movie. I want to keep watching. But now it's
on pause. On the other side of my shades, which I can hear flapping in
the wind of the open window, mechanical buzzing echoes off of a thousand
suburban outer walls of stucco and white-painted siding. Every Tuesday
morning the lawn-care people come. Really early. And I always forget to
close the window.
I try to shut it out- squint my eyes tighter and focus on my
dream theatre again. Now it's like one of the choose-your-own-adventure
books I used to read and still sometimes do when no one's paying
attention. I creep through the dark web, unbreathing. I feel the water
cool against my cheeks, and my short hair swaying like some underwater
plant. I move until it's like I'm dancing.
But it's not the same. Nothing around me responds. I can control
myself, but nothing else. When I am dreaming the water moves around me
and the shadows flicker on the surface. Now the water is a still
hologram of black jello.
I open my eyes. The buzzing outside rings in my ears, and my
room is already obnoxious-light, even through the thin fabric of my
windowshades. My eyes feel burnt, staring up at the crackly white paint
on my ceiling- and the places where there's leftover masking tape. I
blink harshly. My head is pounding. I feel like I'm strung with wires...
I'm going to explode, just as soon as I finish imploding.
The machines outside hum louder. I grit my teeth and purse my
lips and want them to go away. I guess that I lay there for a long time,
because my alarm starts screaming in my ear- beepbeepbeeping in time
with the buzzing outside.
My bed barely creaks as I flip over and clap my hand down on
the glowing blue 'sleep' button. Even though I'm not sleeping. I turn
back over and fold my arms behind my very, very heavy head... look down
and I can see my feet. I blink and it hurts.
Faded yellow sheets are tangled around my skinny ankles. It
looks funny. It looks like I'm staring through a peekhole- my body is
getting smaller and smaller until it is my feet. I am a skinny blair
witch stickman dipped in ink. I am wearing black knee socks and black
sweatpants and a black X-files t-shirt that is way too big for me. The
sleeves touch my elbows. All of these things are tangled around my
limbs, and it is seventy degrees outside.
I feel misplaced in this bed. Yellow-white sheets that used to
be bright like dandelions make me look like I'm a shadow, except for my
skinny pallid arms, sprawled on either side of me. I should get new
sheets. I found these in the closet a week ago. Mom bought them for me
when I was little. I wouldn't mind being little again.
Mind drifting and bouncing off itself, I look near my feet
again. The tangled once-yellow sheets have a small dark stain I didn't
notice before. My head screams through my temples as I sit up and
untangle myself, holding the sheet in both hands and looking at the
thin fabric. There is a small, dried spot of blood. Maybe from a long
time ago.
I'm not going to school today.
---
Much later, my alarm goes off again. I unplug it. The buzzing
outside is getting further and further away. My head hurts so much I
keep moving it like maybe something will fall out.
I think about my dream and my sheets, which are now on the
floor. I lie on my stripped matress in my cocoon of black cotton and
squint my eyes at nothing.
I'm not sure what time it is. I think it may be around noon. At
skool, I would be eating lunch... right now I'm not hungry. I think
about the lunchroom. I think about eating alone. If I close my burning
eyes I can see tables full of kids who are probably talking about me,
and I can see a petite boy with greenish skin sitting in the corner and
scowling. He's alone and his eyes are hard, but he bites his lip. I
blink slowly from the opposite side of the room, and he doesn't see.
Everything is still as I push the papers in front of me on the
table around aimlessly. It's been a while since he arrived. I remember
the obsession I had with exposing every secret.
The hands on the clock don't seem to move.
I still wonder. Still think about it, and about him. I don't
feel a drive now, anymore. I sit here and wonder too much, and I feel
him staring and probably wondering why I don't attack him anymore.
My eyes are closed. I can see all this. My temples pound pulses
that are the soundtrack to the movie playing inside of my eyelids.
I can't tell the difference between silence and noise as I stand
up and push my chair away from me, the cuffs of my trenchcoat brushing
my knuckles. Everyone seems monotonous as I cross the dirty floor to
the corner wall... so slowly. My boots click, and I blink my eyes
behind the transparent wall of my glasses. Ink-black hair is creeping
into in my peripheral vision.
It's a million years until I reach the table where this small,
decevingly quiet boy-but-not-really is sitting all alone. It seems that
every body is another string of a web pulling me back. My feet are
heavy. My eyes sting. My throat screams silently. I touch my pale hands
to the surface of the round table. No one moves.
The only sound is a shy plop as a tear I didn't want to fall
drips onto the faux-wooden table. I drag a hand over it- deny its
existance and circle around to the other side of the table to where
the only chair is. Thin, long-fingered hands clad in shiny black gloves
cling to the edges of the seat. Everything is still like the winter,
and I feel like I'm suddenly in the eye of a storm... so horrendous...
I'm the calm...
I lean down, thoughts and fears and confusion rushing out of me
in torrents, and my eyelids feel heavy. My hand rests next to a tray of
untouched food on the table, and I can't even see the cool, smooth skin
I press my lips to, so softly. Can't see the red-tinged green cheek, or
the thin frame. I move away, eyes still closed, and brush my fingertips
over the skin I just kissed.
When I open my eyes I'm laying on an empty matress in a dark
room. My cheeks burn. My eyes sting. I touch my warm fingers to my lips.
And it makes perfect sense, but none...
...there is no response in a waking dream. I will never stop wondering...
I am suspended in a web of black-jello-dreaming, and I can't
open my mouth to breathe in or out. It really is... suffocating...