Deep within the bowels of a basementless, modest home in the mean streets of Chicago's surrounding suburbs, a fifteen-year-old-girl who looked more like she was eleven or twelve lay sprawled out on her bed, a book in front of her.
"In fact what he was really looking for when he stared distractedly into the sky, was any kind of flying saucer at all. The reason he said green was that green was the traditional space livery of the Betelgeuse trading scouts. Ford Prefect was desperate that any flying saucer at all would arrive soon because fifteen years was a long time to be stranded anywhere, pariculaly somewhere as mind-bogglingly dull as Earth."
"Don't I know it." The small girl said with a sigh. She glanced around her room. It was incredibly wierd-looking, a fact she was so proud of she was willing to waste precious (*cough*) fanfic time describing it. The bed was placed squarely in the center, headboard facing the wall next to the door. Glass bottles filled with colored water placed in front of a light fixture bathed everything in green light. The walls were plastered with Zionist posters, and surrealist drawings and paintings she had made. Additionaly, George Carlin quotes such as "Sometimes I can't recall my mental blocks, so I try not to think about it." and "Imagine meeting your maker and finding out it's Frito-Lay." were written in charcoal pencil. Recently, such quotes as "You! Obey the fist!" and "I love you cold unfeeling robot arm!" had been added, but we'll get to that later. Tucked in a corner behind her dresser was a desk covered with hand-painted chinese characters, which contianed several Southern-California reminicient objects as a mini-Zen garden and a tranquility fountian. Cardboard stars dangled from a space-themed blanket hung over her bed. Colored Yarn hung from the ceiling.
Most importantly, books were piled everywhere. Next to her bed, under her umbrella, up against the walls, supporting her "I brake for Daleks" bumper sticker (A/N: I REALLY have a bumper sticker like that! It's so cool!) on top of her CD player, ... you get the idea. The collection was compleated on a large bookcase in the hallway. Skimming the titles such as: "The Demolished Man", "The Martian Cronicles" "Short Trips- a book of Dr. Who fanfiction" and "The Complete Works of Issac Assimov, Vol. I" you would instantly notice a pattern. Some were horror, or non-fiction, but the vast majority were sci-fi. Yes, she was without a doubt a sci-fi nerd, and dat's da way she liked it. She closed the incredibly dog-eared "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and returned it to it's place. She then flooped back down on her navy-blue bed, her unkempt blond hair falling over her makeup-free face once again. She began repetitivly tracing over the pen-tattos she has on her arms. She knew the root of this sci-fi obsession, though she could never say it out loud.
She wanted to be an alien.
Or, she wanted to meet an alien, or she wanted SOMETHING anything that could get her out of this dull, repetive rut she was in. She whirled her arms around melodramaticaly, "My life is a black pit of blackness!!" She yelled. (A/N: Anne Gwish referance!) "CryingChild!" came a voice, "I made coffee!" "Ooh, coffee!" she said running off.
Minutes later, she came back, a huge, 24-ounce mug of coffee in her hand. "Mmm, good coffee," she said, "but is it BOILING HOT???" (A/N: Radiskull and Devi Doll referance! *pause* Wadaya MEAN you don't know who Radiskull and Devil Doll are????) Setting her coffee down next to her Dali clock, she shuffled through he closet, looking for a peice of her newest and most insatiable obsession. Grinning, she pulled out issue three of Johnny The Homocidal Maniac. Her dad was hogging the computer and Zim wouldn't be on for another four hours, so she must get her Jhonen fix this way.
She once again thanked whatever higher power there may be that she had stumbled on to this treasure trove of genius. It had all started as she was flipping through the channels one day. At this time, she had never heard of Jhonen Vasquez, and she hated (still does) Nickelodian. But through an amazing coicidence she had clicked to Nickelodian just as the opening for the Zim premire had started. After reading the title, and seeing the standered green-guys-with-antenne style aliens, she decided to stay and make fun of it. Minutes later, she knew she needed more more MORE. And so it began...
----About four hours later----
She stared at the screen expectantly, her face so close a casual observer would wonder if she could make out anything at all. She watched with a mixture of joy and terror. What if Nick screwed up again? What if there was no Zim tonight? What if-- she shuddered --horrors unimaginable, what if those rumors about Zim being canceled were... true? (A/N: I'm writing THIS part friday morning, I'm in so much suspense!) She began mentaly writing the threataning e-mail she would send to Nick. The seconds ticked by... 7:56... she bit her fingernails... 7:57... she turned the volume up as high at it would go... 7:58... she turned it down a little as her mom yelled at her... 7:59... she held her breath.... finally... eight o'clock! The screen went blank ever so breifly as the commercial ended... and.........
"TIM-me is an AVE-rage kid, who NO-one unDERstands!" (A/N: I sure hope this dosen't happen!)
"ARrrrRRRrrrhhHhggggG!" she balled her fists, and pressed them to the sides of her head. "No, dammit! I can't take it anymore! Damn IT Damn IT DAMMIT!" she screamed, punctuating the last 'dammit' with a right hook to a poor, innocent bunny doll that sat on top of the television. Fortunatly for Mr. Bun-bun, the angle at which she was standing ruined her aim so that her fist missed him entirely... going instead through the TV screen. Her ranting stopped. Her already-bulging eyes grew impossibly wider. "Oh.... oh crap, ohcrapohcrap." she said, a look of horror on her face. Her fist had gone right throught the screen, glass was everywhere, and some circutry had clearly been damaged. Her hand was also bleeding pretty badly, but at the moment that was the least of her worries. "Oh CRAP, oh crappitycrapcrapshitfuckpoo. My parents are going to KILL me, my GAWD, I'll be grounded for MONTHS, I'll have to take anger-managment courses, I'll have to clean poop-encrusted toilets to pay for it... I am SO dead." She felt her stomach tighten, she looked away from the damaged boob tube. With her head turned and her eyes shut tight, she didn't see the electrical charge engulf her hand...
------
She woke up. She felt the normal, groggy morning amniesia she always feels, but there was also something she knew she should be remembering... something important. "Oh yeah, the whole TV punchy thing." She flexed her hand, and , surprisingly, it didn't hurt at all. She propped herself up on the bed and waved her hand in front of her face. Undamaged. Yet, there was something wrong with it, something she couldn't qute place. The pen tattos looked the same,-- didn't they usually wear off overnight? -- the wristwatch that rarely left her was still there... /Wait a minute../ she thought, /Little hairs!/ The little bitty hairs that people have on their arms were gone! /And pores, my skin has no pores! No knuckles either! What the hell?/ She stared at her arm in wonderment. Her skin was flawless, one even color throughout it's entire length. And had it always been that pale? The more she looked at it, the weirder it seemed. And there was... STUFF on either side of it, no matter how hard she rubbed it, it wouldn't come off. It almost looked like... OUTLINES! There were outlines on her arm! "Ahhhhhhhh!" she screamed, "Get 'em OFF! Get 'em OFF! Get 'em OFFFFFFFFFFF!" She ran around her room, screaming and waving her arm in circles for about twenty minutes, before collapsing in an asphyxiated heap.
She looked at her arm, the outlines were still there, clearly she couldn't outrun them. "Eep!" she said. She looked around her room, it looked the same, only... less detailed. And, sorta... flat. She paused, considering this. She didn't have a mirror in her room, so she ran into the bathroom across the hall. As she looked into the big 'ol mirror that covered, about 80% of the bathroom wall, she felt her hair actually stand on end, for the first time in her life.
She had changed. A lot.
Her head was MUCH bigger, disproportionately so, even. Her eyes were bigger too, and mostly white. Her hair no longer hung in messy, individual strands, but in huge, messy locks. Her fingers were pointy and had no nails. /My gawd,/ she thought... /I'm been turned into a Jhonen Vasquez drawing! SWEEEEET! But weird, very wierd, am I having a fandream?/ She returned her gaze to the mirror.
She was wearing a dark green shirt, black jeans, her Star of David necklace, and cool black boots that she had never owned. Noticing this gave her an idea, and she ran to her room and opened her dresser drawers. Sure enough, they were filled with identical green shirts and black jeans. /I knew it, down to last detail./ she thought, /My dreams are NEVER this detailed... so... what's the most sane, logical explanation for this?/ she thought for a moment. "Of course! When I punched the TV, rather than simply breaking like any other TV would do, my tough and determined television became a portal into Zimworld! And, even though being shoved through a television would normally leave a big 'ol boo-boo, I was simply turned into a cartoon, it makes perfect sense!" She grinned wide, proud of her logical prowess. Her grin faded. "Hmm, so, until further notice, I'm a character in Invader Zim, I have no way of knowing how to get home, and I'm trapped in Jhonen's twisted world where any number of horrible things can happen to me. SQUEEEEE! OH YEAH! OH YEAH! THIS ROCKS! THIS ROCKS!" She did a happy little dance with lots of twirls, and then the chapter ended.
"In fact what he was really looking for when he stared distractedly into the sky, was any kind of flying saucer at all. The reason he said green was that green was the traditional space livery of the Betelgeuse trading scouts. Ford Prefect was desperate that any flying saucer at all would arrive soon because fifteen years was a long time to be stranded anywhere, pariculaly somewhere as mind-bogglingly dull as Earth."
"Don't I know it." The small girl said with a sigh. She glanced around her room. It was incredibly wierd-looking, a fact she was so proud of she was willing to waste precious (*cough*) fanfic time describing it. The bed was placed squarely in the center, headboard facing the wall next to the door. Glass bottles filled with colored water placed in front of a light fixture bathed everything in green light. The walls were plastered with Zionist posters, and surrealist drawings and paintings she had made. Additionaly, George Carlin quotes such as "Sometimes I can't recall my mental blocks, so I try not to think about it." and "Imagine meeting your maker and finding out it's Frito-Lay." were written in charcoal pencil. Recently, such quotes as "You! Obey the fist!" and "I love you cold unfeeling robot arm!" had been added, but we'll get to that later. Tucked in a corner behind her dresser was a desk covered with hand-painted chinese characters, which contianed several Southern-California reminicient objects as a mini-Zen garden and a tranquility fountian. Cardboard stars dangled from a space-themed blanket hung over her bed. Colored Yarn hung from the ceiling.
Most importantly, books were piled everywhere. Next to her bed, under her umbrella, up against the walls, supporting her "I brake for Daleks" bumper sticker (A/N: I REALLY have a bumper sticker like that! It's so cool!) on top of her CD player, ... you get the idea. The collection was compleated on a large bookcase in the hallway. Skimming the titles such as: "The Demolished Man", "The Martian Cronicles" "Short Trips- a book of Dr. Who fanfiction" and "The Complete Works of Issac Assimov, Vol. I" you would instantly notice a pattern. Some were horror, or non-fiction, but the vast majority were sci-fi. Yes, she was without a doubt a sci-fi nerd, and dat's da way she liked it. She closed the incredibly dog-eared "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" and returned it to it's place. She then flooped back down on her navy-blue bed, her unkempt blond hair falling over her makeup-free face once again. She began repetitivly tracing over the pen-tattos she has on her arms. She knew the root of this sci-fi obsession, though she could never say it out loud.
She wanted to be an alien.
Or, she wanted to meet an alien, or she wanted SOMETHING anything that could get her out of this dull, repetive rut she was in. She whirled her arms around melodramaticaly, "My life is a black pit of blackness!!" She yelled. (A/N: Anne Gwish referance!) "CryingChild!" came a voice, "I made coffee!" "Ooh, coffee!" she said running off.
Minutes later, she came back, a huge, 24-ounce mug of coffee in her hand. "Mmm, good coffee," she said, "but is it BOILING HOT???" (A/N: Radiskull and Devi Doll referance! *pause* Wadaya MEAN you don't know who Radiskull and Devil Doll are????) Setting her coffee down next to her Dali clock, she shuffled through he closet, looking for a peice of her newest and most insatiable obsession. Grinning, she pulled out issue three of Johnny The Homocidal Maniac. Her dad was hogging the computer and Zim wouldn't be on for another four hours, so she must get her Jhonen fix this way.
She once again thanked whatever higher power there may be that she had stumbled on to this treasure trove of genius. It had all started as she was flipping through the channels one day. At this time, she had never heard of Jhonen Vasquez, and she hated (still does) Nickelodian. But through an amazing coicidence she had clicked to Nickelodian just as the opening for the Zim premire had started. After reading the title, and seeing the standered green-guys-with-antenne style aliens, she decided to stay and make fun of it. Minutes later, she knew she needed more more MORE. And so it began...
----About four hours later----
She stared at the screen expectantly, her face so close a casual observer would wonder if she could make out anything at all. She watched with a mixture of joy and terror. What if Nick screwed up again? What if there was no Zim tonight? What if-- she shuddered --horrors unimaginable, what if those rumors about Zim being canceled were... true? (A/N: I'm writing THIS part friday morning, I'm in so much suspense!) She began mentaly writing the threataning e-mail she would send to Nick. The seconds ticked by... 7:56... she bit her fingernails... 7:57... she turned the volume up as high at it would go... 7:58... she turned it down a little as her mom yelled at her... 7:59... she held her breath.... finally... eight o'clock! The screen went blank ever so breifly as the commercial ended... and.........
"TIM-me is an AVE-rage kid, who NO-one unDERstands!" (A/N: I sure hope this dosen't happen!)
"ARrrrRRRrrrhhHhggggG!" she balled her fists, and pressed them to the sides of her head. "No, dammit! I can't take it anymore! Damn IT Damn IT DAMMIT!" she screamed, punctuating the last 'dammit' with a right hook to a poor, innocent bunny doll that sat on top of the television. Fortunatly for Mr. Bun-bun, the angle at which she was standing ruined her aim so that her fist missed him entirely... going instead through the TV screen. Her ranting stopped. Her already-bulging eyes grew impossibly wider. "Oh.... oh crap, ohcrapohcrap." she said, a look of horror on her face. Her fist had gone right throught the screen, glass was everywhere, and some circutry had clearly been damaged. Her hand was also bleeding pretty badly, but at the moment that was the least of her worries. "Oh CRAP, oh crappitycrapcrapshitfuckpoo. My parents are going to KILL me, my GAWD, I'll be grounded for MONTHS, I'll have to take anger-managment courses, I'll have to clean poop-encrusted toilets to pay for it... I am SO dead." She felt her stomach tighten, she looked away from the damaged boob tube. With her head turned and her eyes shut tight, she didn't see the electrical charge engulf her hand...
------
She woke up. She felt the normal, groggy morning amniesia she always feels, but there was also something she knew she should be remembering... something important. "Oh yeah, the whole TV punchy thing." She flexed her hand, and , surprisingly, it didn't hurt at all. She propped herself up on the bed and waved her hand in front of her face. Undamaged. Yet, there was something wrong with it, something she couldn't qute place. The pen tattos looked the same,-- didn't they usually wear off overnight? -- the wristwatch that rarely left her was still there... /Wait a minute../ she thought, /Little hairs!/ The little bitty hairs that people have on their arms were gone! /And pores, my skin has no pores! No knuckles either! What the hell?/ She stared at her arm in wonderment. Her skin was flawless, one even color throughout it's entire length. And had it always been that pale? The more she looked at it, the weirder it seemed. And there was... STUFF on either side of it, no matter how hard she rubbed it, it wouldn't come off. It almost looked like... OUTLINES! There were outlines on her arm! "Ahhhhhhhh!" she screamed, "Get 'em OFF! Get 'em OFF! Get 'em OFFFFFFFFFFF!" She ran around her room, screaming and waving her arm in circles for about twenty minutes, before collapsing in an asphyxiated heap.
She looked at her arm, the outlines were still there, clearly she couldn't outrun them. "Eep!" she said. She looked around her room, it looked the same, only... less detailed. And, sorta... flat. She paused, considering this. She didn't have a mirror in her room, so she ran into the bathroom across the hall. As she looked into the big 'ol mirror that covered, about 80% of the bathroom wall, she felt her hair actually stand on end, for the first time in her life.
She had changed. A lot.
Her head was MUCH bigger, disproportionately so, even. Her eyes were bigger too, and mostly white. Her hair no longer hung in messy, individual strands, but in huge, messy locks. Her fingers were pointy and had no nails. /My gawd,/ she thought... /I'm been turned into a Jhonen Vasquez drawing! SWEEEEET! But weird, very wierd, am I having a fandream?/ She returned her gaze to the mirror.
She was wearing a dark green shirt, black jeans, her Star of David necklace, and cool black boots that she had never owned. Noticing this gave her an idea, and she ran to her room and opened her dresser drawers. Sure enough, they were filled with identical green shirts and black jeans. /I knew it, down to last detail./ she thought, /My dreams are NEVER this detailed... so... what's the most sane, logical explanation for this?/ she thought for a moment. "Of course! When I punched the TV, rather than simply breaking like any other TV would do, my tough and determined television became a portal into Zimworld! And, even though being shoved through a television would normally leave a big 'ol boo-boo, I was simply turned into a cartoon, it makes perfect sense!" She grinned wide, proud of her logical prowess. Her grin faded. "Hmm, so, until further notice, I'm a character in Invader Zim, I have no way of knowing how to get home, and I'm trapped in Jhonen's twisted world where any number of horrible things can happen to me. SQUEEEEE! OH YEAH! OH YEAH! THIS ROCKS! THIS ROCKS!" She did a happy little dance with lots of twirls, and then the chapter ended.
