Zim: Vitriolic Invader, Virulent Insect, Cold Apathist.
by Necrofuckup.
An Invader Zim fiction inspired by Jack Off Jill's 'Vivica'.
Disclaimer:- I own nothing. Jhonen Vasquez owns Invader Zim and it's characters. Jack Off Jill owns the song 'Vivica'. I don't even own a soul, I actually sold it to buy a drink.....
-
The morning begins again, I feel tired. A tiredness that doesn't go away from just going to bed earlier. It's a tiredness that stays with me, all day and everyday. Since that bastard ever came here I've been tired, it's just changed from one form of tiredness to another. He came here and I fought him with every ounce of strength I could muster, but now I have to use that strength just to stay away from him. Other than our physical appearances, this change of mind is the only thing that has changed within me. There's a place in my brain that is sectioned just for him. And I can't be sure when, but eventually the decor in that room in my brain changed from hatred.... to....
I can't think it let alone say it.
I sit here in my kitchen, eating a bowl of Shugah Parahsites, even though I dislike them entirely. But there's nothing else to eat. And the cafeteria at skool serves 'food' even worse than this. So eat I must, because my matchstick body can't support me without some sort of nutrients.
I chew and swallow the now mushy goop, and wonder what Gaz is doing, because we have to leave soon. Time passes and eventually she comes down, and just sits at the table, playing the latest version of her precious gameslave. She doesn't eat breakfast, not since a year or so ago. She decided for no reason that was evident to me to stop eating breakfast, and ever since then she had been getting thinner, if that were possible. I know there must be something wrong, but if I talk to her she'll hit me, so there's no point. She hates me, and I hate her. I've never liked her, so why should I start caring now?
Anyway, I stand up and toss the bowl and spoon and remainder of the sugary mush into the sink, and grab my coat on the way out of our house. Gaz soon follows.
As I walk down the street the dread of facing a new school day stares at me in the face and spits. I hate this now. Like a small taunting child who can look innocent at any given moment, so when you punch him for throwing hot coffee in your face, you're the one who gets punished. That's what it's like to go to skool now, forever trapped, always wanting to go up to him, and tell him everything I want to say, but know he won't understand, so there's no hope, and I'll be punished by the whole community and be labeled forever.
But first, there's the bus.
-
We both get on the aging, no longer yellow bus and find the usual seats. At the back. Where everybody throws their rubbish and gum and general junk just so that when we sit there, it will be worse every time. Until the end of the month, when the bus driver attempts to clean it. Sometimes I wonder why Gaz puts up with it. She has a scary strength for a girl her age, she even once made Old Kid cry, and he's almost dead. She ignores everything, and everyone. Except if they touch her. But no one does this now. Ever. If you're thinking that being with her would be like having a bodyguard, then you're wrong. She'd let anything happen to me. If we were walking down an alley, and ten guys appeared out of nowhere, then proceeded in mugging, raping and murdering me, she'd carry on walking, completely immersed in her virtual world. Fuck I wish I could do that. But I can't, I suck at computer games.
I look out the window at the passing world, seeing various things and people speed by. They're all somebody I would rather be. I would gladly trade body and soul with a hobo leper, if it meant I could lose the feelings, thoughts and body of this one.
My thoughts start, inevitably, to return to Zim, but something I am thankful for happens. A poop cola can hits my head, hard and though it hurts and I would love to rub the offended area like a normal person, I stay perfectly still, continuing to look out at the zooming world. Staying still has worked before. But not today. Another cola can hits my eye this time, at an angle that manages to knock off my seemingly larger than necessary glasses first. This time I have to rub my eye, in comfort, and as it starts to water as any eye would, someone cries out in a loud manner "Heeey!! Lookit! Dib's cryin'!!" followed by an outburst of raucous laughter, by my classmates, the kids from below my class, and I swear I can even hear the bus driver. But it ends soon as the crumbling skool comes into my one good eyes' sight. I would thank God, but I'm far too cynical for that. The bus grinds to a halt and eventually stops, there's no denying everyone can hear it's fanbelt slipping madly creating a horrible screech that we're all used to, and the motor spluttering unhealthily. The jeers and remarks die down as they all leave and get off the decaying bus, and I sit on the seat. Gaz leaves, still staring at her hand-held gaming fun, and she walks through the skools' doorway.
I'm left here on the bus I despise, hoping the driver won't recognise me and drive to Mexico, where the bus will be exploded for whatever reason; with me still inside.
But no, he turns round and his beady, ugly eyes focus on me. By now I can let my hand stray back to my side from my injured eye, and he says, in a gruff gravely voice "Hey, Dib, get off my bus 'fore I kick ya' off!"
I stand up from the cushionless seat, and walk down the dirty aisle, but before I step off, like the many others before me today, I ask him "How d'you know my name?" He gives me a look which I hope is one of bewilderment and responds "Kid, I been drivin' this tin can for longer years than you lived. Out of all the names that's been shouted the most, yours is it. And I know you's is Dib 'cause you's is the one who's ever gotten bullied the most. Now get off!" He kicks me and I fall on my face onto the cracked sidewalk. The driver, as is his job, drives away, back to wherever it is bus drivers go.
I lie here wondering, 'Wow, out of all the bullied kids, he remembers me. I feel so special.' Thank whoever invented Sarcasm.
-
After the classes that can only be described as a waste of time, I always wish that Ms. Bitters was still alive. At least she inspired a sort of fear of learning and therefore, you would want to do as she said. Her lessons of utter doom at least got to you in a way that made you remember, even if you weren't listening. But still, she was an extremely old... women. And nobody lives forever, not even her.
But now the young teachers, who eat tofu and drink soymilk and are all vegetarians rule the lessons, and though I've got nothing against vegetarians, these new teachers totally enforce the stereotype of hippie peace loving "Oh I haven't done my homework." "That's okay, you can get it to me later" type of teacher. They were all waiting for Bitters to croak, I would bet they did it, if they weren't who they are. Needless to say, the skool has never been worse.
I ponder all this in the cafeteria, next to my house acquaintance, with an entity known as 'food' in front of me on a tray. I sit on the hard uncomfortable picnic bench style seat with my head leaning on my arms, on the equally uncomfortable table. I'm not eating this shit in front of me, but we're forced to not waste what's put in front us, as it would somehow hurt mother Earth, รก la young happy teachers. Soon they'll learn how many years it takes of teaching to realise there is no point being happy and fun, because students don't want that. They want a teacher who will give them work, and even at the time they'll hate the teacher, when they're a success later in life, the student will look back and would thank the strict teacher they had for making them work hard. But a nice teacher won't do that. Students will see that it's so easy to not do homework, or study, and fail on everything, and the sickeningly optimistic teacher won't give them more than a frown... Well, that's what I think, that was my rant for this lunch hour.
Zim.... He's not here yet. I have doubts if he will even enter the cafeteria today, there's no reason for him to do so, he can't eat this shit, fuck, most of us can't. And even though it makes it easier for me with him not being here, I wish... I wish he would come in. And sit solitarily on his table, sitting and talking and scheming to himself. How I would love to sit next to him....
...But that's out of the question. It could never be. His species.... knows nothing of....affection for another... He's an Irken Invader. His species does as it is told, no questions, no happiness, just anger and hate for those that stand in their way. And from what I have learnt, nothing stands in their way.
I sigh a long drawn out sigh, and as if on cue, he walks in through the rusty swinging double doors. That short ray of hope, marches in with his head held high, because he knows he's superior. He struts all the way to his table and promptly sits. The respect he has worked for over the years in incredible. No one touches him, no one laughs at him or talks to him or mocks him. They all know what he did to that freakishly named, The Letter M. I shudder at the thought. Yes, he earned that respect for them to just leave him alone. But other than that, he hasn't changed in any aspect. And it's that thought that has just wiped the insanely arched smile off of my ugly face. I stare at him for ages, with what I think must be a forlorn look on my face. I'm not sure of the time but it must be nearing the end of lunch because almost everyone has left this mouldy room.
I'm going to leave. Before he does. The pain within me is too much now. I can't stay while all the time all I want to do is race to him and confess everything.
Oh Zim, I wish you well on whatever you do. But for me I cannot confess or say anything, because you are an Irken, and Irkens don't feel. I know you would like to leave here, I have watched you sit there for years, watched you sit and burn in this humid underworld, and I know that you take sleeping pills just to fall asleep. This planet has effects on you, like fatigue, but you're not used to sleeping naturally, Irkens don't do that. How much would you give to go home? My dream would be to follow, but it is not possible.
You'll never change from your Irken ways, it isn't anything that's possible for you, it's in your genes. You cannot change. You're just too vague, and wouldn't be able to say.....
You couldn't say I'm....
...beautiful.
Oh Zim, I wish you well, I really do, but for me, I am lost, and cannot go back from this road, that leads to a pit of snakes. And I will keep walking down that road, past the tree you're writing under, the one love I can ever see from you. The apple that is you fell far from the tree of your civilization, yet you live by it so perversely, you don't even realize it. And the apple that you are, is rotten, yet so beautiful, and I'd like to keep you with me, and tell you that you are beautiful.... But this is not to be. I know about the one problem that plagues you. You take the pills to fall asleep, and dream that you're invisible. I stole a journal from your locker once and read every page. Yet there was nothing about me in it except hate letters and scribbles of my death. This is how I know. That the only feeling Irkens can truly feel is rage and hatred. I also know about your dreams are tormented, so you stay awake, yet are so tired of this dirtball, and wish to go home, but can't, so you stay and are forced to dream your tormenting dreams, and recall when you were capable....
Capable of being what you would dearly love to be again....
The Invader that you want yourself to be.
You're empty and so beautiful, at least I can keep you here, in my mind...
I wish you well Zim.... I really do-
'Bri-iii-ing!!'
The annoying broken bell rings it's crime against noise and stops me.
I get up and leave. Quickly.
I don't want anyone to see my tears.
-
The End.
-
No matter what anyone says, this is a one-chapter fiction, which has been in my mind for so long, and has ended. No second chapter or sequel. It's good to finally write out what's been in my head for such a long time, fuck it's good to write anyway.
Anywho, thanks for reading.
by Necrofuckup.
An Invader Zim fiction inspired by Jack Off Jill's 'Vivica'.
Disclaimer:- I own nothing. Jhonen Vasquez owns Invader Zim and it's characters. Jack Off Jill owns the song 'Vivica'. I don't even own a soul, I actually sold it to buy a drink.....
-
The morning begins again, I feel tired. A tiredness that doesn't go away from just going to bed earlier. It's a tiredness that stays with me, all day and everyday. Since that bastard ever came here I've been tired, it's just changed from one form of tiredness to another. He came here and I fought him with every ounce of strength I could muster, but now I have to use that strength just to stay away from him. Other than our physical appearances, this change of mind is the only thing that has changed within me. There's a place in my brain that is sectioned just for him. And I can't be sure when, but eventually the decor in that room in my brain changed from hatred.... to....
I can't think it let alone say it.
I sit here in my kitchen, eating a bowl of Shugah Parahsites, even though I dislike them entirely. But there's nothing else to eat. And the cafeteria at skool serves 'food' even worse than this. So eat I must, because my matchstick body can't support me without some sort of nutrients.
I chew and swallow the now mushy goop, and wonder what Gaz is doing, because we have to leave soon. Time passes and eventually she comes down, and just sits at the table, playing the latest version of her precious gameslave. She doesn't eat breakfast, not since a year or so ago. She decided for no reason that was evident to me to stop eating breakfast, and ever since then she had been getting thinner, if that were possible. I know there must be something wrong, but if I talk to her she'll hit me, so there's no point. She hates me, and I hate her. I've never liked her, so why should I start caring now?
Anyway, I stand up and toss the bowl and spoon and remainder of the sugary mush into the sink, and grab my coat on the way out of our house. Gaz soon follows.
As I walk down the street the dread of facing a new school day stares at me in the face and spits. I hate this now. Like a small taunting child who can look innocent at any given moment, so when you punch him for throwing hot coffee in your face, you're the one who gets punished. That's what it's like to go to skool now, forever trapped, always wanting to go up to him, and tell him everything I want to say, but know he won't understand, so there's no hope, and I'll be punished by the whole community and be labeled forever.
But first, there's the bus.
-
We both get on the aging, no longer yellow bus and find the usual seats. At the back. Where everybody throws their rubbish and gum and general junk just so that when we sit there, it will be worse every time. Until the end of the month, when the bus driver attempts to clean it. Sometimes I wonder why Gaz puts up with it. She has a scary strength for a girl her age, she even once made Old Kid cry, and he's almost dead. She ignores everything, and everyone. Except if they touch her. But no one does this now. Ever. If you're thinking that being with her would be like having a bodyguard, then you're wrong. She'd let anything happen to me. If we were walking down an alley, and ten guys appeared out of nowhere, then proceeded in mugging, raping and murdering me, she'd carry on walking, completely immersed in her virtual world. Fuck I wish I could do that. But I can't, I suck at computer games.
I look out the window at the passing world, seeing various things and people speed by. They're all somebody I would rather be. I would gladly trade body and soul with a hobo leper, if it meant I could lose the feelings, thoughts and body of this one.
My thoughts start, inevitably, to return to Zim, but something I am thankful for happens. A poop cola can hits my head, hard and though it hurts and I would love to rub the offended area like a normal person, I stay perfectly still, continuing to look out at the zooming world. Staying still has worked before. But not today. Another cola can hits my eye this time, at an angle that manages to knock off my seemingly larger than necessary glasses first. This time I have to rub my eye, in comfort, and as it starts to water as any eye would, someone cries out in a loud manner "Heeey!! Lookit! Dib's cryin'!!" followed by an outburst of raucous laughter, by my classmates, the kids from below my class, and I swear I can even hear the bus driver. But it ends soon as the crumbling skool comes into my one good eyes' sight. I would thank God, but I'm far too cynical for that. The bus grinds to a halt and eventually stops, there's no denying everyone can hear it's fanbelt slipping madly creating a horrible screech that we're all used to, and the motor spluttering unhealthily. The jeers and remarks die down as they all leave and get off the decaying bus, and I sit on the seat. Gaz leaves, still staring at her hand-held gaming fun, and she walks through the skools' doorway.
I'm left here on the bus I despise, hoping the driver won't recognise me and drive to Mexico, where the bus will be exploded for whatever reason; with me still inside.
But no, he turns round and his beady, ugly eyes focus on me. By now I can let my hand stray back to my side from my injured eye, and he says, in a gruff gravely voice "Hey, Dib, get off my bus 'fore I kick ya' off!"
I stand up from the cushionless seat, and walk down the dirty aisle, but before I step off, like the many others before me today, I ask him "How d'you know my name?" He gives me a look which I hope is one of bewilderment and responds "Kid, I been drivin' this tin can for longer years than you lived. Out of all the names that's been shouted the most, yours is it. And I know you's is Dib 'cause you's is the one who's ever gotten bullied the most. Now get off!" He kicks me and I fall on my face onto the cracked sidewalk. The driver, as is his job, drives away, back to wherever it is bus drivers go.
I lie here wondering, 'Wow, out of all the bullied kids, he remembers me. I feel so special.' Thank whoever invented Sarcasm.
-
After the classes that can only be described as a waste of time, I always wish that Ms. Bitters was still alive. At least she inspired a sort of fear of learning and therefore, you would want to do as she said. Her lessons of utter doom at least got to you in a way that made you remember, even if you weren't listening. But still, she was an extremely old... women. And nobody lives forever, not even her.
But now the young teachers, who eat tofu and drink soymilk and are all vegetarians rule the lessons, and though I've got nothing against vegetarians, these new teachers totally enforce the stereotype of hippie peace loving "Oh I haven't done my homework." "That's okay, you can get it to me later" type of teacher. They were all waiting for Bitters to croak, I would bet they did it, if they weren't who they are. Needless to say, the skool has never been worse.
I ponder all this in the cafeteria, next to my house acquaintance, with an entity known as 'food' in front of me on a tray. I sit on the hard uncomfortable picnic bench style seat with my head leaning on my arms, on the equally uncomfortable table. I'm not eating this shit in front of me, but we're forced to not waste what's put in front us, as it would somehow hurt mother Earth, รก la young happy teachers. Soon they'll learn how many years it takes of teaching to realise there is no point being happy and fun, because students don't want that. They want a teacher who will give them work, and even at the time they'll hate the teacher, when they're a success later in life, the student will look back and would thank the strict teacher they had for making them work hard. But a nice teacher won't do that. Students will see that it's so easy to not do homework, or study, and fail on everything, and the sickeningly optimistic teacher won't give them more than a frown... Well, that's what I think, that was my rant for this lunch hour.
Zim.... He's not here yet. I have doubts if he will even enter the cafeteria today, there's no reason for him to do so, he can't eat this shit, fuck, most of us can't. And even though it makes it easier for me with him not being here, I wish... I wish he would come in. And sit solitarily on his table, sitting and talking and scheming to himself. How I would love to sit next to him....
...But that's out of the question. It could never be. His species.... knows nothing of....affection for another... He's an Irken Invader. His species does as it is told, no questions, no happiness, just anger and hate for those that stand in their way. And from what I have learnt, nothing stands in their way.
I sigh a long drawn out sigh, and as if on cue, he walks in through the rusty swinging double doors. That short ray of hope, marches in with his head held high, because he knows he's superior. He struts all the way to his table and promptly sits. The respect he has worked for over the years in incredible. No one touches him, no one laughs at him or talks to him or mocks him. They all know what he did to that freakishly named, The Letter M. I shudder at the thought. Yes, he earned that respect for them to just leave him alone. But other than that, he hasn't changed in any aspect. And it's that thought that has just wiped the insanely arched smile off of my ugly face. I stare at him for ages, with what I think must be a forlorn look on my face. I'm not sure of the time but it must be nearing the end of lunch because almost everyone has left this mouldy room.
I'm going to leave. Before he does. The pain within me is too much now. I can't stay while all the time all I want to do is race to him and confess everything.
Oh Zim, I wish you well on whatever you do. But for me I cannot confess or say anything, because you are an Irken, and Irkens don't feel. I know you would like to leave here, I have watched you sit there for years, watched you sit and burn in this humid underworld, and I know that you take sleeping pills just to fall asleep. This planet has effects on you, like fatigue, but you're not used to sleeping naturally, Irkens don't do that. How much would you give to go home? My dream would be to follow, but it is not possible.
You'll never change from your Irken ways, it isn't anything that's possible for you, it's in your genes. You cannot change. You're just too vague, and wouldn't be able to say.....
You couldn't say I'm....
...beautiful.
Oh Zim, I wish you well, I really do, but for me, I am lost, and cannot go back from this road, that leads to a pit of snakes. And I will keep walking down that road, past the tree you're writing under, the one love I can ever see from you. The apple that is you fell far from the tree of your civilization, yet you live by it so perversely, you don't even realize it. And the apple that you are, is rotten, yet so beautiful, and I'd like to keep you with me, and tell you that you are beautiful.... But this is not to be. I know about the one problem that plagues you. You take the pills to fall asleep, and dream that you're invisible. I stole a journal from your locker once and read every page. Yet there was nothing about me in it except hate letters and scribbles of my death. This is how I know. That the only feeling Irkens can truly feel is rage and hatred. I also know about your dreams are tormented, so you stay awake, yet are so tired of this dirtball, and wish to go home, but can't, so you stay and are forced to dream your tormenting dreams, and recall when you were capable....
Capable of being what you would dearly love to be again....
The Invader that you want yourself to be.
You're empty and so beautiful, at least I can keep you here, in my mind...
I wish you well Zim.... I really do-
'Bri-iii-ing!!'
The annoying broken bell rings it's crime against noise and stops me.
I get up and leave. Quickly.
I don't want anyone to see my tears.
-
The End.
-
No matter what anyone says, this is a one-chapter fiction, which has been in my mind for so long, and has ended. No second chapter or sequel. It's good to finally write out what's been in my head for such a long time, fuck it's good to write anyway.
Anywho, thanks for reading.