A/N: Got my fingers burned/Now when I think of touching your hair/You have changed so much/That I don't know/If I call you and tell you care/And I would love/To bring you down/Plant your feet back on the ground/ -Pete Murray 'So Beautiful'. I really love the song. Thinking of making it a prologue or something to a Harry Potter fic I have the urge to write.

ANWAY I am STILL supposed to be doing my homework BUT I'M NOT SO I'M SITTING HERE LISTENING TO THIS BLOODY SONG OVER AND OVER AGAIN TO SATATE MY URGE FOR IT

I like pie.

Disclaimer, woo!: I do not own Invader Zim, or any characters in it (except for my lovely original character and her family). So nyah, suck my arse if you have a problem with it.

Warning: Okay, everyone. Here's the lowdown. This fic here is rated R for a reason. It is going to include more than mild swearing, sexual references (both lesbian, gay and straight), possibility of sex scenes (lesbian and possibly gay), violence, murder, attempted murder, and, of course, giggly teen sleepovers. I missed a few things out whilst writing this the first time: It also includes mention and the possibility of incest and nudity… I'm so stupid…

'So… Let me get this straight. You decide to kidnap up three, then kill one of us of my choice. Yet you have no idea how she died, nor where she went. Am I missing something here?'

'Nope, that's about it.'

Dib stared Zim down at the high school oval, his fists clenched by his sides. It was the Monday after Violet's untimely… something. Dib wasn't sure whether she had died or not. Neither did Zim.

Letting out a mentally exhausted sigh, the human boy placed a hand on his forehead. Zim just scoffed, and kicked a pile of dirt with his shoe. Gaz was over at the other side of the school, her head in a book, although she hadn't turned the page in over thirty minutes. Violet had told Dib that losing his sister would be worse than losing her. The boy was still trying to comprehend that. Nothing could be worse than what he was feeling that very moment- what he had felt for the past four days.

Spinning around, Dib began to pace in front of the Irken quickly. Zim watched him in a bored fashion, and raised a non-existent eyebrow.

'Dib-human, you could still be in that room of mine, rotting away. Isn't your life worth more than that female companion of yours?'

The teenager stopped abruptly and gazed, horrified, at him. 'What? Zim, are you insane? It's not a matter of whether I lived or not, it's the fact… Zim, someone is dead, and you don't give a shit?'

Furrowing his brow, Zim crossed his arms and sniffed. 'Although I am not… excreting this very moment, I guess you are using humanoid… vulgar slang. And no, I do not give a "shit".'

Shaking his head, and holding back angry tears, Dib just shook his head, before turning, and walking away from the alien murderer.

*

Tears tracing already made paths down smooth flesh, pit pattering down on even smoother skin, and onto soft, unruffled carpeting. Blood sliding down the wet avenue, and joining the puddle on the floor, making it a pale, somewhat clear, pink.

Shuddering gasps as bandages wrapped around arms and legs, stopping the wounds that were made by grief and a sharp knife. Overly calm hands running through dirty hair, and soothing voices doing anything but stop the ache inside. Keys clinging as cutlery doors were locked, and stationery arranged in hard-to-reach places. Kind words sympathetic words.

Brothers playing the role of parents, and sisters playing the role of depressed teenagers, and depressed wasn't even the feeling, when it was really a plea for affection that someone couldn't give, being as nobody knew where they went, or if the one that disappeared even knew where they were.

Vagueness melting into days, and days just disappearing entirely, like a feather in the breeze. Song lyrics no longer relaxing muscles, television shows no longer making sense, and the need to re-read sentences half a dozen times just to grasp the meaning. Words just bubbling about like air bubbles in a lake created by fish. Sleep starting in the day, and not waking until mid-afternoon becoming part of life. Letters home from school asking as to why students weren't attending, and when they did, they did nothing but stare into space.

Funerals that wouldn't come, wakes that wouldn't exist. Parents of a friend asking where their child is, when their child would come home. Questions with no answers. Answers that never had a question. Sorrowful looks with more bleeding, more tears. More bandages more scars. More need for a parent when the parent isn't even known. More need for a brother.

Letters from school filling the letterbox. More questions with no answers. Large angry 'F's on unstudied-for tests. No more kind words, and no more bandages for large, angry wounds that's inflamed flesh was even redder than the blood that would seep. Even more clattering keys, even more locked doors. 'Time to pull up your act' they would say.

Empty home at last. Rip locks off doors. Spread the cutlery over a table. Still more cuts, yet no more brother. No need to find a bandage. The blood will stop some time. Any time. No time.

Someone finding what happened no need to know whom. Blackness overcoming, ignoring the wail of a siren, ringing in the distance like a child crying in an empty valley. Ignoring the feeling of being picked up and carried away. Just block the sensation.

Wake up, whiteness all around. Not heaven, just a hospital. Tubes in arm, not enough energy to pull them out. Kind words all around when they should have been around before. Bandages up and down arms and legs, wrists and ankles, stitches lying underneath, ready to be pulled out. Even the parent sitting by the bed. They should have been there before.

Soft hands patting ragged hair, tired body letting them do so. Words still not making sense, but only because ears are not wanting to function. Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite, body will be better in the morning.

*

Hospitals were never a place of great interest of Gaz, so spending nearly two weeks in one (mostly on suicide watch) was like her own personal hell. The whiteness of everything disturbed her, the medicinal smell almost gave her allergies, and all the sick patients disgusted her. Dib and her father came to visit her occasionally- even people from school dropped into say 'Hi', although Gaz suspected it was either forced by a teacher or they were visiting a sick relative.

She couldn't really remember the day when she slashed her wrists. It was a very cliché way to try to commit suicide, Gaz knew that, but at that moment, whilst standing in the middle of her kitchen on one of the many days she decided not to go to school, it was either cutting her wrists open and letting the blood pour out or curl up into a ball and sleep everything way. Sleep was something she had been doing for the past three weeks, and frankly, she wasn't too keen to keep doing that. Dib wasn't meant to come home early that afternoon. Apparently he had gotten worried about leaving her alone for long periods of time, and had ditched his last two periods to run home. Him doing so… well, Gaz wasn't too sure whether that was a blessing or curse. From the moment her body began to slow down, Gaz couldn't remember much else, than wishing she had a blanket.

And when she woke up, she was in the hospital. She still wanted a blanket, but not because she was cold, but because she just wanted to pull it up of her head, and fall back into asleep. A permanent sleep. With Violet, if Gaz could find her. If Gaz truly wanted to see her, though, all she had to do was pull her cover over her head, and she was there, playing in her memory.

Yet, when she pulled it back down, the picture would disappear, into oblivion.

Until one day, she returned.

A/N: I was gonna continue but I'm too tired.

And I couldn't think.

Stupid friend bailing out on meeting tomorrow. I smite thee.

I need to think more. Think, thank, thonk,

I'm thinking of entering the middle section into a prose writing competition. Not that I'll win, but hey, I can try, can't I?