Zim is confused. I can tell, by the way he flails his slim arms about and screams at Dib's prone form. This is the fourth time he has visited the hospital; and every time he does the same thing. I know now that Zim is not Dib's friend. (It mildly puzzles me as to his commitment. I will not speculate on their relationship- at least, if I do, I won't document it formally.)
However, his confusion does answer some questions. They are fighting. Not as one would fight with a loved one or friend, but literally fighting. I would surmise over power, dominance, or perhaps the earth itself. If not, then they are merely rivals.
Zim doesn't know what to do.
He spits. "You STUPID earth monkey! How could you FALL for that?" He points accusingly in the direction of Dib's head. "You are PATHETIC! Hitting your head was all it TOOK?"
He stops. "It wasn't supposed to work."
Dib, of course, does not verbally respond. The hiss of pumped air is his retort.
"Good morning, son!" The Professor bursts into the private room; he opens the blinds with an enthusiastic fury. Obscenely gray light floods the room, poisoning the artificial illumination. He turns, and notices Zim.
"Hello! You must be my son's little foreign friend! Are you here to encourage his recovery?" Zim narrows one eye in confusion.
"Eh? Human, I am here to witness his DOOM!" He pauses.
"Why are you here?"
Something unreadable traverses the Professor's face for a brief moment. "I am here to visit my son, of course! Well, I had an opening in my insanely busy schedule, anyway. I'm sure he'll be better soon!"
He inclines his head towards the door.
"Gaz, come in here! Say hello to your brother!" He chirps merrily at these words.
She saunters in, head bowed in reverence to her gaming system. The tinny beeps and blares emanating from the machine echo around the room like love from an empty heart. Squinting at her father, she glances momentarily at her prone sibling. "Can I pull the plug?" she inquires.
The Professor pales considerably. "Daughter! We'll have none of that!"
He looks at the chart at the foot of Dib's bed.
"Oh."
Gaz glimpses up, again. "Let's go."
Zim looks disgusted, closes the blinds, and leaves. His footsteps reverberate down the hall.
"He's an alien, you know." I say to no one in particular.
Maran Zelde (1st review): Thank you for the comments. The narrator is neither above nor beneath other people; s/he is just separate. If you want an analogy, (because I have to constantly remind myself not to get the narrator too involved) I guess you could say this person is like God in the sense that he would exist outside of time, watching everything without being exactly there. Yes, the fact that an alien race exists is exciting to the narrator, but the point is to wait for something to happen so s/he can record it. The narrator can't, in the interest of unbiased documentation, do anything more with the information. Does that make sense? (BTW, the person is one year ahead of Dib.)
"Truly this person is even more abnormal than Dib, but no one realizes it."
Exactly.
LadyApocalymon: Thank you. Heh, I strive to not make my personal Livejournal. I get sick and tired of over-angsty Dib and suicidal Zim constantly cutting his wrists or whatever. It's just too much. (At least I hope this fic isn't too angst.)
Maran Zelde (2nd review): Huh…I guess it could be an original story. Never occurred to me. (I'm kinda slow, sometimes.) Be glad you have someone like your aunt. The things you want to forget are oftentimes the things you should NEVER forget. I really do appreciate you taking the time out for those in-depth reviews!
Awkwardxmoments (1st review): Geez, fine, I'll make 'em longer. I tried to express how the world views the Professor- no documentation needed for him.
Awkwardxmoments (2snd review): Quite honestly, I'd forgotten that the valentines were made out of meat. View the dancing ones as…uh….beef jerky! Or paper. If someone doesn't like you in skool, you get a paper valentine. (As opposed to a cool meat one, I guess.)
Chickens: You shall see soon.