Thanks guys! I love all these reviews.
Taco: You are so kind to your brother. He's not that gullible, is he? Oh well. Thanks!
Dibsthe1: Wow, thank you! I know, I've never been a big fan of Gaz just HATING on Dib. And a Membrane chapter? Hmm...
Chelle Hakkai: Thanks! I'll try to update fast, but sometimes it takes awhile.
DibMagician: Thank you! Yes, of course I'm going to continue this.
Invader Zim and every character related to it belong to the all-mighty Jhonen Vasquez. And don't you just love picturing his cringing little face while reading all our horrible goblin-child fics? I know I do. Strawberry however, belongs to me.
"Hey Al."
"Hey."
The usual of course. I wish I could say that. I wish I could say it in a big hardy voice like all the jolly men who come in here on Fridays with their drinking buddies. They come to watch the game and talk, get away from their nagging wives, be real men.
But I can't say that. I come here almost every night, and I don't feel like being jolly and bringing some drinking buddies along. So once I have my drink, I just shut up...and, well drink. I'm not even sure that man's name is Al. Oh well, I don't really care.
Actually, that's not true, a small part of me does. A small part of me wishes that after I have a few drinks and make some friendly conversation with a few people, I'll drive home and talk to my kids about their day. I wish that were true. I wish so many things though, that they all lose meaning. They swirl around in the air like a faint sent lost.
Like Strawberries.
I wonder if they still sell that perfume. If they do, they should stop. It would smell bitter, not sweet and a bit overpowering. It would smell like the people who pick the strawberries, not the strawberries themselves.
I wonder if she still buys that perfume. She probably doesn't; it reminds her, like so many things remind me.
That's why I drink, that's why I hate myself, that's why my kids hate me.
What's taking so long? Al isn't even getting my drink; he's just talking with someone.
"Hey Al! Where's my drink?" I say just a little too loudly. The man he's talking to hides his face behind his hand, stifling his laughter.
Al walks over to me, looking annoyed and a bit disgusted, like he'd rather not be talking to me, not even seen next to me.
"We're out. And my name's not Al." But he doesn't tell me his real name; he just walks back to the other man.
Well, what the heck am I supposed to do now? Solve the world's problems? No, I stopped doing that along time ago. The world wanted me to stop. No, she wanted me to stop. The world has too many, you can't do this by yourself.
Well, what does she know? What does anybody know? Screw them all! I'm gonna go home, I'm gonna talk to my kids, ask for forgiveness, and forget.
No, I could never forget her, I could never forget our happiness, but she can't have this hold on me anymore. I'm done with her, she's not my problem...she just a memory.
She's just a faint sent on the wind, lost.
She's just Strawberries.