Note: If I start writing like this is a soap opera, I command you to slap me upside the head. In my Zim MySpace account, I have been accused of writing Zim lines that are soap-opera-ish. Horrors! It was an accident, my mind is mixing things up because somehow the Teen Titans got involved as well, gaaaaa! Oh, you don't know what I'm talking about. Anyway, please yell at me if I get TOO ooc, okay?

Kill them.

He groaned, shoving his head deeper into the pillow. The voice had been plaguing him for three days. Ever since the discussion in the hallway with the tormented ghost-child, of which Dib could not remember a single word. All his tape players went on the fritz at the same time so he could play the recording he had taken.

They are just in your way. They torment you every day. They don't have to stay. Kill them so they'll go away.

"Wonderful," He mumbled, hopping out of bed. "I've got the ghost-child of Dr. Seuss haunting ME now." He pulled on his bathrobe and stumbled out to the kitchen. It was still dark out, and the stars shone down. He set the kettle boiling. Hot cocoa always helped him sleep. He stared out the window, picking out the constellations.

"There's Orion, Scylla, the Big Dipper, Ursa Major, and Shintarka, the star that points the way… to…"

Irk.

"Hey loser, the tea-kettle is whistling! You woke me up." Gaz stalked in, her fists clenched. "You know what? I don't care about what happened in the bathroom. That was luck on your part. But you won't be so lucky this time!"

The whole time Gaz spoke, Dib heard nothing of what she said. He gaped as Zim's voice echoed in his ears instead of Gaz's voice.

Filthy, disgusting hyuman! So full of it, you think you've won! You always did, I'm back! Well? You want to try to kill Zim now? Go ahead, just try, you pitiful hyuman smeet!

Before his eyes, Gaz's features turned a sickly green. Her hair disappeared, replaced by two antennae. And her eyes darkened and grew round until they took up most of her head and were a rich red color.

An animalistic howl tore from Dib's throat as he leapt forward, his hands around Zim's throat before he knew it. He tackled Zim to the floor, pinning him there as he raised his fist and slammed it into that smug alien face. Zim spit blood, but did not stop smiling. Is that the best you can do, hyuman? Dib clenched his teeth and pounded his fist into the face over and over. He dragged Zim off the floor and smashed his head against the wall, but the alien still smiled. Stupid fool.

Enraged, Dib looked around and spotted a hammer. He left Zim in a crumpled heap on the floor, seized the hammer, and came back. He raised the hammer and deliverd a final blow to Zim's head. Seconds before the impact, Zim's face melted away, revealing Gaz's terrified, bloody face.

The hammer made a terrific crunch. Dib felt bone and cartilage snap, and fresh blood flowed. For the first time, Dib noticed it was red blood, not green. He dropped the hammer, bewildered. "It… wasn't… Zim? GAZ!" He rolled her over to see her face, gagging at the sight of all the blood. "Oh Gaz, oh man, I didn't mean it, I thought—Gaz." He grabbed her wrist and felt desperately for a pulse. There it was, slightly fluttering. He raced to the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

"Operator, it's an emergency! I think I just about killed my sister! Get over here, now!" Panicked, he hung up without telling the operator where they were. He dropped to his knees and vomited. "Oh Gaz, what did I do?" His eyes snapped open. "The voice," He dashed to his room, grabbed his cassette tape, and rushed to Gaz's room. Shoving it into the nearest player, he hit the play button.

"Ghost child, is that you?" Brief pause. "Well, I'm here, what do you want to say?" Another pause. "What do you mean 'you'll find out'? And what's been going on lately? I've been acting more and more like—" Dib slammed his fist into the tape player over and over. He dug his fingers into it and pulled it apart, screaming, "NO! IT'S NOT TRUE! I'M NOT ZIM!" He threw the machine through the window, shattering the glass.

Sobbing, he lowered himself to the ground. At that moment, his Dad came home.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

The newsreels all had the pictures. Pictures of Gaz, beat to a bloody pulp, who had died minutes after her hospitalization from massive internal bleeding and brain damage. Pictures of Dib, her murderer, curled up on the floor, blood all over him. Pictures of Dib, the sweet, annoying child he used to be. Pictures of Dib, wrapped in a straightjacket.

The trial had been a blur for Dib. His Dad had been his defense attorney, pulling strings and plea-bargaining to keep Dib out of Death Row. The judge had agreed, but had a psychologist examine him. Dib vaguely remembered sitting calmly in the chair one moment, and the next getting up on the man's desk, stomping, and declaring, "Dib needs no filthy examinations!"

There had been a quick diagnosis—acute skitzophrenia with homicidal tendencies. The judge had sentenced Dib to life in the local Assylum for Insane People Who Are Insane, and Dib was led away by two men clad in white, screaming threats in English and Irkish at the same time.

He sat in his padded, white cell, staring at the ceiling. The room was only five feet square, with the cot and toilet taking up most of the room. The bulb in the ceiling flickered annoyingly. Dib's eye twitched.

Suddenly the walls began to fall away… or was it Dib who was falling? Something was falling, because all Dib could see was blackness. Endless blackness. Occasionally twisted rolls of film would fly past, giving him a flash of his past, but disappearing before it was fully recognize.

His eyes roamed the darkness, searching for anything, a landmark or familiar figure. It latched onto the former.

"Hello, Dib-stink. Did you miss Zim?"