Dib hated his life…
And for his entire life, he had always felt that way. He grew up to be the failure son of the Membrane family, who his father; his own flesh and blood, treat him as if he were nothing. He saw him as nothing. His accomplishments were nothing and his life was nothing. Dib was ignored; he was invisible. No family parties, no praise; not even a simple pat on the back for acknowledgement.
Dib hated his life…
He hated his family. Hate is known to be a very powerful word and Dib hated his father. But most importantly, he hated himself.
He shut the door behind him and looked at his father, humiliated. His father just glared at him and didn't say a word.
He hung his head as he paced himself up the stairs. "Go do your homework!" Dib would hear his father yell. And that was it.
In his room, Dib's pen scratched onto the paper, scribbling jargon, the feeling in his arm that this paper deserved to be treated like a throwaway but, Dib did no such thing.
He couldn't go through with it.
Struggling to see in the dark, the boy's writing was messy but, he didn't notice, let alone care. He hardly cared that the teardrops that touched the paper smudged the black ink when he turned on the light to get a better look.
He heard footsteps. The door opening. The garage closing. The car started. Dib pressed his ear to the window.
"Gaz, I am so proud of you. Tonight, I'm taking you out." Dib heard his father say.
"Where's Dib?"
"Who? The other one? Such things are not important in our lives. I'm sure that tonight will take your mind off of him."
It was dark.
After a long day at skool, Dib finally managed to drag himself home. He drudged along the pavement; his book bag enjoying the ride as it scraped itself along the sidewalks, gathering dry, crusty cement on the bottom. The boy was late and his dad was going to kill him. Not that this was new to him, remembering how often he had to go through with what was in store for him. He knew it in his heart that he was an independent child; at least, more so than most eleven year old boys. But, either way, Dib was preparing for the worst.
He reached the doorsteps, slowly. He dug into his pocket, to pull out his keychain, which had his house key and other miniature items. In the dark, he filed his items, finding the key to the house and managed to find it. The key was slowly inserted into the small key hole, as Dib twisted it around to unlock his door. He pushed his way in and dropped his bag carelessly, as the door swung shut.
Dib headed up the stairs. He was worn-out and was in no mood for any punishment or whatever his father was going to say. Most importantly, he had no patience to hear how much of a good child Gaz was and how he should be more like her. Sure, he was used to all of the favoritism going on the house but, like every typical kid who lives in a typical house, there were standards.
It was understood. He could take a hint. Dib was not wanted in this family and according to his father, he did not deserve for his life to get easier unless, he was willing to settle down and obey him; no matter how unfair the consequences were.
Now that he knew he was alone, there was nothing left for his family. And, in much precision, Dib was no award winning individual. He was worthless.
Dib lay silently in his bed, hearing the murmuring from downstairs; his father telling his sister on how proud he was of her, made him get a sick feeling inside, like he was nothing.
He pulled the cover over his head, hiding himself in shame. His breathing quiet, but dynamic to swish the covers in an up and down motion as he drifted away in a deep sleep.
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Zim settled himself, turning every page of his book happily. He was so interested in his reading, the time nearly flew by.
This was the best way to relax after an unpleasant day at skool. To cuddle up on the couch and engage in your most favorite activity and Zim loved reading which went along with his research. This was no picture book. But, the green kid made it seem like the book was fun to browse through. He smiled, knowing that he finished his poem hours ago. Surprisingly, he didn't just scribble random jargon on it and just treat it like a throwaway like any other homework that he has completed in the past. Poetry has actually opened his eyes to new experiences in the world and it was fascinating to know that such a way of expressing yourself actually existed.
"This is a good book," he muttered to himself, getting back on reading the story.
Of course, Zim was already interested in poems. It's not like he was hiding anything. At the same time, he hated to admit that he was wrong about it in the first place. His carelessness over it was short-lived and he could see that but, the only thing that seemed to bother him was he didn't deliberately pull himself in into the whole idea. Knowing who Zim was and all, he was raised off into judging the book by its cover and whenever he reached the stage of realizing the error if his ways, it always pained him. Perhaps, it is not that he disliked poetry all together. Merely, in his own subconscious, he wasn't always ready to try something new. Nonetheless, his new found poetic side has made his life turn for the better, along with his desire for internet research. Like his internet research, Zim has developed a weird kind of passion for poetry. The love-hate kind.
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I know. This was kind of a short chapter and I did promise that I would get to writing about the poetry assignments themselves (for those who are interested.) Please Review. And please, I need more people to review. More people at review this chapter and my previous ones. If it's not too much to ask.