I don’t own nothing at all. I don’t own this story idea it’s just that all of you do this idea w/the
same ending. So I’m doing it different cuz I wanna.
Plus all you guys are always talking about doin and autopsy on Zim but he wasn’t dead for whatever reason and an
autopsy on a living creature is a vivisection not an autopsy.
This was also written at two AM and I’m passing in and out of dreamworld here and I’m trying to see if I can
channel some of my dreams onto paper but just bear with me ok?
Prepare for nonsense, angsty sad nonsense cuz I wanna.
The room was white, plain and cramped. The tiny green creature sitting huddled in the corner just seemed to make it smaller.
He had given up screaming days past, although there was one person he could always summon up a good long curse for.
Zim’s habit of cursing in his native language creeped out a few of the staff, but Dib was used to it. He and Zim
had been through everything, they knew each other better, perhaps, then they knew themselves. More than once, toward the end,
he had seen Zim block the blow he was about to make before he had even decided to make it.
But that was over now, long past. Now all there was was victory, triumph.
And they both knew it. Even as the invader screamed at him, Dib saw defeat in his eyes. They both knew that there was no
going back at this point. The path they had traveled together had branched, they had hesitated there, each trying to go their
own direction. But they knew they had to go together, whichever path was chosen had to be chosen for both of them, walking
together, walking forever.
In the end, they had just followed Dib’s path, Zim kicking and screaming but it was all a ruse. Inside, deep inside,
perhaps still hidden by his ego or his PAK, whichever was bigger, a tiny knot of acceptance was growing. Growing slowly but
Zim winced as another needle went in. One of a hundred, a thousand. In the beginning he had remained stoic, not showing
any pain no matter what they did. After 64 needles, he started to wince. This number was recorded, as was everything else.
After 97 there was sound. 76 drops of water to break through the skin, two hours to heal such a wound.
All on record.
Dib knew it all. He had known a good deal of it before, but the notes of a twelve year old in the field were grossly inaccurate.
It all had to be done over. And Dib, the eighteen year old boy he was now, he was there to take all the recordings. He was
there, making sure his face was implanted strongly in Zim’s eyes for every sting, every drop of water, every needle,
Dib was there, watching the pain in Zim’s inhuman red eyes. People had said that two who had been together so long had
to have a bond, that Dib would chicken out, not be able to witness the pain of someone he knew so well.
They were wrong.
When a human learns something about another being, they embrace it and use it to develop their bond with that person. It
is human nature to accept, to love.
When an Irken learns something about another being, they log it away for the future, knowing they have leverage over the
other. It is Irken knowledge to dominate, to conquer.
Dib knew all of this, he used it against the Irken, using his own mentality to destroy him.
It had worked so brutally well.
Dib treated Zim the way the Irken had treated him, and it wasn’t until Zim’s last moments, staring into the
eyes of the boy standing over him, the scalpel dripping green blood, that he realized it.
Those eyes mirrored his own.
Full of everything, full of nothing at all.