HOME | DD

Description
Dib sat in his room, curtains to his only window drawn. The door to the hallway was shut tight and locked, keeping his sister and dad out. Not that they would have tried to enter anyway.

The desk lamp was turned on as was his laptop screen, though he wasn't logged on. Both lights cast shadows on the dark blue walls, none of them, except Dib's, moving. The light caught on the boy's glasses, sending dancing specks of light across the ceiling when he turned his head.

For hours, Dib had sat and studied the many pictures he had collected over the span of a little over a year. Some were of Zim at lunch, making faces at the nasty food, or running tests on it. Others were him on the play ground, writing things down on what could only be described as a sort of alien-like tablet. There were a rare few—about five or six—of the lizard-like creature without his disguise. Sadly, those were the pictures Dib had taken while in motion, the image of the green menace distorted to nothing more than a blur.

He had tried to show the Swollen Eyeball Network time and again, each time begging for them to let him explain, or at least try to refine it, but it was no use. What good would it have been anyway? They were the only people in this city—and sometimes, it seemed, the planet—that believed in the paranormal, and they didn't even believe him.

The paranormal investigator let out a hopeless sigh. The only thing his pictures would prove would be that he was crazy. Crazy like everyone had said; his teachers, his sister, his classmates, even his own father.

"Jeez," Dib said aloud, talking to himself as usual.
"This is completely useless. One year, one long year, and I can't prove anything to anyone!"

Dib pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger, and let out a small whimper. It wasn't one of pain, or of sadness, but one saturated with disappointment. "This is it," Dib said softly. "I'm done here. I've tried and failed so many times at this, this, whatever it is, and it's gotten me nowhere but the loony bin!" In one fluid motion Dib swept the pictures of Zim off his desk, each of them hitting the bottom of his garbage can. "The human race can go and get itself blown up for all I care! They obviously don't, or they would listen, and actually notice what's out there!"

Exasperated, Dib collapsed backward into his chair. His head hit the back rather uncomfortably, nearly stabbing him. Letting out a startled gasp, the boy sat up fast.

"What the hell?" Dib muttered, looking over his shoulder. Right where his head had landed, there was a small hole in the fabric. It had always been there, ever since Dib had turned ten, five years ago. But this time, however, instead of seeing the yellow foam that was the innards of the chair, a little black triangle poked out.

Curiosity washed away the former disappointment and exasperation. Reaching out, Dib tried to recall hiding anything in there recently. He took hold of it, tugging it swiftly out of the lining.

What Dib held in his left hand was not something he expected; a square, black floppy disk with no label.

"Why in the world would I have hid this there?" Dib asked himself, starting at it in confusion.

While wracking his brain for answers, Dib logged in to his laptop, tapping his fingers impatiently on the mouse pad whilst he waited.

Why would he have hidden a floppy disk in such a place? "Was I hiding it from Gaz, maybe?" Dib thought aloud, tapping the disk lightly against his chin. He couldn't have been hiding it from her. Even if it was for revenge of some sort, Dib would know better than to keep it is his room; he'd have hidden it as far away from him in the house as
possible.

Maybe it had been some strange data his father had given him to teach him about "real science" and other such nonsense. Ever since Dib had come home ranting about Zim a year ago, the professor would leave little hints on Dib's bed room door about the benefits of studying real science. Perhaps this was just something his father had left him recently?

The laptop pinged and Dib hastily jammed the floppy disk into the side slot of the chrome machinery. His fast pace clicking of the mouse was mute against the pounding of his heart. The impatient clicking only increased when the Virus Scanner pop up took its rightful place in the center of the screen.

Dib gnashed his teeth together; his computer NEVER took this long. Not that he remembered, anyway. Dib thought about that word, remember. His stomach flipped when he did, the image of the disk he had shoved into the computer caressing his mind. Never would Dib have forgotten a disk he himself had made, nor would he have hid it one of the many away. "Well," Dib thought out loud, as a small white box opened up on the desk top, offing the option to open all contained media. "Except from Zim."

As soon as the words where out, hanging in the quiet air, a picture revealed itself on the screen.
Dib gasped, remembering those first few weeks of Zim's landing. He was sitting on the couch, writing the address to the Mysterious Mysteries Studios, Gaz playing her video game next to him. He recalled the fear when his arms were no longer in control; the utter shock when he watched Zim's broadcast from his very own organs.

"You didn't think I'd send the original disk, did you? That one was a copy! Only I know where the original disk is." Dib said victoriously. Zim's laughter ceased, replaced with a growl. "Idiotic human!" the Irken snarled. "I'll just go into your brain and delete your knowledge of where you hid the master disk!"
****
The stinging headache relaxed only for a second. The harder Dib thought, more he forgot; until the whereabouts of his proof had completely left his brain. "I…can't remember where the disk is, Gaz! He did it! He made me forget!!"

The picture was of Zim, his costume gone. It was a perfect picture; his green skin not marred by movement, antennae perked and listening, eyes wide, curios, softly glowing orbs. From the above angle that Dib had captured it, you could clearly see his PAK. It was from that night a year ago, an exact year, according to the date under the picture.

Dib gaped, his heart pounding a mile a minute. His mouth was dry. Hands shaking, Dib saved the picture to his laptop. Forget Mysterious Mysteries, , he thought, opening up his email, and clicking the only address he ever had need of. "This is too important." Attaching the picture to the email, Dib wrote a small note at the bottom, requesting a call as soon as they received the photo.

And he waited. The send button had been clicked, and now it was up to fate, fate and luck, that the Network got it quickly enough, if at all.

Dib closed his eyes, letting his mind drift off, calming himself. He thought of all the kids that first day Zim had made it to his planet. He thought of the taunts, and dark words. He brought up images of all of his adventures with the alien menace. He recalled all aggravated words from the Swollen Eyeball Network and the sarcastic laughs from the FBI. Dib let all of the memories wash over him, but unlike other evenings, it didn't choke him. No, not now that he had proof, real proof. That Zim was a creature from space, that he wasn't a lunatic, that he was…normal.

"Agent Mothman!" a creaky voice filled with excitement shouted from the computer speakers.

The trench coat clad boy jumped a bit at the sudden noise. "Agent Dark Booty," he greeted, "Glad to see you...well, sort of see you, I guess," Dib addressed the red-eyed silhouette.

"Never mind formalities, Mothman. Let's get right to the point. Did you, or did you not, create this photo?"

Dib smirked. "I'll give you that; it's unbelievable. But the proof, the actual picture, is sitting in your email."

"Mothman," the figure said tightly.

"Sorry," Dib apologized with a shrug, too excited to feel bad. "No, it's the legitimate picture. The disk is in my computer now, if you'd like to see," he offered politely.

"No," the man said, his voice soft. "Agent Mothman, I would like to..." Dark Booty trailed off.

"Like to?" Dib pressed.

"On behalf of all the Eyeballs, I would like to sincerely apologize. We doubted you when we…quite obviously shouldn't have. This evidence you've gotten is incredible."

Dib's smirk turned into a smile. "Don't worry about it, much," Dib said.

Dark Booty seemed to smirk as well. "Is the specimen with you as of right now?" he asked.

Dib shook his head. "Sadly, no, he's not." Not wanting to let down the Network, Dib spoke up quickly, "B-but I can go to his base right now, if need be, and get—"

"Don't worry about that. We have already called and hired a professional…exterminator. Once the alien is out of the way, we can begin studies on its organs, and perhaps his 'base', I believe you called it." Before Dib could open his mouth, Dark Booty added, "He'll be in the town within three weeks time. That's the fastest we can get him out. You have three weeks to prepare, and protect, your town from any suspicious activity this creature cooks up."

Dib nodded, his once smiling mouth turning into a serious line. "I've been doing that for a year now, Agent Dark Booty. I think you can count on me for three more weeks."

"Excellent work, Agent Mothman. Until then," he nodded, "Dark Booty, out."

The once bright computer screen blinked to blackness. Dib stared at it, his mind racing.
He had done it, really done it this time. All the times his peers had thought he had "cried wolf" vanished to the back of his mind, the taunting names and being written off as a psycho were shoved into the dark dusty corners of his brain. The times when people had mocked him, even played along, only to shove his being naïve back in his face, was a thing of the past. This was a new era for Dib; the era of belief.

Of acceptance.

Dib smiled darkly. 'So long, Zim.' he thought, crawling into bed. Tomorrow was Friday, and Dib had a test in his Civics class.

For the first night in a very long while, Dib could rest easy. For the first time, he would be the victorious one.

"Twenty one days," Dib yawned, curling under the warm blankets. "Then you're mine, Zim. Mine, and the worlds."

Twenty one. That was Dib's magic number.

Description
Dib sat in his room, curtains to his only window drawn. The door to the hallway was shut tight and locked, keeping his sister and dad out. Not that they would have tried to enter anyway.

The desk lamp was turned on as was his laptop screen, though he wasn't logged on. Both lights cast shadows on the dark blue walls, none of them, except Dib's, moving. The light caught on the boy's glasses, sending dancing specks of light across the ceiling when he turned his head.

For hours, Dib had sat and studied the many pictures he had collected over the span of a little over a year. Some were of Zim at lunch, making faces at the nasty food, or running tests on it. Others were him on the play ground, writing things down on what could only be described as a sort of alien-like tablet. There were a rare few—about five or six—of the lizard-like creature without his disguise. Sadly, those were the pictures Dib had taken while in motion, the image of the green menace distorted to nothing more than a blur.

He had tried to show the Swollen Eyeball Network time and again, each time begging for them to let him explain, or at least try to refine it, but it was no use. What good would it have been anyway? They were the only people in this city—and sometimes, it seemed, the planet—that believed in the paranormal, and they didn't even believe him.

The paranormal investigator let out a hopeless sigh. The only thing his pictures would prove would be that he was crazy. Crazy like everyone had said; his teachers, his sister, his classmates, even his own father.

"Jeez," Dib said aloud, talking to himself as usual.
"This is completely useless. One year, one long year, and I can't prove anything to anyone!"

Dib pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger, and let out a small whimper. It wasn't one of pain, or of sadness, but one saturated with disappointment. "This is it," Dib said softly. "I'm done here. I've tried and failed so many times at this, this, whatever it is, and it's gotten me nowhere but the loony bin!" In one fluid motion Dib swept the pictures of Zim off his desk, each of them hitting the bottom of his garbage can. "The human race can go and get itself blown up for all I care! They obviously don't, or they would listen, and actually notice what's out there!"

Exasperated, Dib collapsed backward into his chair. His head hit the back rather uncomfortably, nearly stabbing him. Letting out a startled gasp, the boy sat up fast.

"What the hell?" Dib muttered, looking over his shoulder. Right where his head had landed, there was a small hole in the fabric. It had always been there, ever since Dib had turned ten, five years ago. But this time, however, instead of seeing the yellow foam that was the innards of the chair, a little black triangle poked out.

Curiosity washed away the former disappointment and exasperation. Reaching out, Dib tried to recall hiding anything in there recently. He took hold of it, tugging it swiftly out of the lining.

What Dib held in his left hand was not something he expected; a square, black floppy disk with no label.

"Why in the world would I have hid this there?" Dib asked himself, starting at it in confusion.

While wracking his brain for answers, Dib logged in to his laptop, tapping his fingers impatiently on the mouse pad whilst he waited.

Why would he have hidden a floppy disk in such a place? "Was I hiding it from Gaz, maybe?" Dib thought aloud, tapping the disk lightly against his chin. He couldn't have been hiding it from her. Even if it was for revenge of some sort, Dib would know better than to keep it is his room; he'd have hidden it as far away from him in the house as
possible.

Maybe it had been some strange data his father had given him to teach him about "real science" and other such nonsense. Ever since Dib had come home ranting about Zim a year ago, the professor would leave little hints on Dib's bed room door about the benefits of studying real science. Perhaps this was just something his father had left him recently?

The laptop pinged and Dib hastily jammed the floppy disk into the side slot of the chrome machinery. His fast pace clicking of the mouse was mute against the pounding of his heart. The impatient clicking only increased when the Virus Scanner pop up took its rightful place in the center of the screen.

Dib gnashed his teeth together; his computer NEVER took this long. Not that he remembered, anyway. Dib thought about that word, remember. His stomach flipped when he did, the image of the disk he had shoved into the computer caressing his mind. Never would Dib have forgotten a disk he himself had made, nor would he have hid it one of the many away. "Well," Dib thought out loud, as a small white box opened up on the desk top, offing the option to open all contained media. "Except from Zim."

As soon as the words where out, hanging in the quiet air, a picture revealed itself on the screen.
Dib gasped, remembering those first few weeks of Zim's landing. He was sitting on the couch, writing the address to the Mysterious Mysteries Studios, Gaz playing her video game next to him. He recalled the fear when his arms were no longer in control; the utter shock when he watched Zim's broadcast from his very own organs.

"You didn't think I'd send the original disk, did you? That one was a copy! Only I know where the original disk is." Dib said victoriously. Zim's laughter ceased, replaced with a growl. "Idiotic human!" the Irken snarled. "I'll just go into your brain and delete your knowledge of where you hid the master disk!"
****
The stinging headache relaxed only for a second. The harder Dib thought, more he forgot; until the whereabouts of his proof had completely left his brain. "I…can't remember where the disk is, Gaz! He did it! He made me forget!!"

The picture was of Zim, his costume gone. It was a perfect picture; his green skin not marred by movement, antennae perked and listening, eyes wide, curios, softly glowing orbs. From the above angle that Dib had captured it, you could clearly see his PAK. It was from that night a year ago, an exact year, according to the date under the picture.

Dib gaped, his heart pounding a mile a minute. His mouth was dry. Hands shaking, Dib saved the picture to his laptop. Forget Mysterious Mysteries, , he thought, opening up his email, and clicking the only address he ever had need of. "This is too important." Attaching the picture to the email, Dib wrote a small note at the bottom, requesting a call as soon as they received the photo.

And he waited. The send button had been clicked, and now it was up to fate, fate and luck, that the Network got it quickly enough, if at all.

Dib closed his eyes, letting his mind drift off, calming himself. He thought of all the kids that first day Zim had made it to his planet. He thought of the taunts, and dark words. He brought up images of all of his adventures with the alien menace. He recalled all aggravated words from the Swollen Eyeball Network and the sarcastic laughs from the FBI. Dib let all of the memories wash over him, but unlike other evenings, it didn't choke him. No, not now that he had proof, real proof. That Zim was a creature from space, that he wasn't a lunatic, that he was…normal.

"Agent Mothman!" a creaky voice filled with excitement shouted from the computer speakers.

The trench coat clad boy jumped a bit at the sudden noise. "Agent Dark Booty," he greeted, "Glad to see you...well, sort of see you, I guess," Dib addressed the red-eyed silhouette.

"Never mind formalities, Mothman. Let's get right to the point. Did you, or did you not, create this photo?"

Dib smirked. "I'll give you that; it's unbelievable. But the proof, the actual picture, is sitting in your email."

"Mothman," the figure said tightly.

"Sorry," Dib apologized with a shrug, too excited to feel bad. "No, it's the legitimate picture. The disk is in my computer now, if you'd like to see," he offered politely.

"No," the man said, his voice soft. "Agent Mothman, I would like to..." Dark Booty trailed off.

"Like to?" Dib pressed.

"On behalf of all the Eyeballs, I would like to sincerely apologize. We doubted you when we…quite obviously shouldn't have. This evidence you've gotten is incredible."

Dib's smirk turned into a smile. "Don't worry about it, much," Dib said.

Dark Booty seemed to smirk as well. "Is the specimen with you as of right now?" he asked.

Dib shook his head. "Sadly, no, he's not." Not wanting to let down the Network, Dib spoke up quickly, "B-but I can go to his base right now, if need be, and get—"

"Don't worry about that. We have already called and hired a professional…exterminator. Once the alien is out of the way, we can begin studies on its organs, and perhaps his 'base', I believe you called it." Before Dib could open his mouth, Dark Booty added, "He'll be in the town within three weeks time. That's the fastest we can get him out. You have three weeks to prepare, and protect, your town from any suspicious activity this creature cooks up."

Dib nodded, his once smiling mouth turning into a serious line. "I've been doing that for a year now, Agent Dark Booty. I think you can count on me for three more weeks."

"Excellent work, Agent Mothman. Until then," he nodded, "Dark Booty, out."

The once bright computer screen blinked to blackness. Dib stared at it, his mind racing.
He had done it, really done it this time. All the times his peers had thought he had "cried wolf" vanished to the back of his mind, the taunting names and being written off as a psycho were shoved into the dark dusty corners of his brain. The times when people had mocked him, even played along, only to shove his being naïve back in his face, was a thing of the past. This was a new era for Dib; the era of belief.

Of acceptance.

Dib smiled darkly. 'So long, Zim.' he thought, crawling into bed. Tomorrow was Friday, and Dib had a test in his Civics class.

For the first night in a very long while, Dib could rest easy. For the first time, he would be the victorious one.

"Twenty one days," Dib yawned, curling under the warm blankets. "Then you're mine, Zim. Mine, and the worlds."

Twenty one. That was Dib's magic number.