schizo panic



Zim hadn’t come to school at all that day. Didn’t even call in sick as he usually does, as the teacher informed in disgruntled disbelief. He’s never done that before. “Maybe he’s dead.” She said without much regard (as she was with all students) to his well-being.

The school day ended and no sign of even the small toy robot Zim kept around him to report to Dib or someone where he was.

He sat in his basement, curled on the magenta beanbag chair and holding the mess of black hair usually slicked back so neatly. He was murmuring incorrectly, the small robot sitting close by with a plate of waffles that didn’t look to be made from 100% edible things and patting him.
“Master, master, I can’t understand you!” He chided, eventually dropping the plate to the ground with only enough care to ensure the plate didn’t break and then trying to hug the male who only hissed and pushed him away. He laid against the chair. His vision was flickering. From a complicated, alien base to a small basement with a big computer and a few other technologies in it. His eye twitched and he shut them both tightly, half-German and half-English spilling out of his mouth in sentences that wouldn’t make sense even to a German and English speaker.