Dibsthe1 places on the table a birthday cake with a single burning candle.
I've been working on this one for a few months now... on and off that is. It's my birthday gift to myself, but of course, I will share.
Happy birthday to me.
Pops a mini firecracker, as is the birthday custom over here, and begins to cut cake.
Would anybody like a slice?
I don't own Invader Zim, and I sure don't own the concept of karma.
And They Called It "Love"
When he was three his sister first
Shoved him down the stairs;
Everyone beamed and smiled
And gushed, "See how much she cares!"
When he was five his sister first
Punched him in the face;
Each time thereafter, someone cooed,
"She shows love in her own ways!"
When he was seven, her abuse
Had gotten even worse,
But still they told him it was "love;"
"She's a BLESSING!! Not a curse!"
By the time he was nine his life
Was now a total hell on earth;
All just viewed his fear and pain
As a source of endless mirth.
As she mauled and crushed and battered him,
"She's a helpless little girl!"
Was all he was allowed to think.
Does this make you, too, hurl?
At eleven years, he begged advice
How this hell he could endure;
Those who called it "love" just shrugged.
"You have to love her MORE!!"
For little tiny stupid stuff, he got
Things I won't speak of.
He wants a break, he drinks some pop...
So she gives him some more "love."
Thirteen years, and for twelve of them
He'd faced a wretched plight,
And they told him this abuse was "love,"
Like saying black was white.
She beats me up and that is "love,"
And tells me, "You belong."
My dad said violence means hate;
It looks like he was wrong.
Blackmailed, insulted, punched and kicked,
Threatened, pummeled, slapped...
If this was "love;" and was "okay,"
No wonder his mind had snapped.
He took a knife and sharpened it
'Til a single hair it could sever.
One quick cut, that's all he'd need,
And the hell would stop forever.
He prepared himself to do the deed,
A deed that would mean death.
He desperately needed some way out;
He raised the knife, took one deep breath...
He slashed and hacked and stabbed and sliced
'Til she lay motionless in gore.
And now he turns to you and beams,
"I've learned to 'LOVE' her more!"
So there you have it. A counter to all those fics where Dib... wait for it... does HIMSELF in... instead of turning the weapon on his worst enemy. Finally he gets it right; at least here he comes TO his senses.
And after all, isn't that the inevitable result when you keep telling someone slaps, punches, kicks and batterings constitute some sort of "love"?
Dibsthe1 looks down at a plate that is now empty, except for crumbs, smears of icing, and a half-burned candle.
And now my cake is gone. You can't have your cake and eat it too. Not even in fiction. Not even on your birthday.
Burp. Excuse me! ...and good evening.