A/N: This had been recorded sometime in the month of April or May in 2011. I had been so foolish as to NOT include the date... but, I shall now publish this. Because I like it. Because it was a dream, there were some parts that I will not remember now, anymore, and since I had written this as soon as I could... there may be mistakes. Critiques are welcome, and please point out any grammatical and/or spelling errors that I may have (although I used WordPad, so I really don't think I'll have any spelling mistakes...). Other than this author's note, of course, as I like to babble when speaking informally...

This had been the last part of a giant dream sequence I had last night. This morning, rather. I was half awake, trying to sleep, and succeeding. And it was rather entertaining and strange. IT WAS! SO! CREEPY! AND WEIRD! AND PERFECT FOR A STORY! So I'm writing it down.

Disclaimer: I do not own Invader Zim. Not even some merchandise...sniffle. I want the DVD...


"Today, class," Ms. Bitters said. I seemed to be a student in the classroom of Skool. So, yeah. A sign that I'm reading too many Invader Zim fanfictions. "In order to test your pathetic skills, in light of the most recent humiliating display from you all," she ground out in that gravelly voice of hers. "You shall all perform a rat race in this single chance to redeem yourselves."

I'm assuming that she telepathically sent instructions to us. Or maybe she put brain probes in our heads. Because then I automatically knew what she meant, and so did everyone else, as though we had done this before, although an outsider would have little clue what to do. Interestingly enough, Zim seemed to be a course for the rat race. Or maybe he finished early. Because I hadn't noticed him in my dream until later.

Anyhow, the class all lined up at the front. Interestingly enough, Ms. Bitters then said, "Extra points to those who can go the lowest," as they scamper, I added in my head. I knew exactly what to do. As did the people in front of me. I'm not sure when the desks were moved, but that information must've been in that empty space in my brain that I did not even question, or ponder, or wonder about at all.

There were three kids in front of me. Then, the person up front did what must seem to be the most unusual thing to do for anyone else, although to me and the rest of the class, it was completely normal, and we looked on to see how well that kid did. He bent his knees and started shuffle across the floor as quickly as he could while holding his hands below his chin in imitation of paws. Yup. Rat race was literally racing like rats.

The line shortened as Ms. Bitters allowed us to begin one by one, and it was my turn very soon. I then bent my knees, and started taking baby steps. And hardly moving anywhere at all. Aah! I thought, suddenly alarmed. It was a lot harder to do than it had seemed when the other kids did it. I couldn't understand how they could automatically do it and I couldn't. Right now, this moment reminds me of Real Life, in which everybody in modified track automatically knew how to run to the best of their abilities while I fell behind, and only now do I know that this is because they really did do this before; they had been in modified track the year before, also, and many have taken all sorts of sports their whole life. But enough of that sidetrack; on with the story.

Confused, yet determined, I shuffled along, willing myself to move faster. It was difficult to move at all in the 'rat' position, but then I had an idea. I looked ahead, lifting my chin, and started to move faster! I then nearly lost my balance, and so I closed my eyes. There! Now I was moving as swiftly as anyone! (Unfortunately, this tactic does not work in track; it is purely fictional and only worked in my dream. In Real Life, it is an illusion, one that I tend to take very seriously. Except for everything.)

And so, soon the classroom was full of scamper children, moving along only one or two separate paths, and after a short while I found my path led me to someone peculiar, but which made perfect sense at the same time. It was a huge, tan, P.E. Coach-Man standing in the back of the classroom who was holding two tin pans, one with raspberries, another with blueberries. All of a sudden, even though everyone had been scampering a moment ago, they were now already taking seats (which had magically been put back in their original places) in front of desks with laptops on them, and most already had a small handful of the brightly colored fruit, while others were nearly ready, taking their own handfuls. "Everyone back to their seats!" he barked/roared (I couldn't decide which he had done). "We need to get started on this new task!"

And so I took three blueberries and a couple raspberries, just because I didn't want three raspberries because I was afraid they'd get smooshed, but I still wanted a colorful handful, and took my new place near the back because I wanted to sit down as soon as possible, and waited to begin. We never did, because apparently, Zim started to have an argument with P.E. person. Had time sped up again while I wasn't looking?

We may never know.

Zim was now standing on his chair (his place was now only a couple rows in front of me and across the aisle in the middle, rather than his usual place), one foot on his desk, berries on the side of the table lying forgotten. He was giving a speech about how everyone was all doomed, and that he thought we were all too stupid to see it, and that he thought that everybody by the age of 10 should grow up and learn that like good smeets should, that he had learned that the universe was doomed long long ago when HE was the equivalent, or near equivalent, of 10 human years of age, and kept on talking about doom and destruction and how exactly everyone and everything would blow up or die in various, mostly gruesome, ways. (I'd noticed that he'd avoided saying 10 minutes, which had been careful of him. But that, of course, was that of an observer's opinion. I didn't care. I was just engrossed by the interesting speech, which was very graphic and illustrated so that rather than the classroom behind Zim, images of people screaming and things blowing up and an airplane crashing in a city was behind him.)

At the end of his speech, in which he referred to us as stinking pig-worms or stupid pig-smellies, or pathetic hyoomans, and other various names, he sat down. Ms. Bitters wiped a tear from the corner of her eye hidden behind her flashy-white glasses, which I personally thought was fascinating and scary without everything else, and declared, "Zim, that was the most beautiful and accurate speech I'd ever heard from any student. You recieve full marks." As if this wasn't scary enough, the gray, creepy teacher went on. "I would've given you more, but Skool policy directed that I take off points for gore and insulting classmates," Ms. Bitters said, "And though I personally believe that that was the most wonderful thing I've ever heard, the Skool," she grimaced, "Thinks otherwise, and based on that speech, believes that you should now go into counseling, in order to fix 'your problem'," she made quotation marks, "And you shall now go to visit the Skool Counselor every day during lunch until you're fixed, or the Skool decides to take the time to set up an actual, more realistic schedule."


A/N: And thus so, that is how the day Zim would recieve counseling started. Sort of. To become an actual story, I should probably make it make a little more sense. I shall turn it into that when I decide to write the story portion of this dream sequence, and it would probably be a one-shot thing. Stuff. Yes, stuff. As I always say, never forget Stuff! And, yeah. The story would probably be Zim's actual speech thingy in an essay report ma-jigger-bob, and he is reciting it at the front of the class. Most of the class ends up in shock by the end of it, a couple close to or actually in tears, and Dib looking like he was hit on the head. Everything else is the same, except for the beginning portion of my dream that had nothing to do with Zim's speech Stuff.

But for now, just this dream being recorded is enough.