Bruises and cuts covers the teen's face. Blackness covers the bottom of his right eye. He wheezes heavily as he tries to make his way home. This isn't the first time he's come home like this. And it wouldn't be the last. Blood dribbles down his forehead and past where a nose should be.

Strangers walk by and give him distasteful looks, swinging their head up with a short "hmmp!" The teen winces as he continues to stumble home. He is finally in his neighborhood, yet none of his neighbors will help him.

Memories of their fear of him flashes through his head;

"He's an odd one!"

"Why is his skin green?"

"Never heard of such a skin condition."

"He looks like a bug!"

"Yuck! Ugly child."

He tried to pay no mind to their mutterings and blatant shouts. But they seem to burn into his mind like when he once burned a lighter head into his arm. It hurt to be hated by so many of the humans.

Why is he different from them? Why is he hated? It hurt...

He finally comes to the fence of his home, catching it and leaning against it for support. It is dark out, an eery quiet settling over the street. He can faintly hear the cars from the highway that's not too far from here.

He makes it through the fence and up the walkway to the the door. He presses his three-fingered hand to the knob and twists, pushing the door open.

Right before falling to the ground.

A scream from the living room can be faintly hear. "Zim!" it's a woman's voice.

She reaches down and flips the teen over. "What happened? Oh god... it's really bad. Harry!" She calls for her husband urgently.

The teen's eyes close slowly and his mind fills with blank.