It started as every other normal day.
Morning began with the infernal sound of the alarm buzzing in her eardrum as the early sun reaches over the horizon of the city, shooting its rays of orange life across the land and into her window. She turns over, squints from the sudden burst of light and glances hazily at the blurred red lines that barely make out the number five thirty in her vision. Yawning, she slips on her house shoes that she has placed at the edge of her bed and scoots downstairs into the kitchen that is alive with the smell of coffee from an automated dispenser. All the while, her two princes are fast asleep and her only companions are the television and birds who join her in the early morning. Traffic outside on the freeway is slow at this time of morning. Usually being the time when school is starting and work places are just beginning to open up, she sits at the island counter, observing the quietness of morning until three heavy thuds signify the awakening of her husband.
He pranced down in a way, arms stretched high above his head and eyes closed as he made the last three steps from stairway to kitchen, grabbing the first thing he sees without even saying a word to her. She ignores him as well, head in palm and eyes set forward in a straight, dull line. The sparks were at a standstill for the time being. They had been through their years of wild, spontaneous lovemaking with a side order of precious thoughts and actions, all of which had lead up to Trunks and that was it. Their relationship subsides in routine now.
And she was happy with that surprisingly enough.
Bacon sizzled in a pan as Vegeta ravaged the orange he mindlessly plucked from the counter and three beeps from the microwave signified the end of French toast. Traffic was picking up on the highway now, its low humming of cars filling the city air the day began and school buses rounded up the children. Bulma, with red robe and disheveled hair, began to pack Trunks his lunch and snack inside his lunchbox that was humorously decorated with a random assortment of stickers and dinosaurs.
It was now six o'clock in the morning, thirty minutes away from the event.
Ignorant to everything that was to come, she awoke her son from his deep sleep, pursuing their fight they had every morning and eventually flicking on the light and pulling the blankets from him to expose him to the cold air. Cranky, Trunks left his bed and began to tug on his green jacket and purple shorts while his mother fought with the frock of morning hair he wore upon his sleeping head. He spat back, growling and reshaping it the way he liked it. By now Bulma refused to fight with him, and allowed, just as she did every morning, for him to wear and do as he wished to avoid argument. Stifling her urge to adjust her son's hair as she walked behind him, Bulma began to notice the time of six fifteen, and scorned him to hurry and eat only worried of her sons hunger.
What she hadn't realized was that in fifteen minutes, her life would never be the same.
In fifteen minutes everything would clash and turn upside down in a whirlwind of dramatic events that leave her helpless among growing mountains that she would force her family to overcome.
In fifteen minutes she would no longer be Bulma Briefs: Brilliant scientist and adventurer.
She served her son breakfast just as she had done countless times before hand, and her husband, who was yet to even say good morning to her, was doing pushups in the living room with an arm behind his back. Normally she would admire him, but as of late they had been arguing over every little detail in their lives. For now, she had nothing to say to him in fear that some sort of fight would break out, but that was to be the least of her worries soon. With breakfast finished, school bag packed and ready to go, hair combed, teeth brushed, it was time for Trunks to be off. Goten was awaiting him outside as he usually was and as they began to set out, Bulma noticed a very important piece of Trunks' day sitting on the counter: His lunch.
It was now six twenty nine.
Grabbing the small metal box without hesitation, Bulma darted out of the door, calling for her son as she did so and waving his lunch around in her hand. She left the comfort of her driveway to pursue her child who was on the other side of the rode, the morning dew chilling her skin and the sweet smell penetrating her nostrils and momentarily distracting her as she blindly ran into the road that had been empty not seconds ago.
A moment was all that was needed to flip her life upside down.
A second was all it took for such a forceful impact to break her spine, her arms and leg, and her poor hips as she rolled over the windshield of a black pickup, cracking the glass and her skull as she tumbled. She barely made out the audible noises around her as she finally hit the ground again, blood leaking from her nose and mouth onto the cold hard asphalt. Her limbs waddled and collapsed upon her, leaving her helpless as the driver of the pickup backed up and squealed their tires as they sped away, not even taking the time to call an ambulance or tend to the scene. Her vision turned gray and blurry as the pain rippled through her body, her tongue moving to speak but no words dancing out of her mouth. She laid, still and growing cold, to helpless to do anything as her child cried for her and her husband called for her.
"Bulma," she heard him say countless times. "Bulma…. Bulma…. Dammit Bulma, please….. Please…. Don't leave us."
Then Black. She heard nothing. She felt nothing.
She only saw her world go black.