I know I'm in the middle of my other story "Daylight in you eyes" but I'm
having serious writer's block and suddenly this idea came into my head
after listening to "Sorrow" by Bad Religion. I'm a total song fic person,
I guess. But that's where I get most of my ideas for my writing, even non-
fics. P.S. I believe I'll only use the first half of the song seeing as
the second half doesn't really pertain. Makes for a short sweet story.
sigh
Well… rubs hands together let's just see how this is going to turn out…
Let's delve deeper into the relationship that is Vejita and his son, Trunks. I'm guessing Trunks would be about six in this song.
Hope ya like it and as always, r/r
I almost forgot the disclaimer. Whoops! Uh…. I don't own it. It's that simple. By it I mean DBZ or the chars. I just own this concept. I don't own the song either. It's owned by Bad Religion, which is my religion. Haha! All alternative, punk, and rock keep me writing so you better how they keep writing good songs. Hee hee! C yas~
Trunks crawled out of his bed silently, sneaking a peek at the clock by his bedside. It read 2:00 am. He grabbed his blanket off the bed and walked across the room, his comforter trailing behind him like a cape. Sneaking down the cool hallway, he wrapped the blanket around him, shuffling along. At the end of the hall he saw his destination. Pushing open the door slightly, he poked his head inside. It was totally silent. He pushed it open a little farther and ducked to the ground military trench style. He shimmied along the ground until he came upon sometimes solid and hard. He looked up at his obstacle and more determined than ever, he reached on hand up to grip the top. He slid himself up the side, pressing his face against the soft vertical edge. Once he reached the top, he began to inch himself along the surface and when he reached his destination he buried himself back into his comforter/cape and promptly fell asleep, snuggled into one warm entity with his back to the other.
Soft rays of light pierced the curtains entering the shifting eyelids of Bulma Briefs. Suddenly, the light was cut off and she moaned softly. Opening one eye, she found herself staring into the smoldering gaze of her husband. Rolling her eyes, she leaned up on one elbow and yawned. "What is it now?" He narrowed his eyes sharply then glanced over at her side. She followed his gaze, looking over her shoulder. She gave a small smile and looked back at him. "So what?" "The boy is here again." "So, he wants to be with us. Is that so wrong?" He glared at her. "He is no Saiyajin if he keeps up these ridiculous rituals." "Geez! Would you lighten up? He's your son too! Just because he has some human child customs does not, I repeat does not, mean that he is any less your son." He scoffed, "Crawling in the middle of the night to sleep with a woman is hardly Saiyajin behavior." "Oh, really," Bulma leaned back languidly, mischievously eyeing him. "I seem to remember you having the same ritual." Vejita grew hot under the collar and growled at her. "That was different." Unbeknownst to Vejita and Bulma, Trunks had opened his eyes slightly, taking in their heated conversation. "How was that so different? Please tell me, Master, for you know everything!" she spat cynically. He threw his arms up in the air and stalked out of the room. Trunks watched as his father turned around sharply and tramped out of the room, slamming the door behind him almost sending it off its hinges. Trunks looked down at his blanket wrapped around him guiltily. He felt hot tears springing to his eyes but he quickly rubbed them away without his mother knowing. He looked back longing at the door.
Father, can you hear me?
Bulma sighed heavily and laid back down into the blankets. But it wasn't long until she felt something stirring by her side. "Trunks?" she looked back at her fair-haired son. He gulped and began to sidle his way down the bed, dragging his blanket. Bulma giggled and pulled on the end of the blanket closest to her causing Trunks to be pulled back up with it. She caught him in her arms and gave him a tight squeeze. She noticed his face was flushed and she scowled at him. "Trunks? Did you hear what he said?" Numbly, Trunks nodded back to her. "Oh, baby…" she clutched him tighter. "Don't you listen to him. He doesn't know you like I do." She whispered soothingly into his ear but he refused to hear it. He pushed away from his mother's warm embrace though he wished desperately to stay there forever. "NO!" he yelled wiping his eyes again. He scrambled away from her before she could pull him back again. He collapsed to the space between the bed and the door. "I am a Saiyajin!" Bulma moved from the bed to the floor a few feet away from her young son. "Of course you are, sweetheart," she murmured quietly. "Why, momma?" Bulma looked at her sweet, innocent- looking child questioningly. "Why does Daddy hate me?" Bulma felt her lips begin to quake and small tears appeared in the corner of her eyes. "Oh, Trunks," she moved to him clung to him. Placing him in her lap, she began to rock him back and forth. Trunks continued to stare at the door that his Father had stormed out of only a few minutes before, seething.
How have I let you down?
Bulma's tears stained his soft lavender hair that she continually laid kisses on. And he kept staring at the door. New tears found their way to his eyes and rolled down his youthful, round cheeks. He wished so badly that his father would walk back through the door and sit by him and his mother and tell him that it was all right. That he was a Saiyajin, and his son. But he knew that would not happen, for that was just not the way of Vejita. Bulma hugged her son tighter and she rocked him back and forth on her lap. Finally, she peeled him away from her chest and gripped his chin, putting him face to face with her. He was startled at first that his mother had such an iron grip upon his face, but that soon passed as he saw the look of desperation and sorrow. Tears lined the edges of her eyes and stained her naturally fair cheeks, which were now flushed and glossy. "I can't do anything for you Trunks… but—but…" She took a deep breath that repressed a few sobs and she suddenly looked very fierce and serious. She gripped his face harder. "I love you, Trunks. I do." With that, she planted a hard loving kiss on his forehead and searched his face for a reaction. Trunks buried his face into her chest and cried a little more. Tenderly, she wrapped her arms around him and continued to rock them back and forth, back and forth on that silent expansive bedroom with only the occasional whisper or cry to give notice of any presence inside.
A short while later, Trunks gathered up his blanket and left the room, leaving his mother to fix her appearance in the bathroom mirror. He walked down the hall that he had traversed in his early morning escapade. Lining the endless way were lovely photographs and portraits that Bulma's mother had put up in her eternal effort at cheeriness. There were pictures of Bulma's childhood and her early travels looking for the Dragonballs. There were snapshots of a man she called Goku, a man he had never known but who had fathered his best friend, Goten. And snapshots of her childhood friends, Krillin, Muten Roshi, and God, did that man frighten him, Puar, the flying cat, a three-eyes man, Tien and his little friend, Chaotsu, the one who had spurred his first fear of clowns, and Yamucha. No matter what, there was something about the last scarred man that Trunks did not like. Of course, he never told his mother because the man was her friend. But personally, little Trunks did not trust him. Finally Trunks came upon a little section of the wall devoted to him. Geez, his grandmother had absolutely splurged on him. There were pictures of him, candid and professionally taken, at every stage of his growth, including a wall mess of photos from his birthday parties. There were even showcase boxes with his first haircut, first nail trimmings, the outfit he was brought home in, and his hospital blanket. His grandmother loved to parade guests up here to show them the gallery of her grandson. He mentally slapped his forehead.
He searched the wall mechanically, he knew what he was looking for, and it was no where to be found. Trunks looked at the ground with its clean white hooked carpet. His father…was in none of the pictures. His mother and grandmother and grandfather crowded around him and coddled him along with all his adult admirers, but his father was never there, not even within shooting distance of the camera. Downtrodden, Trunks headed into his room and plopped down on his bed. Suddenly, he rolled off and dove under the bed. He squeezed out a shoebox and carefully took off the lid. He shifted through several news clippings of his mother that he had cut out of science magazines with his safety scissors. (^_~ I could so see that.) On the bottom of the pile was the one photograph he treasured the most.
It had been his third birthday and when the phone rang his mother set him down on the table and dashed off to answer it, after telling him if he fell off that she would be very disappointed in him. He had just looked around dazedly (what else does a three-year old do?) before finding an interesting contraption, having his mother's genes he was very inclined towards science, and immediately stuck one end of it into his mouth, like a normal baby. After thoroughly tasting it, he set it back down and started banging it on the table. Suddenly there was a flash of light. The camera had gone off. After hearing the ruckus, Bulma rushed into the room and seized the camera from baby Trunks. She then began to scold Vejita for not watching him while just sat idly on the couch not looking at her.
Later when Bulma developed the film she found the picture that was snapped when Trunks was playing with the camera. It was Vejita, sitting tall and proud on the couch, not looking his way but out the open window. The ever- present scowl was pasted on his face along with a far away look. Bulma had smiled and took the picture up to Trunks' room and placed by his crib. And every time since then Bulma had used that picture to show Trunks when they talked about his father, seeing as Vejita was never around, sometimes Trunks forgot what he looked like.
Now a slightly older Trunks stared at the picture, tears forming in his eyes. He placed the picture back on his side table and gazed at it. 'Sorry, Father. Sorry, I'm such a bad son.'
1 I curse the day that I was born
Trunks walked out of his room and down the stairs. His grandmother was cooking breakfast when he walked in. Immediately she turned around and stared at him. Sizing him up in a glance she motioned for him to sit at the table. "Trunks, about this morning…" 'Ugh! She heard…' Trunks groaned in his head. He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it." She set her mouth in a straight line. "Now that's a way to talk to your grandmother. I should tell Bulma, you're getting more and more like your father everyday." Angrily, he looked up from his plate. "No! I'm nothing like my father! Even he says so!" Mrs. Briefs looked taken back as she pushed eggs and sausage onto his plate. "Eat," she ordered. He picked up his fork grudgingly and began to shove his face. "Eat nicely, young man. What are you? An animal?" He slammed his fork onto the table and glared up at her through cold tearing eyes. With a quivering voice, "I want my mom…" Mrs. Briefs shook her head. "Your mother won't always be there to protect you? What then!" Looking at the ground, "I WANT MY MOM!" He voice shook the entire building. Mrs. Briefs looked down at him astonished as Bulma noisily raced down the stairs calling, "Trunks? Trunks, what is it?" He looked up shakily at his mother who skidded to a stop in front of him. Her make-up was half down and her hair was a mess. She was breathing heavily. Mrs. Briefs turned to her daughter. "You really should do something, Bulma. I try and I try to be a good grandmother and God knows that I love him to death. But—but he's just too much sometimes." Bulma looked dismayed at her son. "Is this true, Trunks?" "Mom…?" She stood motionless. "It's all my fault. It's always my fault!" He pushed back his chair, causing it to fall over backwards. He ran out the kitchen door; it banged shut behind him. Bulma stared, stunned, at the disappearing of her 6-yr.old son. "Baby…?"
And all the sorrow in this world2
Trunks found his end standing outside his father's Gravity Room. Vicious banging noises and ferocious growling erupted from inside. He sat by the entrance not knowing what to do. Should he go inside and confront his father? The very idea frightened the post-toddler that he shuddered. An image of the fierce personage that was his father invaded his mind. The face had drastically narrowed eyes that only tiny slits of deadly black pervaded. The face was hard and chiseled like from stone or steel. His cheekbones were high and proud, causing the eyes to travel up the face to the mass of black hair that seemed ignited by his hatred that boiled in his heart. The mouth of the face was a thin drawn line that expressed no emotion but slowly curled into a snarl with a well-developed canine protruding menacingly from within. Then ever more slowly the mouth began to open and form words. Trunks looked intent into his father's face and the message there. Presently, Trunks began to make sense of the words. He sat outside the gravity chamber, his eyes closed and intent on his father's proud, captivating features.
Let me take you to the herding ground
As Trunks looked patiently at his father's mouth, he began to piece together the words. I…I… Trunks nodded his head as if to encourage his father. H…h…hate… hate… Trunks stirred, alarmed. Who did his father hate? Maybe he could avenge his father. He turned his attention back to his father so insistent on deciphering the message. Vejita continued. …y…y…you… Trunks opened his eyes startled and fell back. Slowly, the realization dawned on him and he cried out. "No! No! Daddy!" The gravity chamber remained silent as Trunks crumpled over with a pain in his gut that would never go away. The tiny little boy with so much power in his hands could not take one thing: the rejection of his father. He leaned over the cool green grass and sobbed, clutching at his stomach fiercely. Trunks could only hear the intensity of his wails and the pain that racked his body with each sob and shudder.
Where all good men are trampled down3
Trunks did not hear the opening of the Gravity Room door nor see the emergence of his father until he stood directly in front of the young boy. Trunks stopped his sobbing for a second as a shadow passed over him. Taking a deep breath he looked up through one swollen eye to see the object of his unrequited affection standing above him, sweating heavily and with a towel slung about his neck. Trunks scrambled back pinned between his father standing in front of him and the gravity capsule behind him. He quickly wiped his eyes and put on his best pout. "What do you want?" Vejita narrowed his eyes harshly and Trunks leaned further back, scared. "Well, it's kind of hard, boy to train when you hear someone wailing and carrying on like it's the end of the world." Trunks looked embarrassed and stared at the ground. Vejita turned and made to walk back into the gravity chamber. "Well?" he called over his shoulder. "Are you coming or not, boy?" Trunks looked up shocked at the man towering above him. Trunks scrambled to his feet and followed him into capsule. Vejita strode over to the controls and turned down the setting to fifty times Earth's normal gravity. He pushed the on button and looked to see how Trunks reacted. His son seemed to notice a pull on his skin but other than that, walked towards him with slight difficulty. Suddenly, Vejita shot a fist out, nailing his son on his shoulder and sending him into the opposite wall. "So, you want to be a Saiyajin? I will train you as one." Trunks pulled himself from the wall. "Daddy?" Vejita scowled at the use of the name. "Well? That's what you want, isn't?" Trunks nodded his head vigorously. This made Vejita smirk. "Well then, get up." Trunks obeyed and got into fighting stance.
After a few hours of Vejita teaching Trunks Saiyajin techniques for fighting, Trunks grew tired and plopped onto the ground. Vejita chuckled deeply, "Tired already, boy?" The little Saiyajin looked up at his father and tried to raise himself from the floor. But the effort was to no avail. He went crashing back to the cold steel surface. "Sorry, Father," Trunks mumbled as Vejita would not have him calling him "Daddy" anymore. Vejita looked reprovingly at the tiny boy and the sudden notion hit him that the boy was trying his hardest to please him just as he had tried to please his own father. Of course on Vejita-sei his father had shown him no sentiment, no kind words, only encouragement in becoming the ruthless monster he was known as. And look at him now, with a half-earthling crybaby that implored him for attention, the sort of attention his idiot wife and even more idiotic mother-in-law lavished upon the half-Saiyajin crown prince. Vejita snorted. He most definitely would not give in to this child. He flinched slightly. Oh what a wailing that woman would give him for "torturing the baby", as she put it. He stood a few feet away from his son who was still trying to get up off the floor, but the gravity repelled every attempt. Vejita grumbled and continued to watch the feeble attempts of his son, not daring to move to help him.
Just to settle a bet that could not be won4
Trunks looked back at his father who was watching him scornfully. He held back a new flood of tears. If Goten were here, his friend would tell him that he was doing a good job and would try to help him up. If his mother were here, she beam at him, so proud that he had gotten this fear. With her mother peering over her shoulder, a tray of cookies in hand, with which to spoil him. Both would shout words of encouragement and cheer him on, smiling all the while. Trunks looked back again and only saw two cold eyes glaring at him, his arms crossed tighter across his chest, his mouth set unloving in a permanent straight line. Trunks heaved his shoulder and sank to the ground again. Vejita threw his arms up in the air in exasperation and turned to walk to the controls to shut off the gravity. Trunks, watching his father's movements, was reminded of that morning's argument and the manner in which his father had left his mother…and him. With a loud cry his lifted his body from the ground and stood up straight. Vejita turned around and there was his son, standing amid a red blaze, tired and worn and angry. "Boy…" "My name is Trunks!" "Trunks…" "Why do you hate me, Daddy?" Vejita stood stunned for a moment, a look of pure regret and horror plastered on his face. "I—I don't…" he searched his thoughts, emerging from them when he looked back to the pained face of his boy.
Between a prideful father and his son…
"I—I don't hate you, son…"
Oh… cliffy. Heh… heh… Okay, okay. I know I said this would be a one shot deal but uh… it got kind of long. So far six pages in Word and I'm only half way through the part of the lyrics of the song that I want to do. So you'll just have to wait until I finish the rest of it, which hopefully won't be too long since I kind of know how it's going to go.
You know the drill! Read and review! If I don't get reviews I don't know how I'm doing. If I suck at writing at least tell me so I don't torture you too much with my endless babble. So uh yeah! See you in the second part! Buh bye ~otaku-of-darkness
Well… rubs hands together let's just see how this is going to turn out…
Let's delve deeper into the relationship that is Vejita and his son, Trunks. I'm guessing Trunks would be about six in this song.
Hope ya like it and as always, r/r
I almost forgot the disclaimer. Whoops! Uh…. I don't own it. It's that simple. By it I mean DBZ or the chars. I just own this concept. I don't own the song either. It's owned by Bad Religion, which is my religion. Haha! All alternative, punk, and rock keep me writing so you better how they keep writing good songs. Hee hee! C yas~
Trunks crawled out of his bed silently, sneaking a peek at the clock by his bedside. It read 2:00 am. He grabbed his blanket off the bed and walked across the room, his comforter trailing behind him like a cape. Sneaking down the cool hallway, he wrapped the blanket around him, shuffling along. At the end of the hall he saw his destination. Pushing open the door slightly, he poked his head inside. It was totally silent. He pushed it open a little farther and ducked to the ground military trench style. He shimmied along the ground until he came upon sometimes solid and hard. He looked up at his obstacle and more determined than ever, he reached on hand up to grip the top. He slid himself up the side, pressing his face against the soft vertical edge. Once he reached the top, he began to inch himself along the surface and when he reached his destination he buried himself back into his comforter/cape and promptly fell asleep, snuggled into one warm entity with his back to the other.
Soft rays of light pierced the curtains entering the shifting eyelids of Bulma Briefs. Suddenly, the light was cut off and she moaned softly. Opening one eye, she found herself staring into the smoldering gaze of her husband. Rolling her eyes, she leaned up on one elbow and yawned. "What is it now?" He narrowed his eyes sharply then glanced over at her side. She followed his gaze, looking over her shoulder. She gave a small smile and looked back at him. "So what?" "The boy is here again." "So, he wants to be with us. Is that so wrong?" He glared at her. "He is no Saiyajin if he keeps up these ridiculous rituals." "Geez! Would you lighten up? He's your son too! Just because he has some human child customs does not, I repeat does not, mean that he is any less your son." He scoffed, "Crawling in the middle of the night to sleep with a woman is hardly Saiyajin behavior." "Oh, really," Bulma leaned back languidly, mischievously eyeing him. "I seem to remember you having the same ritual." Vejita grew hot under the collar and growled at her. "That was different." Unbeknownst to Vejita and Bulma, Trunks had opened his eyes slightly, taking in their heated conversation. "How was that so different? Please tell me, Master, for you know everything!" she spat cynically. He threw his arms up in the air and stalked out of the room. Trunks watched as his father turned around sharply and tramped out of the room, slamming the door behind him almost sending it off its hinges. Trunks looked down at his blanket wrapped around him guiltily. He felt hot tears springing to his eyes but he quickly rubbed them away without his mother knowing. He looked back longing at the door.
Father, can you hear me?
Bulma sighed heavily and laid back down into the blankets. But it wasn't long until she felt something stirring by her side. "Trunks?" she looked back at her fair-haired son. He gulped and began to sidle his way down the bed, dragging his blanket. Bulma giggled and pulled on the end of the blanket closest to her causing Trunks to be pulled back up with it. She caught him in her arms and gave him a tight squeeze. She noticed his face was flushed and she scowled at him. "Trunks? Did you hear what he said?" Numbly, Trunks nodded back to her. "Oh, baby…" she clutched him tighter. "Don't you listen to him. He doesn't know you like I do." She whispered soothingly into his ear but he refused to hear it. He pushed away from his mother's warm embrace though he wished desperately to stay there forever. "NO!" he yelled wiping his eyes again. He scrambled away from her before she could pull him back again. He collapsed to the space between the bed and the door. "I am a Saiyajin!" Bulma moved from the bed to the floor a few feet away from her young son. "Of course you are, sweetheart," she murmured quietly. "Why, momma?" Bulma looked at her sweet, innocent- looking child questioningly. "Why does Daddy hate me?" Bulma felt her lips begin to quake and small tears appeared in the corner of her eyes. "Oh, Trunks," she moved to him clung to him. Placing him in her lap, she began to rock him back and forth. Trunks continued to stare at the door that his Father had stormed out of only a few minutes before, seething.
How have I let you down?
Bulma's tears stained his soft lavender hair that she continually laid kisses on. And he kept staring at the door. New tears found their way to his eyes and rolled down his youthful, round cheeks. He wished so badly that his father would walk back through the door and sit by him and his mother and tell him that it was all right. That he was a Saiyajin, and his son. But he knew that would not happen, for that was just not the way of Vejita. Bulma hugged her son tighter and she rocked him back and forth on her lap. Finally, she peeled him away from her chest and gripped his chin, putting him face to face with her. He was startled at first that his mother had such an iron grip upon his face, but that soon passed as he saw the look of desperation and sorrow. Tears lined the edges of her eyes and stained her naturally fair cheeks, which were now flushed and glossy. "I can't do anything for you Trunks… but—but…" She took a deep breath that repressed a few sobs and she suddenly looked very fierce and serious. She gripped his face harder. "I love you, Trunks. I do." With that, she planted a hard loving kiss on his forehead and searched his face for a reaction. Trunks buried his face into her chest and cried a little more. Tenderly, she wrapped her arms around him and continued to rock them back and forth, back and forth on that silent expansive bedroom with only the occasional whisper or cry to give notice of any presence inside.
A short while later, Trunks gathered up his blanket and left the room, leaving his mother to fix her appearance in the bathroom mirror. He walked down the hall that he had traversed in his early morning escapade. Lining the endless way were lovely photographs and portraits that Bulma's mother had put up in her eternal effort at cheeriness. There were pictures of Bulma's childhood and her early travels looking for the Dragonballs. There were snapshots of a man she called Goku, a man he had never known but who had fathered his best friend, Goten. And snapshots of her childhood friends, Krillin, Muten Roshi, and God, did that man frighten him, Puar, the flying cat, a three-eyes man, Tien and his little friend, Chaotsu, the one who had spurred his first fear of clowns, and Yamucha. No matter what, there was something about the last scarred man that Trunks did not like. Of course, he never told his mother because the man was her friend. But personally, little Trunks did not trust him. Finally Trunks came upon a little section of the wall devoted to him. Geez, his grandmother had absolutely splurged on him. There were pictures of him, candid and professionally taken, at every stage of his growth, including a wall mess of photos from his birthday parties. There were even showcase boxes with his first haircut, first nail trimmings, the outfit he was brought home in, and his hospital blanket. His grandmother loved to parade guests up here to show them the gallery of her grandson. He mentally slapped his forehead.
He searched the wall mechanically, he knew what he was looking for, and it was no where to be found. Trunks looked at the ground with its clean white hooked carpet. His father…was in none of the pictures. His mother and grandmother and grandfather crowded around him and coddled him along with all his adult admirers, but his father was never there, not even within shooting distance of the camera. Downtrodden, Trunks headed into his room and plopped down on his bed. Suddenly, he rolled off and dove under the bed. He squeezed out a shoebox and carefully took off the lid. He shifted through several news clippings of his mother that he had cut out of science magazines with his safety scissors. (^_~ I could so see that.) On the bottom of the pile was the one photograph he treasured the most.
It had been his third birthday and when the phone rang his mother set him down on the table and dashed off to answer it, after telling him if he fell off that she would be very disappointed in him. He had just looked around dazedly (what else does a three-year old do?) before finding an interesting contraption, having his mother's genes he was very inclined towards science, and immediately stuck one end of it into his mouth, like a normal baby. After thoroughly tasting it, he set it back down and started banging it on the table. Suddenly there was a flash of light. The camera had gone off. After hearing the ruckus, Bulma rushed into the room and seized the camera from baby Trunks. She then began to scold Vejita for not watching him while just sat idly on the couch not looking at her.
Later when Bulma developed the film she found the picture that was snapped when Trunks was playing with the camera. It was Vejita, sitting tall and proud on the couch, not looking his way but out the open window. The ever- present scowl was pasted on his face along with a far away look. Bulma had smiled and took the picture up to Trunks' room and placed by his crib. And every time since then Bulma had used that picture to show Trunks when they talked about his father, seeing as Vejita was never around, sometimes Trunks forgot what he looked like.
Now a slightly older Trunks stared at the picture, tears forming in his eyes. He placed the picture back on his side table and gazed at it. 'Sorry, Father. Sorry, I'm such a bad son.'
1 I curse the day that I was born
Trunks walked out of his room and down the stairs. His grandmother was cooking breakfast when he walked in. Immediately she turned around and stared at him. Sizing him up in a glance she motioned for him to sit at the table. "Trunks, about this morning…" 'Ugh! She heard…' Trunks groaned in his head. He shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it." She set her mouth in a straight line. "Now that's a way to talk to your grandmother. I should tell Bulma, you're getting more and more like your father everyday." Angrily, he looked up from his plate. "No! I'm nothing like my father! Even he says so!" Mrs. Briefs looked taken back as she pushed eggs and sausage onto his plate. "Eat," she ordered. He picked up his fork grudgingly and began to shove his face. "Eat nicely, young man. What are you? An animal?" He slammed his fork onto the table and glared up at her through cold tearing eyes. With a quivering voice, "I want my mom…" Mrs. Briefs shook her head. "Your mother won't always be there to protect you? What then!" Looking at the ground, "I WANT MY MOM!" He voice shook the entire building. Mrs. Briefs looked down at him astonished as Bulma noisily raced down the stairs calling, "Trunks? Trunks, what is it?" He looked up shakily at his mother who skidded to a stop in front of him. Her make-up was half down and her hair was a mess. She was breathing heavily. Mrs. Briefs turned to her daughter. "You really should do something, Bulma. I try and I try to be a good grandmother and God knows that I love him to death. But—but he's just too much sometimes." Bulma looked dismayed at her son. "Is this true, Trunks?" "Mom…?" She stood motionless. "It's all my fault. It's always my fault!" He pushed back his chair, causing it to fall over backwards. He ran out the kitchen door; it banged shut behind him. Bulma stared, stunned, at the disappearing of her 6-yr.old son. "Baby…?"
And all the sorrow in this world2
Trunks found his end standing outside his father's Gravity Room. Vicious banging noises and ferocious growling erupted from inside. He sat by the entrance not knowing what to do. Should he go inside and confront his father? The very idea frightened the post-toddler that he shuddered. An image of the fierce personage that was his father invaded his mind. The face had drastically narrowed eyes that only tiny slits of deadly black pervaded. The face was hard and chiseled like from stone or steel. His cheekbones were high and proud, causing the eyes to travel up the face to the mass of black hair that seemed ignited by his hatred that boiled in his heart. The mouth of the face was a thin drawn line that expressed no emotion but slowly curled into a snarl with a well-developed canine protruding menacingly from within. Then ever more slowly the mouth began to open and form words. Trunks looked intent into his father's face and the message there. Presently, Trunks began to make sense of the words. He sat outside the gravity chamber, his eyes closed and intent on his father's proud, captivating features.
Let me take you to the herding ground
As Trunks looked patiently at his father's mouth, he began to piece together the words. I…I… Trunks nodded his head as if to encourage his father. H…h…hate… hate… Trunks stirred, alarmed. Who did his father hate? Maybe he could avenge his father. He turned his attention back to his father so insistent on deciphering the message. Vejita continued. …y…y…you… Trunks opened his eyes startled and fell back. Slowly, the realization dawned on him and he cried out. "No! No! Daddy!" The gravity chamber remained silent as Trunks crumpled over with a pain in his gut that would never go away. The tiny little boy with so much power in his hands could not take one thing: the rejection of his father. He leaned over the cool green grass and sobbed, clutching at his stomach fiercely. Trunks could only hear the intensity of his wails and the pain that racked his body with each sob and shudder.
Where all good men are trampled down3
Trunks did not hear the opening of the Gravity Room door nor see the emergence of his father until he stood directly in front of the young boy. Trunks stopped his sobbing for a second as a shadow passed over him. Taking a deep breath he looked up through one swollen eye to see the object of his unrequited affection standing above him, sweating heavily and with a towel slung about his neck. Trunks scrambled back pinned between his father standing in front of him and the gravity capsule behind him. He quickly wiped his eyes and put on his best pout. "What do you want?" Vejita narrowed his eyes harshly and Trunks leaned further back, scared. "Well, it's kind of hard, boy to train when you hear someone wailing and carrying on like it's the end of the world." Trunks looked embarrassed and stared at the ground. Vejita turned and made to walk back into the gravity chamber. "Well?" he called over his shoulder. "Are you coming or not, boy?" Trunks looked up shocked at the man towering above him. Trunks scrambled to his feet and followed him into capsule. Vejita strode over to the controls and turned down the setting to fifty times Earth's normal gravity. He pushed the on button and looked to see how Trunks reacted. His son seemed to notice a pull on his skin but other than that, walked towards him with slight difficulty. Suddenly, Vejita shot a fist out, nailing his son on his shoulder and sending him into the opposite wall. "So, you want to be a Saiyajin? I will train you as one." Trunks pulled himself from the wall. "Daddy?" Vejita scowled at the use of the name. "Well? That's what you want, isn't?" Trunks nodded his head vigorously. This made Vejita smirk. "Well then, get up." Trunks obeyed and got into fighting stance.
After a few hours of Vejita teaching Trunks Saiyajin techniques for fighting, Trunks grew tired and plopped onto the ground. Vejita chuckled deeply, "Tired already, boy?" The little Saiyajin looked up at his father and tried to raise himself from the floor. But the effort was to no avail. He went crashing back to the cold steel surface. "Sorry, Father," Trunks mumbled as Vejita would not have him calling him "Daddy" anymore. Vejita looked reprovingly at the tiny boy and the sudden notion hit him that the boy was trying his hardest to please him just as he had tried to please his own father. Of course on Vejita-sei his father had shown him no sentiment, no kind words, only encouragement in becoming the ruthless monster he was known as. And look at him now, with a half-earthling crybaby that implored him for attention, the sort of attention his idiot wife and even more idiotic mother-in-law lavished upon the half-Saiyajin crown prince. Vejita snorted. He most definitely would not give in to this child. He flinched slightly. Oh what a wailing that woman would give him for "torturing the baby", as she put it. He stood a few feet away from his son who was still trying to get up off the floor, but the gravity repelled every attempt. Vejita grumbled and continued to watch the feeble attempts of his son, not daring to move to help him.
Just to settle a bet that could not be won4
Trunks looked back at his father who was watching him scornfully. He held back a new flood of tears. If Goten were here, his friend would tell him that he was doing a good job and would try to help him up. If his mother were here, she beam at him, so proud that he had gotten this fear. With her mother peering over her shoulder, a tray of cookies in hand, with which to spoil him. Both would shout words of encouragement and cheer him on, smiling all the while. Trunks looked back again and only saw two cold eyes glaring at him, his arms crossed tighter across his chest, his mouth set unloving in a permanent straight line. Trunks heaved his shoulder and sank to the ground again. Vejita threw his arms up in the air in exasperation and turned to walk to the controls to shut off the gravity. Trunks, watching his father's movements, was reminded of that morning's argument and the manner in which his father had left his mother…and him. With a loud cry his lifted his body from the ground and stood up straight. Vejita turned around and there was his son, standing amid a red blaze, tired and worn and angry. "Boy…" "My name is Trunks!" "Trunks…" "Why do you hate me, Daddy?" Vejita stood stunned for a moment, a look of pure regret and horror plastered on his face. "I—I don't…" he searched his thoughts, emerging from them when he looked back to the pained face of his boy.
Between a prideful father and his son…
"I—I don't hate you, son…"
Oh… cliffy. Heh… heh… Okay, okay. I know I said this would be a one shot deal but uh… it got kind of long. So far six pages in Word and I'm only half way through the part of the lyrics of the song that I want to do. So you'll just have to wait until I finish the rest of it, which hopefully won't be too long since I kind of know how it's going to go.
You know the drill! Read and review! If I don't get reviews I don't know how I'm doing. If I suck at writing at least tell me so I don't torture you too much with my endless babble. So uh yeah! See you in the second part! Buh bye ~otaku-of-darkness