I was destined to dream about love; but never to live it...

Happy Endings (Love Always)
By: Mellow Starz

Morning. The dawn of another day. Rays of light in all their perseverance broke into Yamcha's dark, lonely room; practically forcing him out of his bed--and he hated them for it. Moreover, he despised himself for awakening from his sleep... yet again.

Acknowledging it was the start of a new day, which already felt like centuries, he painfully crept out of his bed and gave himself a look in the mirror.

He looked horrible.

Nights of little or no sleep had undoubtely taken their toll. His eyes felt increasingly heavy, and his once smooth face now posessed stubs that cried out to be shaved.

As Yamcha walked over to his closet -with the weight of his life on his shoulders- he glanced over to a small table just beside his bed. Ignoring the closet, he went to the nightstand and picked up the only photo he had.

One of he and Bulma.

Yamcha sighed and felt his head explode. Bulma. His first love. His only love. The only thing he ever had.

But it had ended one day; along with his dreams and hopes. Now all he had left ws alcohol and a depression which consumed more of him day by day.

It suddenly ocurred to Yamcha that Bulma always wrote something on the back of her pictures. Curiously, the young man pulled the picture of of its frame. Surely enough, it did have an inscription.

To Yamcha, the man who taught me the meaning of love. My best friend. Thank You.
Love always,
Bulma ^^

Yamcha stared longily at his ex-lover's words.

... best friend... love always...

And he just wanted to die.

***

A half-bottle of rum lied just beside where the picture frame was. As Yamcha opened up the bottle and drunk relentlessly, he cursed himself for it. The liquor burned his insides, and he couldn't stand it any longer. He threw the bottle to the floor, and saw as it broke into a milliom pieces -the liquor seeping everywhere. He was tired of it. So damn tired of it. Everything.

A rush of intense pain passed throughout his body. With every painful pump his heart shattered into pieces. A sudden urge told him to pick up the phone, which he did; but just barely, and with some hesitation dialed a number all too familiar for him.

Yamcha's strength was just one of the things leaving him and he fell hard on the floor. The phone slipped from his hand, but he quickly grabbed a hold of it. He needed to do this... get it out of his chest...

As he placed the receiver upon his ear, Yamcha heard a voice he knew all to well.

- "Hello?"
- "Bulma..."
- "Yamcha...? Yamcha! Is that you?"
- "Yes, I.... I..."
- "What?? Wait... you don't sound well... are you ok? What do you--"
- "Listen. Just... listen... just wanted... to.... let you know...... you're beautiful... love always..."
- "Yamcha?? Yamcha, what's wrong?! Tell me!"

But no one answered anymore.

Later, when an inner voice led Bulma to where Yamcha dwelled, she felt chills up her spine as she forced her way into the dark room; which now flooded with light, and in all splendor lied Yamcha on the floor; with the remnants of tears in his eyes and a smile on his face.

July 12, 2002.