The color of Hope --- By Velasa
SUMMARY- The strongest of emotions rage through the Mira time- even in the overworld, there is no peace for departed souls- as a sensei's remorse for his helplessness to even save his own student, explodes. Which death is worse- physical or spiritual?
1/11/02 9:34 PM
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NOTE- Hello again everyone. Well, I've told you all before never to let any idea that strikes you in the middle of the night be ignored, and once again I'm acting on that instinct- This is a Mira timeline story, set around the death of Gohan. And if you've read any of my work before, you know who the focus of the fic will become, and it ain't Trunks (though his story is quite a powerful one, it's been told before). The fic is done in a bizarre style- flipping across time and between first and third person- sorry if it's confusing at first, it'll make sense once you look at it.
Is this an AU? That's up to you. We're never told of how Piccolo died, of the afterworld Gohan finds himself in (or if he does at all), of any of the things I'm about to tell you of- is this real or not? Choose for yourself.
As the inspiration to write this came from about my 20th reading of Onyx's "Cobwebs", that is the universe I'm setting this in ("Cobwebs" doesn't contradict the true timeline either, so this could still have been). I'd like to take a second, before I begin, to thank her god-like talents and astounding powers of pen and word and soul- Onyx, you never, ever, fail to blow me absolutely away- this is for you. glomps
PG-13 for language and dark themes
Musical inspiration- "Pressure", By Billy Joel
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Oh gods no...
NO!
I can't help it now, falling to my knees in horror, clenching my hands over my face, eyes staring out at nothing, as unable to focus as they are.
He can't... he can't just...
---
A dark wind is blowing. It's a somber force, almost seeming as a living thing as it steps through the ruins of a once-grand street of man-made mountains that were so tall as to blot out the very sun. The wind-being screeches through the emptiness, marveling at how quickly erosion (or Armageddon, as some would call it) seems to have worn the mountains into pebbles with such a speed, such a fearful swiftness-
Debris scatters the ground, in fact, it's hard to find an open area of ground at all, there's so much rubble, from steel twisted like it had been straw, melted glass shining as rain sputters down upon it.
Rain. Like tears.
How strange, that the sky should be crying at such a time. So appropriate. A sick sort of irony.
A single life force, like an angel, the last of it's kind, dives from the heavens, descending upon death itself.
It knows it will loose. It doesn't care. It has to try, this deamon must die, even if to do so means loosing it's soul-
There is a child. The man with wings of Hope holding him aloft knows this, as well as he knows his fate. The child who never knew the others, only glimpsing who they were from rare photographs and stories that remained half-told because they hurt too much to finish.
The blue-eyed boy must be saved. He will become, Hope.
If, there is to be Hope in such a dark world.
And so he dives.
---
I can't stand this anymore. Before I can stop myself, a scream tears from my throat, a single name wrenching my heart in a knot.
He's gone, he's gone, he can't be... NO!! HE CAN'T DIE, HE CAN'T!!!!!
Come on, kid, hold on...
---
The wind whips through his raven hair, sending it flying backwards as it flashes golden, his eyes taking on the glow of Hope itself. He knows there's no more running to be done. He won't run away again. He'd been running all these years, even though there was noone left to run to. That one had died to save him. He was alone now.
He wasn't going to run.
The eyes of the deamons found him soon enough, their dead irises staring straight through him, it seemed. Right to his soul.
And the wings of Hope flared open as he charged.
---
I can't control myself, don't know why I'm acting like this, though I know fully why- just can't admit to myself that I could cry like a child, no matter what the circumstance.
I'm glad noone can see me now. If only I could have lived, if only I hadn't been so weak as to die, if only I could have taken one of them out, then maybe he-
There is nothing I can do.
I hate being helpless.
---
The wind swirls like a flood around the three beings, sending a torrent of feathers out, ripped from Hope and scattered all about on the ground. They glimmer emerald in the darkness, but are speckled in scarlet-
Hope, was falling.
As it had predicted.
But he wasn't going down just yet.
---
What else is there to say? Has everything I've fought for, bled for, died for, all come to nil? If this is true, what my soul is screaming to me, and the child IS...
Then what was my dying worth? Is my sacrifice now in vain? I hoped, when I went off alone to fight, that he would be forgotten, would be spared- but he seems to have walked in my own footsteps once again-
Oh child, what have you done?
What have you done to yourself? To all of us? To me?
---
A sick thud resonates throughout the landscape- the earth herself shivers at the impact, as if in fear, or sadness, of abandonment. For she surely must have felt very alone.
Her warriors, who had so long defended her, were gone.
And the last of their kind, like the sacrificial lamb on the altar, made the ground around him sacred with his lifeblood.
Hope, once a vibrant emerald blaze, collapsed around the corpse, falling in ashen tatters. Only a single feather remained, clinging desperately to existence, though it was drowning in a sea of scarlet and tears.
---
What a fool I must seem now, I can even see straight I'm so upset. What a strange feeling... I don't think anything I've ever felt before can compare. Yeah, I've felt like shit before, but I've never been so... empty.
So... lost.
So... worthless.
If I wasn't already dead...
But I can't.
All I can do is weep.
---
There is utter silence, save for the gentle tears of the earth that do their best to wash the bloodstained face of her last dead savior.
A single source of light floats above the scene, a sphere of white, but it casts no reflection around it. It can no longer change the darkness, for it is a chi without a body. It stared down in disturbed silence at the vision of it's blood lying across the ground, and turns away from the scene, not only for the immediate reason, but because of how much it reflected one in his memory...
Casting his eyes upwards, the raven-haired spirit opens his new white wings and disappears into the heavens.
---
Why must death not be? Why must we still know, still feel, still see, when we should never have to worry of such things again? I swear, this existence is the same as life, with the exception that I can't do a DAMN THING TO CHANGE ANYTHING!!!! I HATE BEING HELPLESS!!!
DAMN IT, DAMN IT, DAMN IT!!!
Is this my eternal torment for my early days? Is that it- I'm actually in hell, but no one wants to tell me so? It certainly feels like it...
I bet the old man's laughing at me right now. We always did hate each other, and now he's sitting up in the Kami's heaven while I rot down here with the other deamons and monsters.
It's almost funny... God in his heaven, and the Devil in hell- all where they belong...
Why must I suffer like this? I paid for my sins, I changed my ways, I defended the earth as well as any of them, I even died for... him, but in the end, I still stand damned?
There's no doubt in my mind that Son and the others are in heaven, except Vegeta- Hmph, Son is probably an archangel or some other such thing, he should be for how pure a soul he had. They are probably all together as well, in a relative state of peace...
I should hate them for that, but I can't. They're... my friends. In fact, he... he is probably there, right now... with his father- his real father.
Dear gods I miss that child.
---
The last angel touches down, looking out around him at his eternity, a quiet, peaceful sort of plane, tiny wildflowers dotted throughout the grasses.
At the sight of it all, the lump that had been residing in his throat dissipates- finally, this is it- no more fighting, no more tears, no more bleeding, no more suffering, his soul is finally, eternally free-
All his worldly worries evaporated instantly, and a brilliant laughter escaped his throat as he raced out into the sun-lit field that never seemed to end
---
I just don't care anymore.
Lying on my back, I close my eyes, not wanting to see anything, not even my own thoughts, only wanting to drift into nothingness and never open them again.
I can still feel sunlight on my eyelids, though, and growl in annoyance. Can't I even mourn in peace?
Soon enough, though, it disappears, allowing myself to meditate more easily- should have, at least. That was just too weird. Since when does anything decent happen to me?
Confused, I slit one eye open to see what sort of cloud is on my side.
---
The raven-haired spirit stared down, unable to speak at first. He was just about to attempt to say something when a dark onyx iris, suddenly open, met his.
Dead stillness was all, the two just staring at each other for what seemed an eternity, before a half-whispered "...Is that... you?" escaped from the pair of emerald lips.
A grin, and a nod.
The other onyx eye dragged itself open in a flash, his jaw dropping silently before he jerked and spun up onto his feet like a cat, backing away nervously.
"You're lying. You have to be."
"Piccolo-san, why would I lie to you?"
The raven haired boy cocked his head to the side when he said that, and was just opening his mouth to speak again when the namekian rushed him and entrapped the child in a grasp tighter than he could have tolerated easily when he was alive, a barely audible whisper of "G-Gohan?" put to his face.
Gohan smiled again, his eyes sparkling a bit with more than sadness, which had been the only reason he'd cried in far too long. Seeing that was too much for his sensei, who collapsed and buried his face in the child's (who was no longer a child, but a man) shoulder, unable to stop himself from shaking with sobs as he clutched the halfling tight.
Gohan, more than a little shocked at this, could barely believe his ears at the words that began pouring out of Piccolo's throat- of the suffering the other senshi had felt at being forced to watch helplessly the slaughter, at how he had drawn himself into seclusion not long after and never spoken to a single soul since, of his horror at the sudden knowledge of the halfling's death-
"I... just couldn't hold on anymore, I felt like I was in hell, but now I know I can't be. because you're here, and, and..."
The namekian's voice faded out into tears as he fell to the ground as he had at first knowledge of Gohan's death, so completely overcome he couldn't stand. But, unlike then, there was someone to hold him now, he'd never be alone again, and that understanding was enough to subdue him to the point where he could wipe his face, collect himself, and stand up on his own (though Gohan's hand remained on his back- he didn't swat it away)
"What is it?" Gohan asked, sensing an uneasiness in his sensei's soul.
"Our world is damned to hell then, isn't it?"
Silence.
"No."
"Hmn?"
A soft smile lit his lips, and Gohan whispered "Hope still lives. Trunks follows in my footsteps, as I did yours, but he has in only the way a sayian-jin can."
"He's-"
---
Elsewhere, far from the peace of the overworld, a child knelt in a pool of scarlet, gaping blankly in horror at the corpse of his only friend. Raising his head to the sky, he screamed, a haunting sound that shook the landscape around him. The puddle around his feet quivered it's contents shifting- including a small, bloodied feather, that upon contact with the boy's skin, exploded, Trunks' aura along with it-
And when the dust cleared, he stared out with emerald eyes, the wings of Hope alit on his shoulders.
END
1/12/02 2:16 AM