My dearest
Dear
Gohan...
The words just didn't sound right. Piccolo's brow ridges jutted out as he frowned. The pen trembled in his hand, partially because he was having trouble holding it, and also because he wasn't sure of what to write. He blinked a few times and exhaled, placing the tip of the pen back on the parchment.
I don't know why I am writing this to you. I don't even know why I am writing at all. I'm not very good at it. I suppose I just needed to be able to say some things to you without talking.
Piccolo placed the pen down and rested his brow on the heels of his hands; his elbows on top of the paper. His arms slid forward, and a tearing sound was heard. Alarmed, Piccolo picked up the paper and realized a tear had, in fact, been made. Growling softly, he smoothed the letter out and picked his pen up again.
I know it might be hard to understand, but I need to tell you... you need to know... it's eating me alive from inside...
The tips of Piccolo's ears and along his cheekbones turned a slightly darker green as he gently bit his lip; his fangs leaving slight indents in the soft flesh. He closed his eyes for a second, and was swarmed by memories of years past. The corners of his lips turned ever so slightly upward as he reminisced about training Gohan.
When I left you all alone in that desert, you weren't alone for the first few nights, Gohan. I was there... I watched over you...
Piccolo pinched the bridge of his nose.
I wanted to make sure you would be safe... be all right...
I...
Placing the pen down, Piccolo buried his face in his hands, inhaling in a rather ragged breath. His heart beat heavily, as if he were going through an emotional trauma. His mind went into overdrive, and he could not stop his thoughts from flowing. You're weak, Piccolo. You're nothing but a weakling Namek. No man should ever feel this way. You're an awful person to let yourself feel. No, you're a monster. Only a monster would allow himself feelings.
"Shut up!" He yelled aloud. The window in front of him shattered; the glass shards raining on the floor, making a delightful noise. Piccolo took no notice of it. His cheeks flushing darkly, the pen was picked up, held in a shaking, sweaty grip.
I love you, Gohan. Yes, I know it's wrong, but I can't help the way I feel...
Piccolo noticed his eyes stinging, and he realized that if Nameks had tear ducts, he would be crying.
I know you will never read this, for only my eyes will ever see it, but I somehow feel lightened by just writing it.
His hand shook, and the pen slipped out of his four-fingered grip. Deciding that it was better that way, Piccolo stared at the letter, re-reading over to himself. A sudden bout of fury overtook him, and he snatched up the paper, angrily crumpling it in his green fist. He soundlessly hurled it away from him, and it smacked against the wall, where it fell onto the pile of broken glass.
Breathing heavily, Piccolo stared at the forlorn piece of parchment. Every fiber of his being wanted to light the letter on fire, but there was something inside of him that refused to allow it.
Rising slowly from the chair, he kept his gaze on the paper. He walked over to the broken window, gazing outside. Piccolo's eyes stung again as he could almost picture Gohan running up the path to his home, waving and yelling out his name in happiness.
The Namek bent down and picked up the letter. He carefully uncrumpled it, trying to smooth out the wrinkles as best as he could. He then meticulously made a trifold of the paper, and walked back over to the table. He picked up the pen once more.
Gohan
He nearly smiled as he wrote the name on the letter, as if he were actually going to give it to Gohan. He left the letter on the table with the pen on top, so the wind wouldn't blow it away.
The window proved to be the best escape route for Piccolo, and he flew outside, the sunlight shining down on him.
And Piccolo had never felt more alive.
