A/N: hey, yes another story from, while I am doing a bunch others. I don't
plan on this one being super long, it will be real depressing and profound
(so I hope you will think so) it's a story about Goku go through a real
tough time and his son, Gohan, trying to free him. A real father son fic.
Its all done with Goku's point of view, though I may be changing it about,
I am not sure. this isn't exactly the Goku we all know and love from the
show, which I am not very excited about
With the consistency of grinding, it can wither an iron rod into a needle.
_________________ Son Of Adam ____________________
Each morning I force myself out of bed I feel I have aged a lifetime. Each day admitting myself to a new year, growing older and somber. Never before have I felt such weakness, but for the past dying months I feel it upon my back. Long have I been dodging the dismay of time and age, it never brushed its unwelcome presence upon my face or body, soul or mind. Yet now it is upon me, I am only at the age of fifty....fifty. Yet I feel one thousand.
I look upon myself in the mirror, no, I have not aged truly, my body is still firm and achieved overcoming permanent scars or dents. Yet, I no longer have life in my eyes, my hair seems to grow limp. Inside-inside I feel jaded and worn, like a damp cloth, leaking its moisture on asphalt, only to be soaked up by time.
I cant live on in such agony, agony that has been upon me for only half a year, yet long enough to crush a man.
My wife has died. She is nothing but a tender memory that keeps no attendance or comfort to me. An evanescence; something once good and gold but has faded. I find it more truthful to brush aside the reminiscence of her, its folly to dwell in the past. Though I find myself not bereaved.
I departed from my room, their was no point in coaxing an empty mind and soul with pity, it will only leave me more empty and worthless. I travel with a limp down the creaking stairs that lead to my small kitchen and living room. The smell of cooking aroma was never their to welcome me, I lived alone, I would have to make the sensation happen with my own hands.
My sons don't live with me anymore, they have gone down their own paths, proudly taking a stand against the world. I too am very proud of them. Though I have not seen them very recently, I get calls, mostly from Gohan, who insists I leave this house and come stay with him. He'll bribe with a being proclaimed an honored guest. A permanent one. He truly is good to me, but I have kept my distance, trying best to not promote any concern or uneasiness. He would be strongly aware of my condition, just as I am.
I began to cook some pancakes, plain ones, I never did prefer fruit in mine, it always seemed to drain the flavor.
I felt my eyes drift from the heating pan out the window, giving a frame picture of mountains and trees, birds dancing from tree to tree, singing songs. I saw all the life. Breathe drew from sky and time, and exhaled from the wondering valleys and mountain sides. Announcing its recreation and animation from the bellowing winds and seas. The wind I once flew in, and the sea's I once swam in. Yet now I envy them. Envy their life while I have nothing but agony with death all around me.
I let out a sigh when I look to the dishes pilled on the counter abroad from the sink. Food tainted water dripped from its porcelain, making a pool of its ill coloration on the dappled counter. I dreaded cleaning it up. I dreaded everything, even life its self.
I just wasn't the same, none of it. My eyes drifted back out the window, a drew in a deep staggering breathe. I once was as lively and filled with enterprise as those untamed mountains. Nothing bent me to its will, I paved my own. I had enough strength and spirit to spear, but now I feel I have none. It is all gone, leaking from my hands like sand, disappearing into the waves.
I felt tears well up in my eyes, I pinched them shut.
'I have no strength left to pave my way.'
I felt my feet give out beneath me, I fell to my knees and looked at my hands in amazement, tears fell down my cheeks as my mouth opened in disbelief. It seemed to hit me so clearly then.
'What have I become? Where is the man I once was?'
I felt the tears begin to fall more rapidly, yet no solemn drone left my mouth, I brought my hands to my face and buried it into them. Rolling my fingers through my hair I began to sob, I heard myself weep softly, moaning the question.
'What have I -? What have I-?"
I let my body roll to completely upon the kitchen floor, and their cried, tears damped my paling face and dripped upon the tiles. I lay their long, I try to lift myself but it is no use.
Finally, I tried to pull myself together, pulling my strained body up on my dry elbows. I looked wryly at my hands, my arms began to tremble as I stood, the strength in them at a brink. Why my strength has left me? I am not sure. But the mind is powerful, so powerful its scary, its favor toward despair is brimming over, sending my body to waste away.
Finally upon my feet a sniffled and rubbed my face with my arm, I looked down upon my pancakes; they were burning. Lifting the skillet from the stove I carried it to the trash and dumped my breakfast. I wasn't that hungry anyways.
I then aimlessly trailed into the living room, lowering my body into the couch that now smelt of mildew and felt of paper. I felt a lump in my throat. I used to love this couch, it was so comfortable and welcoming, but not any more. Simply a loaf of cloth that spoils my mind with depressed thoughts.
I felt my hands clinch angrily at my knees, pinching my fleece boxer pants into wrinkles. I felt sweat began to uplift from my skin, I felt my body grow more hard.
Often this happened, my sorrow grow to anger. I am not sure if I have grown gall over it though, I have had no one around me to prove it. Yes, I know I grow bitter toward myself, but so do all whom come to a plateau of glee, though I never expect to climb again.
I hear the phone ring, I look to it, but I dare not approach it. Its probably one of my sons or close friends, once close anyhow. They call often, I have taught myself not answer their call, my condition has grown worse, they will notice. I cant let them worry.
I press on my eyes again, they are growing more stiff and irritating, crying will do that I suppose.
I need to get up, do some work, clean the house take a walk. That's all I ever do, ever since last month. With a heavy moan I trend once more to my feet, making my way to the shower stall on the second level.
Putting the last piece of silverware into the drawer I rinse off my hands. The kitchen is now clean, along with the living room. While rinsing my hands through the cool water I keep tucking my head to the side looking out into the tiny living room at the red couch. Maybe I should throw it out today, though, I don't have anything to replace it. I don't have enough money to go buy I new one, a shrug it off, the couch is fine where it lays.
Drying my hands little on a washrag I strolled to the front door, opening it up I took a step outside. Mid summer had come and gone, it was obvious, the air has grown cool and a sprinkle of leaved floated to the heather ground. Fall was still a ways, but its approaching presence was obvious, the air still was rather hot, and the scenery still green and dappled with red berries.
Summer was sure to end, and fall was certain to come, it was inevitable. The thought began to make me feel weak again. Death is inevitable as well. As certain as the raising sun, it will come and pass, taking away a breathe, replacing it with nothing but memory. I cant avoid death, just like my wife couldn't, it took her with grace, but took her without mercy, she succumbed it. And now I feel her eroding away, I don't remember what she truly looked like, I have pictures yes, but they gave her no justice. I have forgotten her smell, what she sounded like -- I cant even remember loving her.
I pressed my fingers upon my chin, then smeared, my eyes couldn't bare looking at the mountains, even their beauty has betrayed me. I sauntered back to my door, and reentered my house.
A/N: I apologize for the shortness, but I find it necessary. I am not sure when I will update, I am going at three other stories and having troubles. haha, lately I have been home a lot and have had a real urge to write! Please if you would, review.
With the consistency of grinding, it can wither an iron rod into a needle.
_________________ Son Of Adam ____________________
Each morning I force myself out of bed I feel I have aged a lifetime. Each day admitting myself to a new year, growing older and somber. Never before have I felt such weakness, but for the past dying months I feel it upon my back. Long have I been dodging the dismay of time and age, it never brushed its unwelcome presence upon my face or body, soul or mind. Yet now it is upon me, I am only at the age of fifty....fifty. Yet I feel one thousand.
I look upon myself in the mirror, no, I have not aged truly, my body is still firm and achieved overcoming permanent scars or dents. Yet, I no longer have life in my eyes, my hair seems to grow limp. Inside-inside I feel jaded and worn, like a damp cloth, leaking its moisture on asphalt, only to be soaked up by time.
I cant live on in such agony, agony that has been upon me for only half a year, yet long enough to crush a man.
My wife has died. She is nothing but a tender memory that keeps no attendance or comfort to me. An evanescence; something once good and gold but has faded. I find it more truthful to brush aside the reminiscence of her, its folly to dwell in the past. Though I find myself not bereaved.
I departed from my room, their was no point in coaxing an empty mind and soul with pity, it will only leave me more empty and worthless. I travel with a limp down the creaking stairs that lead to my small kitchen and living room. The smell of cooking aroma was never their to welcome me, I lived alone, I would have to make the sensation happen with my own hands.
My sons don't live with me anymore, they have gone down their own paths, proudly taking a stand against the world. I too am very proud of them. Though I have not seen them very recently, I get calls, mostly from Gohan, who insists I leave this house and come stay with him. He'll bribe with a being proclaimed an honored guest. A permanent one. He truly is good to me, but I have kept my distance, trying best to not promote any concern or uneasiness. He would be strongly aware of my condition, just as I am.
I began to cook some pancakes, plain ones, I never did prefer fruit in mine, it always seemed to drain the flavor.
I felt my eyes drift from the heating pan out the window, giving a frame picture of mountains and trees, birds dancing from tree to tree, singing songs. I saw all the life. Breathe drew from sky and time, and exhaled from the wondering valleys and mountain sides. Announcing its recreation and animation from the bellowing winds and seas. The wind I once flew in, and the sea's I once swam in. Yet now I envy them. Envy their life while I have nothing but agony with death all around me.
I let out a sigh when I look to the dishes pilled on the counter abroad from the sink. Food tainted water dripped from its porcelain, making a pool of its ill coloration on the dappled counter. I dreaded cleaning it up. I dreaded everything, even life its self.
I just wasn't the same, none of it. My eyes drifted back out the window, a drew in a deep staggering breathe. I once was as lively and filled with enterprise as those untamed mountains. Nothing bent me to its will, I paved my own. I had enough strength and spirit to spear, but now I feel I have none. It is all gone, leaking from my hands like sand, disappearing into the waves.
I felt tears well up in my eyes, I pinched them shut.
'I have no strength left to pave my way.'
I felt my feet give out beneath me, I fell to my knees and looked at my hands in amazement, tears fell down my cheeks as my mouth opened in disbelief. It seemed to hit me so clearly then.
'What have I become? Where is the man I once was?'
I felt the tears begin to fall more rapidly, yet no solemn drone left my mouth, I brought my hands to my face and buried it into them. Rolling my fingers through my hair I began to sob, I heard myself weep softly, moaning the question.
'What have I -? What have I-?"
I let my body roll to completely upon the kitchen floor, and their cried, tears damped my paling face and dripped upon the tiles. I lay their long, I try to lift myself but it is no use.
Finally, I tried to pull myself together, pulling my strained body up on my dry elbows. I looked wryly at my hands, my arms began to tremble as I stood, the strength in them at a brink. Why my strength has left me? I am not sure. But the mind is powerful, so powerful its scary, its favor toward despair is brimming over, sending my body to waste away.
Finally upon my feet a sniffled and rubbed my face with my arm, I looked down upon my pancakes; they were burning. Lifting the skillet from the stove I carried it to the trash and dumped my breakfast. I wasn't that hungry anyways.
I then aimlessly trailed into the living room, lowering my body into the couch that now smelt of mildew and felt of paper. I felt a lump in my throat. I used to love this couch, it was so comfortable and welcoming, but not any more. Simply a loaf of cloth that spoils my mind with depressed thoughts.
I felt my hands clinch angrily at my knees, pinching my fleece boxer pants into wrinkles. I felt sweat began to uplift from my skin, I felt my body grow more hard.
Often this happened, my sorrow grow to anger. I am not sure if I have grown gall over it though, I have had no one around me to prove it. Yes, I know I grow bitter toward myself, but so do all whom come to a plateau of glee, though I never expect to climb again.
I hear the phone ring, I look to it, but I dare not approach it. Its probably one of my sons or close friends, once close anyhow. They call often, I have taught myself not answer their call, my condition has grown worse, they will notice. I cant let them worry.
I press on my eyes again, they are growing more stiff and irritating, crying will do that I suppose.
I need to get up, do some work, clean the house take a walk. That's all I ever do, ever since last month. With a heavy moan I trend once more to my feet, making my way to the shower stall on the second level.
Putting the last piece of silverware into the drawer I rinse off my hands. The kitchen is now clean, along with the living room. While rinsing my hands through the cool water I keep tucking my head to the side looking out into the tiny living room at the red couch. Maybe I should throw it out today, though, I don't have anything to replace it. I don't have enough money to go buy I new one, a shrug it off, the couch is fine where it lays.
Drying my hands little on a washrag I strolled to the front door, opening it up I took a step outside. Mid summer had come and gone, it was obvious, the air has grown cool and a sprinkle of leaved floated to the heather ground. Fall was still a ways, but its approaching presence was obvious, the air still was rather hot, and the scenery still green and dappled with red berries.
Summer was sure to end, and fall was certain to come, it was inevitable. The thought began to make me feel weak again. Death is inevitable as well. As certain as the raising sun, it will come and pass, taking away a breathe, replacing it with nothing but memory. I cant avoid death, just like my wife couldn't, it took her with grace, but took her without mercy, she succumbed it. And now I feel her eroding away, I don't remember what she truly looked like, I have pictures yes, but they gave her no justice. I have forgotten her smell, what she sounded like -- I cant even remember loving her.
I pressed my fingers upon my chin, then smeared, my eyes couldn't bare looking at the mountains, even their beauty has betrayed me. I sauntered back to my door, and reentered my house.
A/N: I apologize for the shortness, but I find it necessary. I am not sure when I will update, I am going at three other stories and having troubles. haha, lately I have been home a lot and have had a real urge to write! Please if you would, review.