Rock Your World

by Shinsun1

I drew the cover pic. After the battle with Buu, Goku is left with a lot of time on his hands and feels rather superfluous. At the request of his wife to find some way to occupy himself, he takes up guitar and learns to write his own songs. However the death of his wife and a seemingly-one-sided obsession with a certain Saiyan Prince complicates things a lot. The plot thickens...

1. Part 1

Rock Your World

Part 1 – Music, In Every Sense of the Word

I have the words on my lips, the melody in my mind, and yet the music never makes its way to the six delicate metal strings of the crimson, Gibson electric guitar dubbed "Ongaku". The name itself literally meant "music" and yet somehow, I simply can't create the cascades of smooth, flowing notes that could qualify as such the way I had a seeming eternity ago.

Ever since I learned to play guitar, I've been fascinated by the sound; by how easy it is to turn silence into music with a simple glide of fingers over those taut, silver strings. Why not now, when my emotions have all but written a song for me in my head?

I shake my head ruefully; I guess some emotions are too big to voice…

Sprawling on my back in the grass below a tree, I stack my hands under my head and lean back, tapping my foot and tail alternately to the music in my head, music that never tasted the cusp of paper, music I never bothered to write down. Why should I? Music I'll never play has no point.

I think back a few years; after Buu was defeated and I had nothing to do with the newfound time on my hands, Gohan had surprised me one day by asking if I had any hobbies, any talents besides fighting. I had just shrugged, giving some noncommittal answer. Fighting was who I was, I didn't know if I wanted to do anything else, ever. My son then informed me that I had, in ChiChi's words, been "hovering" as if bored, and that he'd been ordered to find some way to get me "out of her hair". I told him I didn't really have any real hobbies, but would be willing to take one up if it meant keeping ChiChi happy and, hopefully, not on the constant brink of thwacking me with a frying pan. My eldest son considered this for a long while, saying nothing.

My second surprise that week showed up in the form of said eldest son arriving a few days later with a gorgeous red-and-white Gibson slung over his back. He handed me the instrument without a word, and I distinctly remember staring like the idiot I am accused of being more times than I can count. I guess my clueless expression eventually pried an explanation from him.

"I asked around for some kind of hobby you might enjoy, and music seemed to be the most popular suggestion," he gestured towards the guitar, "Bulma said she could set you up with a decent guitar fairly easily – she is rich, you know – and there you have it… Why not try it out, Dad? See how it sounds?"

I had absolutely no prior experience; and, hoping to the gods that I wouldn't make a fool of myself or, worse, break the beautiful instrument, I strummed my three forefingers lightly across the bare, metal strings. A single clear, tinny note wavered in the humid mid-July air, and I was lost.

From that day on, I was hooked. Words became tools, emotions became a blank canvas that I could paint with inconceivable colors without raising a brush. Sounds I took for granted my entire life became inspiration. Oh, how I loved that word. And love, indeed was what it was. I was in love with music, of all kinds, of all cultures, from every corner of the godsdamned world. I bought CDs like I once bought food, and some days I would just listen, simply drown in the sound. Other times I played; I needed no lessons, somehow I just knew how to make the guitar do what I wanted. I strummed my fingers raw, and played and played and played. It was an addiction, and it was beautiful. Once ChiChi complained about my inattentive nature and my eating habits, now she complained about my inattentive nature, my eating habits, and my obsession with music.

But even she had to admit, I was pretty damn talented. I even caught her swaying to the rhythm of one of my earlier compositions, and later humming the melody under her breath. I think she was proud, even if she couldn't admit it, that her good-for-nothing husband had finally found a purpose. Ahem, besides saving the universe, that is.

But that was just the beginning. I loved music, yes, and my aptitude for sound and energy made me a protégée, but I never truly knew what love was until that one fateful day. The day my wife died.

TBC