He watched the blood run down from his wrists as if it would reveal all that he needed to know in life. But even though he knew it should hurt, he didn't feel any pain. As blood from the first wound started to drip onto the wooden desk, he drew the knife across his other wrist.
The room was in disarray. A personal computer had been kicked in, and blood from his feet was splattered liberally across its innards. The bed had been overturned, and kicked about a bit. Glass from pictures frames was scattered across the blue and red patterned carpet. Books were thrown all over the place, and some were ripped. The posters on the wall had been ripped up in his rage. Some were only half torn, and hung forlornly onto the walls. A music track was playing in the background, with a very heavy beat, with lyrics to match.
The desk, with the stereo system on it, was the only thing that had got off lightly. But now it was to witness his blood on it once again. He watched it pool on the desk, and he drew the knife along his arms, wanting to draw more blood out of him. He was feeling light headed, and he knew it was because of blood loss.
Good. Just what he wanted.
He looked up from the blood to pick up a photo. It had been taken it happier times. Before work took over all their lives, and the arguments began. It was hardly surprising, considering the deaths of the mothers of the families. They were the main thing keeping the families together, he now realised.
Pity.
And with the departure of both of the original father figures in the households, there were no other guiding voices. One had just disappeared, and the other had gone in search of him. Both had been gone for several years now.
The picture showed six youths, their ages ranging from fourteen to twenty. There was the youngest, a girl of fourteen with a small face, short stature, long black hair, and her arms crossed across her chest. She was wearing an orange bandana, and was talking to the person next to her with a smile on her face.
The person next to her was a fairly tall man, about twenty the picture was taken. With tanned skin and characteristic purple bangs, he was easily recognisable. A small smile played across his face, and at the time he wore baggy grey clothes, and had a skateboard next to him. Pity he exchance his attire for a business suit, and his smile for a stern business face.
Another one was a girl of sixteen, a blonde girl with distinctly western features and of medium height and build. She was laughing freely at a joke the man next to her had made, and playfully shoving him.
The man next to the blonde was tall, with a heavy build, and he looked to be about eighteen. His dark skin was at contrast with the bright coloured clothes he wore. He was grinning at the blonde's response to what he had said.
The fifth youth in the picture was a seventeen-year-old girl with tanned skin, and features distinctly like the purple haired man's. Her aqua blue hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she had a smirk on her face, because she was holding something away from the sixth person, who obviously wanted it back.
The sixth person was a man of nineteen, with jet-black hair that seemed that no one would ever tame. He was dressed in khaki, and he had a pleading expression on his face, directed toward the girl with the aqua blue hair.
The photo was dropped into the pool of blood. It belonged to the past. It had been taken over five years ago, in far happier times. Since that group had splintered about four years ago, he hadn't seen or spoken to any of that group. He wondered what was happening to them.
But he couldn't worry about that anymore. They were gone, and he was all alone. The group, whose members had so often helped each other, was now gone. Blood splattered onto the picture, obscuring the image, blurring the faces.
He felt dizzy. Slowly, his face fell into the pool of blood on the desk.
Goten welcomed the oblivion it brought.
She woke up fast. There was someone shining a light into her eyes. She began to reach into her jacket, trying to grab hold of the blade that was kept there at all times, when the wielder of the light, a man with a gruff voice, said,
"Come on, move along lass." She stopped the movement to grab the knife, and let out a silent sigh of relief. It was only the police. At least they had rules.
"'kay, I will." She muttered, trying not to look as alert as she really was. The light flickered in a direction away from where she was laying. Another voice, that of a younger man, said,
"Come on, hurry up!"
"Hey lad, take it easy. She doesn't exactly want to be here, you know." The older, gruffer, voice said. The woman got up, rolling up the sleeping bag and putting it in the rucksack she slept next to at all times. Her movements were awkward because of the cold, and her muscles had all but seized up for she'd lain there asleep for such a long time, so it seemed.
"Okay then. Sorry sergeant." The younger man said, slightly abashed at being told off by the sergeant who was pretty much awed by all the new recruits, because of his vast experience.
The woman was standing up now, and she pulled her woolly hat down more, trying to keep her aqua blue hair under control. It'd been in a terrible state for these past two or three years. And those had been a bad few years, with no time to worry about getting a haircut, yet alone washing her hair, much as she'd wanted to.
She began to walk away as the two police officers began to clear out the others who were trying to shelter from the wind in the shop fronts that had been closed up for the night. She walked away as quickly as she could, not wanting to let anyone get a good look at her. After all, they might try something. Something she'd seen too much of in the past few years.
She passed by a fish and chips van. The smell was wonderful, but she didn't have any money. She sighed, aloud this time. That was her life these days. A life of scrapping together a few pounds over several hours to buy a meagre meal, and then, at the end of the day, trying to find somewhere to sleep.
It was ironic. Once she had been rich, and now she was a beggar. The time she didn't spend begging, eating, or sleeping was spent trying to avoid all those who were trying to lure her into the life was a prostitute. She may have lost all her wealth, but she wasn't about to start prostitution.
She walked past a hostel with a sign saying 'All welcome' and next to it, another sign saying 'Full'. That was the big cities of the world for you. All welcome, but we can only have so many people in here at a time. Bloody hypocrites.
She found a place to sleep eventually. It was an alleyway, filled with cardboard boxes and other rubbish. Feral cats hissed at her as she peered into the alleyway, which was lit by the pale orange glow of a streetlight. But in it she saw someone she recognised from her life on the street. He was all right, and he'd understand her predicament. She found a spot that no one was in, and she laid out her sleeping bag, and tried to get off to sleep.
Cold despite the layers of clothing, Bra Briefs fell to sleep in an alleyway, a far cry from the mansions she'd grown up in.
The building was collapsing in on itself. The explosions were meant to do that. Walls collapsed in, walls that had once rang to the sound of laughter. The upper two floors fell into the bottom floor, demolishing memories. The kitchen, which had been such a place of hell for his mother, collapsed inwards.
Another explosion, and he knew that meant the end of his lifelong home.
The man knew it was the end of the good life. He hadn't lived in that building for months, yet he still had to watch its destruction. It was his last link to his past, and now it, like all his family and friends, was gone too.
He felt tears threaten to run from his eyes. He blinked them away, fiercely. It was one of the things his father had taught him-never let your foe know your weakness.
Someone behind him cleared his throat. A man in a business suit was standing behind him. A man in a better business suit than his. So, they'd still managed to find him. They couldn't let him watch the end of something important to him. Typical businessman.
"Yes?" He asked, fearing what would come.
"Sir, I'm from Short and Blake Limited. Your company was meant to pay us a fee of two hundred million US dollars, and we have only received thirty million of it so far. Could you tell us when you will pay us the remaining money?" The man in the cheaper suit replied,
"You took the family grounds, and you've blown it all up. That's another thirty million, I think." The man in the better business suit coughed.
"Well…yes." He said, clearly annoyed.
"And you've taken another eighty million worth of property, as well. And several millions worth of patents. How much does that leave?" The man in the cheaper suit said, a demeaning sneer in his voice.
"Um…about thirty million, I think." The man in the cheaper business suit sneered openly at the other man.
"Get your facts right next time. I wont do business with someone who can't do their maths." The man turned and began to stalk away.
"Where are you going? I haven't finished talking to you!" The man said, trying to regain control of the situation.
"I'm going to take a last look at my home!" The man turned and began walking towards the still dusty remnants of what was once his home. When he was halfway there, he turned around, and yelled back,
"And it's President Trunks! Remember that!"
The President of the once all-powerful Capsule Corps began to walk back towards the wreckage that had been his home for all his life. It was the least eh could do. It was the only thing he could do. With no family and no friends left, it was the only remnant of the happier times the photo in his wallet showed.
The latest customer was big and fat. He stank of sweat, and he wore a medium priced suit. He smoked a foul smelling cigarette that was probably illegal. She wished he would just hurry up. But he wouldn't. He just leered at her for several long minutes. It made her feel uncomfortable.
"Give me yer name, lass." He said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.
She told him her name. They often asked for names, or so the Boss said. Never give full names, he'd said. Stopped them tracking you down, so he said.
"Nice name. Used to know someone with that name." He paused, taking a drag on his cigarette. "How old are you?" He asked, sitting down on the bed and stubbing the cigarette out on the bed. She wrinkled her nose at that. It would reduce the tip given by the next customer, probably.
"Nineteen." She said, trying not to look at him, knowing what she'd have to do when the conversation was over. She didn't want to think of how disgusting it would be.
"Young, eh?" He laughed. She laughed along with him, but only half-heartedly. The Boss had told her that often they'd want to talk. If you talk to them, made them feel good, and they might give you a bigger tip.
He seemed to be finished with talking. He asked her to remove her clothes. Even as she did so, he was rapidly getting undressed. His breathing was heavy, and he wanted action quickly. She let him have what he wanted-it was her job, after all.
As he grunted and panted above her, crushing her with his weight, she felt like gagging. But she gave him a few encouraging moans, and made sure to move about, to make him finish quicker. The quicker the better, after all.
He grunted as he released into her. He nearly collapsed on top of her, buts he shoved him off-or at least tried to. He was too heavy. But he got the idea, and he rolled off her. Even as he was puffing and panting, she was pulling on the meagre clothes she wore when she was on the job. After a few minutes, he got up, and gave her the money. There was a considerable tip. She'd done well.
The man lighted up a new cigarette as he was leaving. He paused in the doorway, and said to her,
"I'll make sure to ask for you Pan, next time I'm here."
He left, and Pan knew her troubles were only just beginning. He'd be back. He'd be back…
Unaccountably, she began to cry for the first time in over a year.
She breathed deeply, and looked at herself in the mirror. Yes, she was correctly dressed. Her makeup was on right. There was no need to worry. She'd done this routine dozens, if not hundreds, of times before. There was no need to worry.
Yet she was worried. She'd seen the picture of them in happier times. The one taken about a year before it all started to go downhill. But, did any of them sink as low as her? Probably not. They'd probably recovered from their bad times, whereas she hadn't. She was working in this club, after all.
The blonde woman looked at the photo again. It was lying on the dresser, and she couldn't help but look at it. It had seemed so simple back then. They'd reckoned everything would have stayed the same. How wrong they all were.
She missed them all, she realised. Buts he couldn't face them now. She couldn't face them ever again, not after the low level she'd sunk to. Never again could she see them, speak to them, and not think how low she must look like to them.
"Hey! Hurry up!" A female voice yelled above the din. That was the boss. The blonde woman looked again at the picture, and then put it away in a drawer of the dresser. Another of the women, as scantily dressed as she, tapped her on the shoulder, and said,
"Come on Marron!" She nodded her head and said,
"Okay. Be there in a second."
She wouldn't cry. Not until the show was over.
He looked out over the land. It was good land, he was fairly sure of that. Well, it wasn't the best land ever, but he could handle it. His parents had taught him well in that respect. It was what he'd expected to be all his life, until the stranger had shown up on a day that had changed his life.
It looked as if it was going to rain. He dug the picture out of his pocket, and looked at it again. He knew they all had a copy of it, and it made him feel as if they were still connected in some way. He hadn't spoken to them in years, but it wasn't as if he didn't wonder sometimes. He wondered how they were doing. Probably better than him. After all, he was just a farmer, right?
Perhaps he should find them all someday, just to talk to them. But not now. The crops were still growing right now, and he needed to tend them. Perhaps after the harvest. That would be a good time to find them all. Yes, he could do that.
But what was more important? He wondered as he leaned against the stonewall he'd built half a year ago, as raindrops started to fall out of the sky. His friends, or his crops? His mentor would have known the answer, but he was long gone. If only he could've asked him.
It was raining heavily now. He began to walk back to his house, and he remembered something his mentor had once said,
'Everything I did, I did it for those I loved. I did it to protect them, to help them, to make them comfortable in illness. If I hadn't had those I loved, I wouldn't have done any of the things I did.'
Uub smiled to himself. His mentor was right. His friends had to come first. In the morning, he'd do what he could. But then, it was a case of where were they now in the world? Where were they, and what were they doing?
He often wondered that…
The room was in disarray. A personal computer had been kicked in, and blood from his feet was splattered liberally across its innards. The bed had been overturned, and kicked about a bit. Glass from pictures frames was scattered across the blue and red patterned carpet. Books were thrown all over the place, and some were ripped. The posters on the wall had been ripped up in his rage. Some were only half torn, and hung forlornly onto the walls. A music track was playing in the background, with a very heavy beat, with lyrics to match.
The desk, with the stereo system on it, was the only thing that had got off lightly. But now it was to witness his blood on it once again. He watched it pool on the desk, and he drew the knife along his arms, wanting to draw more blood out of him. He was feeling light headed, and he knew it was because of blood loss.
Good. Just what he wanted.
He looked up from the blood to pick up a photo. It had been taken it happier times. Before work took over all their lives, and the arguments began. It was hardly surprising, considering the deaths of the mothers of the families. They were the main thing keeping the families together, he now realised.
Pity.
And with the departure of both of the original father figures in the households, there were no other guiding voices. One had just disappeared, and the other had gone in search of him. Both had been gone for several years now.
The picture showed six youths, their ages ranging from fourteen to twenty. There was the youngest, a girl of fourteen with a small face, short stature, long black hair, and her arms crossed across her chest. She was wearing an orange bandana, and was talking to the person next to her with a smile on her face.
The person next to her was a fairly tall man, about twenty the picture was taken. With tanned skin and characteristic purple bangs, he was easily recognisable. A small smile played across his face, and at the time he wore baggy grey clothes, and had a skateboard next to him. Pity he exchance his attire for a business suit, and his smile for a stern business face.
Another one was a girl of sixteen, a blonde girl with distinctly western features and of medium height and build. She was laughing freely at a joke the man next to her had made, and playfully shoving him.
The man next to the blonde was tall, with a heavy build, and he looked to be about eighteen. His dark skin was at contrast with the bright coloured clothes he wore. He was grinning at the blonde's response to what he had said.
The fifth youth in the picture was a seventeen-year-old girl with tanned skin, and features distinctly like the purple haired man's. Her aqua blue hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she had a smirk on her face, because she was holding something away from the sixth person, who obviously wanted it back.
The sixth person was a man of nineteen, with jet-black hair that seemed that no one would ever tame. He was dressed in khaki, and he had a pleading expression on his face, directed toward the girl with the aqua blue hair.
The photo was dropped into the pool of blood. It belonged to the past. It had been taken over five years ago, in far happier times. Since that group had splintered about four years ago, he hadn't seen or spoken to any of that group. He wondered what was happening to them.
But he couldn't worry about that anymore. They were gone, and he was all alone. The group, whose members had so often helped each other, was now gone. Blood splattered onto the picture, obscuring the image, blurring the faces.
He felt dizzy. Slowly, his face fell into the pool of blood on the desk.
Goten welcomed the oblivion it brought.
She woke up fast. There was someone shining a light into her eyes. She began to reach into her jacket, trying to grab hold of the blade that was kept there at all times, when the wielder of the light, a man with a gruff voice, said,
"Come on, move along lass." She stopped the movement to grab the knife, and let out a silent sigh of relief. It was only the police. At least they had rules.
"'kay, I will." She muttered, trying not to look as alert as she really was. The light flickered in a direction away from where she was laying. Another voice, that of a younger man, said,
"Come on, hurry up!"
"Hey lad, take it easy. She doesn't exactly want to be here, you know." The older, gruffer, voice said. The woman got up, rolling up the sleeping bag and putting it in the rucksack she slept next to at all times. Her movements were awkward because of the cold, and her muscles had all but seized up for she'd lain there asleep for such a long time, so it seemed.
"Okay then. Sorry sergeant." The younger man said, slightly abashed at being told off by the sergeant who was pretty much awed by all the new recruits, because of his vast experience.
The woman was standing up now, and she pulled her woolly hat down more, trying to keep her aqua blue hair under control. It'd been in a terrible state for these past two or three years. And those had been a bad few years, with no time to worry about getting a haircut, yet alone washing her hair, much as she'd wanted to.
She began to walk away as the two police officers began to clear out the others who were trying to shelter from the wind in the shop fronts that had been closed up for the night. She walked away as quickly as she could, not wanting to let anyone get a good look at her. After all, they might try something. Something she'd seen too much of in the past few years.
She passed by a fish and chips van. The smell was wonderful, but she didn't have any money. She sighed, aloud this time. That was her life these days. A life of scrapping together a few pounds over several hours to buy a meagre meal, and then, at the end of the day, trying to find somewhere to sleep.
It was ironic. Once she had been rich, and now she was a beggar. The time she didn't spend begging, eating, or sleeping was spent trying to avoid all those who were trying to lure her into the life was a prostitute. She may have lost all her wealth, but she wasn't about to start prostitution.
She walked past a hostel with a sign saying 'All welcome' and next to it, another sign saying 'Full'. That was the big cities of the world for you. All welcome, but we can only have so many people in here at a time. Bloody hypocrites.
She found a place to sleep eventually. It was an alleyway, filled with cardboard boxes and other rubbish. Feral cats hissed at her as she peered into the alleyway, which was lit by the pale orange glow of a streetlight. But in it she saw someone she recognised from her life on the street. He was all right, and he'd understand her predicament. She found a spot that no one was in, and she laid out her sleeping bag, and tried to get off to sleep.
Cold despite the layers of clothing, Bra Briefs fell to sleep in an alleyway, a far cry from the mansions she'd grown up in.
The building was collapsing in on itself. The explosions were meant to do that. Walls collapsed in, walls that had once rang to the sound of laughter. The upper two floors fell into the bottom floor, demolishing memories. The kitchen, which had been such a place of hell for his mother, collapsed inwards.
Another explosion, and he knew that meant the end of his lifelong home.
The man knew it was the end of the good life. He hadn't lived in that building for months, yet he still had to watch its destruction. It was his last link to his past, and now it, like all his family and friends, was gone too.
He felt tears threaten to run from his eyes. He blinked them away, fiercely. It was one of the things his father had taught him-never let your foe know your weakness.
Someone behind him cleared his throat. A man in a business suit was standing behind him. A man in a better business suit than his. So, they'd still managed to find him. They couldn't let him watch the end of something important to him. Typical businessman.
"Yes?" He asked, fearing what would come.
"Sir, I'm from Short and Blake Limited. Your company was meant to pay us a fee of two hundred million US dollars, and we have only received thirty million of it so far. Could you tell us when you will pay us the remaining money?" The man in the cheaper suit replied,
"You took the family grounds, and you've blown it all up. That's another thirty million, I think." The man in the better business suit coughed.
"Well…yes." He said, clearly annoyed.
"And you've taken another eighty million worth of property, as well. And several millions worth of patents. How much does that leave?" The man in the cheaper suit said, a demeaning sneer in his voice.
"Um…about thirty million, I think." The man in the cheaper business suit sneered openly at the other man.
"Get your facts right next time. I wont do business with someone who can't do their maths." The man turned and began to stalk away.
"Where are you going? I haven't finished talking to you!" The man said, trying to regain control of the situation.
"I'm going to take a last look at my home!" The man turned and began walking towards the still dusty remnants of what was once his home. When he was halfway there, he turned around, and yelled back,
"And it's President Trunks! Remember that!"
The President of the once all-powerful Capsule Corps began to walk back towards the wreckage that had been his home for all his life. It was the least eh could do. It was the only thing he could do. With no family and no friends left, it was the only remnant of the happier times the photo in his wallet showed.
The latest customer was big and fat. He stank of sweat, and he wore a medium priced suit. He smoked a foul smelling cigarette that was probably illegal. She wished he would just hurry up. But he wouldn't. He just leered at her for several long minutes. It made her feel uncomfortable.
"Give me yer name, lass." He said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.
She told him her name. They often asked for names, or so the Boss said. Never give full names, he'd said. Stopped them tracking you down, so he said.
"Nice name. Used to know someone with that name." He paused, taking a drag on his cigarette. "How old are you?" He asked, sitting down on the bed and stubbing the cigarette out on the bed. She wrinkled her nose at that. It would reduce the tip given by the next customer, probably.
"Nineteen." She said, trying not to look at him, knowing what she'd have to do when the conversation was over. She didn't want to think of how disgusting it would be.
"Young, eh?" He laughed. She laughed along with him, but only half-heartedly. The Boss had told her that often they'd want to talk. If you talk to them, made them feel good, and they might give you a bigger tip.
He seemed to be finished with talking. He asked her to remove her clothes. Even as she did so, he was rapidly getting undressed. His breathing was heavy, and he wanted action quickly. She let him have what he wanted-it was her job, after all.
As he grunted and panted above her, crushing her with his weight, she felt like gagging. But she gave him a few encouraging moans, and made sure to move about, to make him finish quicker. The quicker the better, after all.
He grunted as he released into her. He nearly collapsed on top of her, buts he shoved him off-or at least tried to. He was too heavy. But he got the idea, and he rolled off her. Even as he was puffing and panting, she was pulling on the meagre clothes she wore when she was on the job. After a few minutes, he got up, and gave her the money. There was a considerable tip. She'd done well.
The man lighted up a new cigarette as he was leaving. He paused in the doorway, and said to her,
"I'll make sure to ask for you Pan, next time I'm here."
He left, and Pan knew her troubles were only just beginning. He'd be back. He'd be back…
Unaccountably, she began to cry for the first time in over a year.
She breathed deeply, and looked at herself in the mirror. Yes, she was correctly dressed. Her makeup was on right. There was no need to worry. She'd done this routine dozens, if not hundreds, of times before. There was no need to worry.
Yet she was worried. She'd seen the picture of them in happier times. The one taken about a year before it all started to go downhill. But, did any of them sink as low as her? Probably not. They'd probably recovered from their bad times, whereas she hadn't. She was working in this club, after all.
The blonde woman looked at the photo again. It was lying on the dresser, and she couldn't help but look at it. It had seemed so simple back then. They'd reckoned everything would have stayed the same. How wrong they all were.
She missed them all, she realised. Buts he couldn't face them now. She couldn't face them ever again, not after the low level she'd sunk to. Never again could she see them, speak to them, and not think how low she must look like to them.
"Hey! Hurry up!" A female voice yelled above the din. That was the boss. The blonde woman looked again at the picture, and then put it away in a drawer of the dresser. Another of the women, as scantily dressed as she, tapped her on the shoulder, and said,
"Come on Marron!" She nodded her head and said,
"Okay. Be there in a second."
She wouldn't cry. Not until the show was over.
He looked out over the land. It was good land, he was fairly sure of that. Well, it wasn't the best land ever, but he could handle it. His parents had taught him well in that respect. It was what he'd expected to be all his life, until the stranger had shown up on a day that had changed his life.
It looked as if it was going to rain. He dug the picture out of his pocket, and looked at it again. He knew they all had a copy of it, and it made him feel as if they were still connected in some way. He hadn't spoken to them in years, but it wasn't as if he didn't wonder sometimes. He wondered how they were doing. Probably better than him. After all, he was just a farmer, right?
Perhaps he should find them all someday, just to talk to them. But not now. The crops were still growing right now, and he needed to tend them. Perhaps after the harvest. That would be a good time to find them all. Yes, he could do that.
But what was more important? He wondered as he leaned against the stonewall he'd built half a year ago, as raindrops started to fall out of the sky. His friends, or his crops? His mentor would have known the answer, but he was long gone. If only he could've asked him.
It was raining heavily now. He began to walk back to his house, and he remembered something his mentor had once said,
'Everything I did, I did it for those I loved. I did it to protect them, to help them, to make them comfortable in illness. If I hadn't had those I loved, I wouldn't have done any of the things I did.'
Uub smiled to himself. His mentor was right. His friends had to come first. In the morning, he'd do what he could. But then, it was a case of where were they now in the world? Where were they, and what were they doing?
He often wondered that…