A/N: Well, this is my first fic, and I hope everyone enjoys it. It's about Trunks, during the ten year period of peace after Majin Buu and what his life might have been like. Please R&R. I'm trying to keep it more along the lines of emotion, so if the action is somewhat dull, I'm sorry!!! Ok, enough gab. . . here is Futile for your reading pleasure ^_^

Futile -DownPoison1019 All DBZ characters © Akira Torimoya

"Get up, boy!" Trunks' father barked at him. Dammit, I have a name! he wanted to scream. But the wrenching agony in his gut stopped him from doing so. That had been one of the hardest punches he'd ever recieved from Vegeta in all of his ten years. It wasn't nearly as painful as when Majin Buu had hit him, but somehow the effect of a father hiting his own son seemed much, much more painful to Trunks. Memories of the battle for the universe flooded back into his mind like a colossal tidal wave. It was something no eight year old, Super Saiya-jin or not, should've gone through. Even over a year afterwards, it still haunted him.

"I SAID GET UP!" He roared at his groveling son. He was snapped like a twig out of his thoughts as he was jerked upright roughly by the back of his collar.

"You're- choking. . ." He sputtered as the front of his gi dug into his neck. "Dad!" he cried. His father let go of him. Trunks stumbled forward, rubbing his neck.

"What the HELL was that for?!?!" He gasped as he tried to regain his breath and turned to Vegeta. He replied calmly, although the annoyance in his tone was obvious.

"I told you to get up, but you failed to do so," -He cracked his neck loudly- "So i did it myself."

"It would've helped if you gave me a chance to get up," He muttered under his breath. He knew his father had heard him, but he could've cared less. He re-powered up to his Super Saiya-jin state.

The power that surged through his veins was the best high he could get. His lavender hair flared a bright gold, same as his ki flare that shrouded his form. He was the only one of the five SSJ who's eyes didn't turn a bright teal. They stayed aquamarine, the same color of eyes his mother, Bulma, had.

"You ready now?" Vegeta asked, also a SSJ.

"I 'spose. But, you know, for a guy who hated his father for bitching at him all the time, you're doing a real good job of not following in his footsteps," He remarked sarcastically. Vegeta clenched his fists into a tight ball.

"You have no idea what you are talking about, boy-"

"My name is Trunks," He interjected.

"My father was the worst person, second to Freiza. To compare me to him. . . if you weren't my son, you'd be dead right now." He pointed to the door. "Get out. I'm sick of training with you," he added slyly, "Trunks."

"Fine! I neverwanted to train with you in the first place! I never got why you were so paranoid about it!" He punched a button near the door to the gravity chamber, and it opened. As he stepped out, he felt the change of the gravitational pull. He didn't think he'd ever get used to that feeling that lasted less than a second. In a haughty rush, he bumped into his mom on his way to his room.

"Is something wrong Trunks? Your face is all red," She asked.

"Well, your's has grease smudged on it," He pointed to her left cheek. She'd obviously been in the labs in Capsule Corp. Headquarters. She gave him that look that mothers seem to have.

"Haha. . . very funny," She said bluntly.

"The problem is mainly that man I happen to call 'Father' by some unfortunate twist of fate" -He powered down, realizing he was still SSJ- "How you manage to put up with him is beyond me."

"What were you arguing about this time?" She asked.

"Well, he nailed me really hard in the gut, and as I was trying to make sure my intestines were intact, he picks me up by the back of my collar and I start to choke to death. . .nevermind. It's not important enough to whine about." He shrugged and headed to his room.

Sunlight filtered through his curtains that he always forgot to draw back. His bed was a mess, the sheet half off and the fleece blanket stuffed inbetween the wall and his bed, his pillow. . . Hey, where was his pillow? Everything was everywhere, and that was just how he liked it. He threw aside his boots and turned on his radio. Sighing, he flopped onto his bed and buried his face in the soft mattress. As he drifted off into a fitful sleep, his father's word rung in his head. If you weren't my son, you'd be dead right now. Did he really mean it?

*************************

A/N: So, how was it? please, please, please R&R. But, don't flame me. This is only my first draft on my first fic, and I know this chapter was pretty short. I will update possibly by the end of the week, but I've been suffering from major writer's block lately, so if I don't update I'm sorry. Till the next chapter!