Disclaimer—I don't own DB/Z/GT
A/N—Kinda short, but I've got writers block on my other story, and I'm trying to slay it…this helped a little.
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So many times he'd failed. A failure in peace, a failure in war, a failure in life. Perhaps that was his name. The identity he'd searched for so long to find. It was his destiny—not the one he'd sought after, but perhaps one more fitting.
The destiny he'd chased belonged to another. Heh. To be a successful failure. What a marred accomplishment. He couldn't even fail completely. His success scarred his failure. Did that even make any sense? Oh well. He was used to paradox. Used to fighting the bonds of reality.
Did it matter? For so long, he'd sought purpose. Sought some miserable shred of meaning in this loathsome joke called a life. Now what did he have? Nothing.
Purpose. He'd never found that in himself, somehow. For him, it had always existed in others. His father, his people, Frieza, Kakarot…all dead, now. What was left? He was like a glass, with nothing to fill it. What use was an empty glass…
Glass. That's all. They all saw through him. Frieza, Kakarot, damn him to hell. The woman…somehow she saw best of all. Was he really that transparent? How in the hell had he come to be some damned transparent glass?!
Hollow…glasses were empty, but he felt hollow…mind, body, soul. The only thing he'd ever been truly good at was befouled. He had been surpassed by those he held to be lower than dirt. By those he'd suffered for. By those who never knew the extent of that suffering.
He'd done it all for them. His father, his people; all for naught. Sold his breath for a lie…sold his soul. Did he even have one of those anymore? Had he ever? Perhaps it was just some tale told to children, to make the night seem less fearful. He'd ventured into that darkness, but all he remembered was his return, and the echoing emptiness…perhaps that's what he was. Even emptiness needed a vessel. He was host for the gnawing entity. At least it gave him purpose. Purpose beyond Kakarot, purpose beyond evading the next blow, by throwing one first.
Purpose…it was strange. Why should he care? This endless pursuit…why couldn't he just accept it? It was odd…distinctly odd…no fires burned within, he needed enkindling…he had forgotten how to light his own flames. The woman, the boy…they were all that he had left…and what strange fires they lit.
Odd, broken, pathetic, hollow and worthless as the kindling was, what kind of fire would be produced? It was all he had left. The only flames he'd ever light himself would be his own pyre…and he wasn't ready for that…not quite. Even odd flames of life beat the cold and hollow darkness…
No choice. He'd made all his choices. A successful failure…all he could do was burn.
*** *shrugs* That's it. I told you it was short.***