It was raining again.
All it ever did was rain, these days.
The sound of the rain falling on the empty streets and trickling down the sidewalk was lulling; oddly dissonant to the heavy plink the raindrops made as they pelted her umbrella mercilessly. The sky was the gray of winter, though it was well into February. It had been gray most of the time, the rain letting up occasionally, as if to taunt the city's residents, only to continue the torrent just hours later. Though it was only early afternoon, the sky already was dark enough to be twilight.
Beneath the wide umbrella sat Jinzounigen Juuhachigou, her head bowed, a mug of hot chocolate at her hand, barely sipped. She'd been listening to the rain for some time now, her eyes closed to the world around her. She was dressed sharply, as she always was - the relentless grindstone of time had taken many things from her, but not her sense of fashion. Her hair was long again, long like it'd been centuries ago, and only the fact that she never checked her reflection in the mirror these days kept her from cropping it off all over again. As she found herself so often these days, Juuhachigou was lost in the past. It'd been so many decades ago... centuries ago, really. After a while, the years just started to blur together, and when the years fell empty, they became even more so. It had been so long ago... but it was all preserved in her mind in crystal clarity.
It was all she had left. Whether by natural or artificial design, Juuhachigou possessed an unfailing memory. It had all happened so long ago, yet Juuhachigou could recall it with perfect clarity, as if it had all happened just yesterday. Every time she turned around, she found herself slipping back into the past. And why not? There was nothing left for in the present... all she had left were her memories.
"Gee, Juuhachi, I dunno..."
"It'll just be a week, and then we'll be back home. What could possibly go wrong?" She tried her best to rein it in, but more and more these days she found herself growing exasperated with her husband. Kuririn had always been timid, but for the first five decades his affection had overshadowed his faults. Once Marron left the house, though, the situation went from bearable to ridiculous. Kuririn had lived a full life - he was ready to settle back and enjoy his twilight years quietly. Juuhachigou, on the other hand, yearned for more.
"We don't have any reason to go to the Budokai, though." Kuririn had an infuriating habit of deconstructing her wishes, sentence by sentence, and the worst part was that he didn't know how much it grated his wife's nerves. Kuririn was earnest and kind - the jinzounigen knew in her heart that he would never do anything to deliberately annoy her, but the fact was that his insecurities were getting harder and harder for her to bear. Did he expect her to live in this house for another fifty years? To spend her days on this tiny island, constantly being oogled by Kamesenin and the pig? Why couldn't he live a little? Just once in a while; was it so much to ask?"
"Fine." she said at last, with a resolve that had slowly built up over the decades. "I'll go, then. Perhaps I'll visit Marron while I'm there." Kuririn rose, knowing that this wasn't going to be like the other times.
"Juuhachi, wait!" Kuririn called to his wife plaintively. But it was too late - the jinzounigen was already gone.
Centuries later, Juuhachigou could only smile forlornly at her arrogance. If only she'd known then... she never would have left. Though she remained youthful in body, in mind she had aged. Perhaps an immortal was slower to mature... she had been over five decades old even then, yet in retrospect, she had behaved like a child. If only she'd known what the decades to follow were going to hold for her...
She had never liked churches.
This church was no different. The carpet reeked, and the icons of Jesus stared down at her coldly, a stare she could hardly bear. How humans could regard those eyes, void of mercy or compassion, as a savior Juuhachigou would never know. They had as much humanity as Dr. Gero - cold blue eyes staring down from on high without pity, without remorse.
She sat in the front pew, head bowed, clad in mourning black. The grief on her face was deeper than any of her fellow mourners knew - she had not been there at the end, had been notified by Marron of his passing. She'd come back to find the arrangements had already been made, that Kuririn had bequeathed everything he owned to her, had left her a note among his personal effects. He hadn't blamed her for leaving, he said. He knew that every bird years for flight, and regretted only that he'd been unable to fly with her. He loved her, he said, and he always would.
She hadn't seen him in five years, but he still loved her. She'd always seen him as a constant, had grown to take him for granted as the decades passed. In a universe where the Dragonballs existed, death's presence seemed so much easier to forget some days. Kuririn had died before... many times. She had died too. Hell, they had all died at one point or another, and always the Dragonballs had been there to bring them back. It was easy to forget death in such a world.
Kuririn had lived a long time, much longer than anyone but Juuhachigou had expected him to. His relatives, mortals that they were, never forgot death, never lost sight of the fact that eventually an end would come that Shenlong could not reverse. Juuhachigou had pointedly put that fact out of her mind, wanting to believe that Kuririn, like her, would always remain.
He'd lived for over eleven decades. But it'd been nowhere near as long as she needed.
Marron stood at the altar, flanked by a tall, black-haired man and a blonde woman. Her children, of course. Of course, 'children' wasn't the proper term now - they were both adults. Marron herself was well into her sixties, and the exhaustion in her daughter's face frightened Juuhachigou deeply. She could no longer forget it - one day it would be Marron laying there in the place of Kuririn, it would be her daughter that she would have to bury. The thought was too much to bear, and Juuhachigou shoved it from her mind. Marron was approaching her, tears glistening in her eyes.
Juuhachigou rose to embrace her daughter, an embrace that was as much apology as comfort. Marron she had kept in close contact with, and Marron knew the unlovely truth that Kuririn had never had to know - that Juuhachigou had not been faithful, had allowed herself to be lost in the glittering world of Arthur Zephynos and his media empire. Juuhachigou had always been drawn to wealth and comfort, and Zephynos had promised everything that Kuririn had denied her. She'd never loved Zephynos, though, nor he her. A part of her knew it from the beginning, but she needed a change, needed to lose herself in something new after the many stagnant years at the Kame House. Zephynos had made her feel like the teenager she was again.
Marron understand her mother, had forgiven her. And she'd kept her mother's secret - Kuririn had never had to learn of his wife's unfaithfulness. He'd died peacefully, as he deserved. But though Marron may have forgiven her mother, she hadn't forgotten. And theirs was a brief embrace.
Marron's children approached now, standing by their mother protectively and saying nothing to Juuhachigou. An awkward silence was broken by the arrival of the priest, who looked between the four and then turned to Marron. "Ma'am." he began, "We're going to begin the transportation of the body to the plot. Are you and your family finished viewing?"
"Yes, we are." answered Juuhachigou, causing the priest to flinch. He looked from her back to Marron, who nodded. "We're finished here, thank you..." The priest nodded again, turning back to the coffin, but not before looking back at Juuhachigou uncomfortably. She merely looked back at him with her icy blue eyes, and he stiffened and turned away quickly.
She'd gone on to attend the reception, but her eulogy was only met with scorn. They'd all assumed her to be a gold-digger, a woman who'd only married for the money. They'd all disbanded again, after that. The children went home, and she didn't hear from them again for many years. They'd never understood or accepted her before, and they certainly wouldn't now. Her daughter stayed with her for a little while, but Marron had her own family now, and eventually, she left too.
The years after the funeral had blurred into a solitude of loneliness, lit only by Marron's occasional visits, speaking of great-grandchildren and friends and weddings, and deaths. Grandchildren she never met, and husbands and brides she never knew.
Opening her eyes, Juuhachigou saw that the rain had stopped, for a little while at least. The raindrops still tricked down her umbrella, and the sky was still gray and overcast, but at least the rain was no longer coming down in torrents, and a cool breeze blew through her hair. She lifted the hot chocolate to her lips, taking another sip, but her eyes were unfocused and looking at something far away. She blinked, trying to forget the looks on their faces when she'd stood at the pulpit. Tried to forget the horrid nights she'd spent alone in the Kame House, with no one and nothing there but herself.
It was a terrible existence. The truth was, she was still leading that terrible existence. She'd told herself she could mourn the dead all she wanted, and no amount of grief could bring them back. She'd already tried everything else. Even the Dragon.
"Shenlong!" shouted Juuhachigou, her voice weak and insignificant in her ears. Always before, she'd been with Kuririn beside the Dragon, or at least others. Now she stood alone, standing on a cliff with the Dragonballs at her feet while Shenlong towered over her. She'd never summoned the Dragon herself before, let alone with no one else with her. It was a humbling experience.
"This is my only desire: please return my husband Kuririn to life!"
"I cannot grant your wish." rumbled Shenlong, his voice loud enough to drown out the world. "The dead who have passed on peacefully to the next world cannot return."
"My husband's death was not 'peaceful!'" screamed Juuhachigou, tears running down her face for the first time. Even at the funeral, it hadn't felt final. There was still hope. She had believed that she could travel to Heaven itself and bring Kuririn back, if it came to that. "You stupid overgrown lizard! Grant me my wish!"
But no amount of verbal abuse could move Shenlong. Threats, deals, and even pleas all fell flat on the Dragon's ears. In the end, Juuhachigou dispelled the Dragon without making any wish at all.
Somehow, it had never seemed truly final until that day.
Setting down the hot chocolate, Juuhachigou lookedat her left hand, where she still wore the small diamond ring he'd give her all those years ago.
It seemed like eternity.
It'd been close enough. Four hundred years.
More than enough time to take everyone who'd ever known her on to the next world, to be sure. Unconsciously, she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, a habit that had persisted through the centuries. The wind was starting to pick up again, and she watched a few drops fall from the umbrella intently. So much like her life - sitting alone while the rest of the world aged around her.
Setting down the mug, Juuhachigou remembered the last time she'd seen her daughter. Two hundred and thirty three years ago. But what did it matter how long ago it was? Time had long since peeled away by now, the days merging into weeks, into months, into years. Time had lost all meaning to her. And yet, she could still remember that today was the day her daughter had died, so very long ago. She bowed her head, the memories coming like a flood.
The phone had rung. The sun was already set, and the sound of the phone ringing startled her. She didn't even recognize it at first, so little had she used it. She'd gotten the phone years ago; had forgotten she even had it. It had been a gift from Marron, a way for mother and daughter to keep in contact with each other. She'd called Marron every day the first week, only to realize how little time her daughter really had left. After that she'd called once a week... then once a month. By the end of the year Juuhachigou had stopped calling her daughter at all.
She had been drawing, a pastime she had taken up after Kuririn's death. There was no one left to cook for, to sew for. There wasn't even anyone to appreciate her art, but at least it made her feel good, and that was enough. She stared at the phone numbly as it rang, picking it up after the fifth ring. Her voice was cautious, careful.
"Hello?" she asked.
There was a long silence, and then a man's voice sounded in her ear, a voice she remembered vaguely.
"Grandmother?"
The name made Juuhachigou stiffen. It was the first time any of them had called her that, and it was definitely begrudging. "Who is this?" she replied.
"You know who this is." said the man stiffly. "Your grandson."
It was Marron's boy, of course. A father or grandfather himself, by now. She nodded, though her caller certainly couldn't see her. None of her grandchildren had ever called her before. And deep down, she knew why they must be calling now.
"What is it?" asked Juuhachigou, voice full of dread.
"My mom had a heart attack... last weekend..." he began, and then Juuhachigou found she could no longer speak. That was all she needed to know about what had happened. She had nothing left to say, and after a while her grandson had just hung up.
She hadn't gone to the funeral. She should have, of course. But how could she? It had been painful enough to bury Kuririn; so much more painful still when it became clear that he wasn't coming back. And now she had to bury her daughter, her only living tie to the world. For a long time after that, she couldn't think of much of anything at all. She just sat outside, in the chair, watching the sun rise and set. Marron had been her whole world before, and after Kuririn had died. Marron had come from her, and Marron loved her, and she loved Marron too. They'd shared a very close bond. Since none of Marron's children or grandchildren were very close to Juuhachigou, she'd been alone entirely once Kuririn had died.
And now, Marron was gone too. What else was there for her to live for? Nothing. And yet, she would never age, and she could never die. What good would it do to remarry? To bury another husband, bury more children again in a few decades? Would it really be worth the pain? To be looked down upon all over again? A old woman in an eternally-young body, living from one old man to another? The ridicule would be unbearable, even for a jinzounigen. No one would understand her. No one who'd live long enough to make a difference anyway.
Slowly, reluctantly Juuhachigou returned to herself, unsurprised to find that the rain was falling again. It was no longer a torrent - now it was just a misty cloud. The dreary, gloomy weather was a perfect backdrop to her heart. All she had left were memories of loss, memories of events that were so long ago, yet preserved in her mind as if they'd just happened. She tried every day not to think about them, and yet she could think of nothing else.
Her hands tightened around the mug of hot chocolate, her shoulders slumping in the suit she wore. The years had never touched her face, but they touched her heart, her soul... her posture was not that of an eighteen-year old woman with a full life ahead of her, but of an old woman ready to give up. She'd lost her husband, her daughter, everyone who'd ever known and loved her. She'd lost everything. She had no family now. No one to visit. Nothing to go home to. Her home was barren and empty, an unwelcoming place.
Juuhachigou looked at her hands blankly. Her hair hung down her face, shrouding her eyes, those icy blue eyes that told of a sadness no mortal could ever understand. Slightly damp, her hair was clinging to her face, but she couldn't even bring herself to brush it back again. She wanted to move on, to start over, but for what? To build a family she'd lose again all too soon? Would the brief moments of happiness ever overcome the grief?
The solitude, the total solitude of being an immortal in a mortal world, was too much to bear. Too much for her.
"I can't do it anymore." she murmured to herself. "I can't go on alone . . ."
A hand touched Juuhachigou's slumped shoulder and she froze where she was.
"You've never been alone." a voice said, quiet and gentle.
"I've always been here for you." continued the voice. Juuhachigou swallowed tightly, recognizing the voice even after all the years, recognizing the touch. She couldn't bear to face him.
"I never wanted to leave you." he added, placing his other hand on her shoulder, "... but you've forgotten me."
"No," she whispered, swallowing. "No, I never forgot you..." Turning, she stood slowly, facing him, a face that remembered her at last, a familiar face after all these years. "Juunanagou..."
There he was, looking for all the world as if the four hundred years had not touched him. After all this time, he wore the same shirt, the same pants. The same earrings. He could have walked right out from her memories. Only his expression had changed, bearing testament to the centuries. The cocky, capricious smirk of youth was gone. In its place was a wistful smile, the smile of innocence lost.
For a moment they stood apart, gazing at each other. The memories of their last meeting, over two centuries ago, hung heavy in the air, a silence that spoke louder than words. When last she had seen him, Juuhachigou had told her brother she never wanted to see him again. She hadn't really expected him to listen, of course. But he had. And after the first century, Juuhachigou hadn't expected to see him again. He watched her warily, silent for longer than Juuhachigou had ever known him to be.
Kuririn. Endou. Zephynos. How many times had they argued over them? How many times had they parted ways, before parting for the final time? Juuhachigou had sworn she would never forgive her brother, but that was two hundred years ago. Kuririn, Endou, and Zephynos were all long since dead. Her brother's sad smile seemed to ask the same question she herself wondered: should the grudges of yore be buried with them?
The decision came deep within Juuhachigou, and her brother did not know it until she'd come forward and embraced him, letting her head rest on his chest, holding him tightly. He was wet, she hadn't noticed it until now. How long had he been standing out there in the rain, waiting for her? Weeks? Months? Time meant little to an immortal. It might well have been years.
Juunanagou said nothing, nor did he need to. Brother and sister were sharing more right now than words could ever express. He'd been alone for so long himself. Never having the wife or child his sister had had. He'd been waiting for her all this time, wanting to rekindle the closeness they'd once shared, but afraid of just making things worse between them. Today, the conflicts between them were finally buried, long after the men who'd been at the center of them. Four hundred years later, the wayward jinzounigen siblings had finally found the only constants in their lives again – each other. The only immortals left, they would never leave each other, and now they knew.
If it was their fates to be teenagers until the end of time, at least they would always be teenagers together