Forgotten
From the top to the bottom
Bottom to top I stop
At the core I've forgotten
In the middle of my thoughts
Taken far from my safety
The picture is there
The memory won't escape me
But why should I care
Sweat poured off of his skin, and he forced himself to pause as a wave of disorientation washed over him, courtesy of heat stroke. Just like the joy of stretching after a good long rest, the training he put himself through was more relaxing than ever. After examining the limitations of the capsule room, he had snuck into Bulma's lab, jacked a toolbox, and returned to tweak the machinery to his specks. He wiped his brow and basked in the pain that effected his entire body. The intense ache in his muscles, joints, and bones was just as much agony as it was ecstasy. He had watched Vegeta train and was disappointed at how he was giving them a bad name. It was a good thing he paid attention, otherwise they, or he, (or rather he or they), would be in a world of hurt.
Vegeta thought that he was close to rival point with Kakkarot, but unlike Vegeta, he honestly believed he had a slim chance to beat the other warrior. If only he'd been here longer, and not slacked off as much. What was Vegeta thinking? 500 G? He shook his head at the pitifulness of the situation. 500 was too easy, and he'd had to use some of his other skills to remedy the situation.
He was a prince, but he'd be damned if he'd let everyone wait on him hand and foot. Sure, that'd be nice, but he much rathered doing things on his own. He took pride in it, something Vegeta didn't, sadly. He looked up at the dull red lights that glowed around the pod. He didn't like being cooped up all that much, in fact. He walked over the console and pressed the large red button, watching as the panel dropped from 1000 G to normal. He'd been trapped in his coffin for so long, he wanted to see the outside world. Briefly he wondered where Vegeta went. Probably a futile effort to communicate with their family.
He'd granted Vegeta the freedom of movement, something that had been denied to him, but he wasn't cruel, like he was. He didn't really care where he'd gone right now, being as that gave him some "me" time. Of course, he could never be alone, even without Vegeta being in the same room as him, he could still feel the man, with his mind, body, and spirit - naturally.
He had long forgotten how to enjoy life, and it made him cynical, bitter, cold. He noticed that since the replacement, his attitude, mood, and just general being, increased in - how shall he say? - positivity? And why not? This was his life and he was living it. There was nothing greater than that. No profound realizations would be necessary now, no memory to keep reassuring him that self-destruction was not the way, from day to day. Almost smugly, yet with a tinge of sadness, he thought, 'That was then, and this is now.'
He picked up the discarded tool box, stepped outside the room, paused, contemplated, then set down the metal case. With a slight "peppy" feeling to his walk, Vegeta strolled down to Bulma's lab for the second time that day, though this time, the normal occupant was present. "Hello woman," he greeted, a lilt in his voice.
"Hey Vegeta," she responded, not even bothering to look up from her work.
He leaned against the table next to her, acting a bit too casual, "Would you..maybe just by chance..have the blue prints for Capsule 3?"
It was obvious Bulma was too busy for this, gauging her reaction, "Filing cabinet. Second drawer." He decided to leave her in peace and instead go after his prey. He found it with ease, and, extracting the rolled up piece of paper, began whistling one of his favorite tunes. It was a special song to him, especially since he was the only one alive who knew it. And just as he was half-way out of the door, Bulma finally realized something. "Why do you ask?" she said, turning around to see that she was talking to air.
There's a place so dark you can't see the end
Skies cock back and shock that which can't defend
The rain then sends dripping, an acidic question
Forcefully, the power of suggestion
Then with the eyes shut, looking thought the rust and rot
And dust, a spot of light floods the floor
And pours over the rusted world of pretend
The eyes ease open and its dark again
To his horror, he'd found that his attempts to interact where futile, and so he let his intangible presence submit to his cell. The small coffin filled with black liquid, that was his home now. This alternate plane of existence was all that was left for him, and he'd never escape, he'd never return, he'd just die. Eventually. And all that was left for him right now was his past coming back to haunt him. He'd been running for so long now, and he could run no more. Was this his fault?
He felt himself close in, exiting to only reenter. From a new perspective he watched simultaneously from a first and third person point of view. He shook it away, returning to the darkness that was now his only ally, and Vegeta had to briefly wonder if this is how he'd lived his life. So detached, so close to everything but having it out of reach. Everything he was in was fabricated for comfort, and it changed to his will, though its location, its meaning, was always the same. Same thing, different appearance. He couldn't help but think, 'Same appearance, different person.'
The coffin was then his old room, that windowless, high ceiling, tomb-like enclosing. All across the wall tally marks had been made. He gazed in astonishment to see that they covered the ceiling and floor as well. The dresser, included, had tally marks scratched in, and the mirror had burn marks on it. They were also tally marks. He gazed at the sheetless bed and was surprised to see red smeared across it. More tally marks, and then in the bottom corner it read: "Ran out of room. Vegeta was here."
Then his old room was his old room, just at a later date. It was as if he aged it because he knew there was more to the story. He was right. All the tally marks were overlapped. For every vertical line, there was a matching horizontal. "Why is there so many?" he asked himself, and silently the answer was given to him. Different locations, same entity, anything could be transferred. Subconsciously it was given, "One for each of me." He banished it, and went back to his third person point of view. He had to think of something or he'd be stuck here forever. That's when he realized the full truth of the statement, 'Even if I die, this won't end.'
In the memory you'll find me
Eyes burning up
The darkness holding me tightly
Until the sun rises up
He kept moving around, so unaccustomed to the strange feeling in the back of his head. It was like the buzzing he'd once had, and the loss of time without blacking out. It was like being three places at once and not being anywhere all the time. All he had was his memories, because even he was ignoring him now, and why not? He had ignored him whenever he possibly could. Regret always came too late. Now all he had was a picture of a green sky with Kakkarot standing over him. It was all his fault, it was all his fault..it was all his fault...
He enveloped himself deeper in his coffin, inhaling all of the liquid he could. He suffocated himself over and over, never feeling as hopeless as he did the day he died. And the hopelessness was his console, for he finally came to the conclusion that this was his life. This was their life, this was his life, they were one in the same, but different. Everything he didn't want to see before, he saw now. Denial had been refused, just as the ability to..leave..was refused. Twilight was setting into place, and Vegeta hoped that it wouldn't stay very long.
Moving all around, screaming of the ups and downs
Pollution manifested in perpetual sound
The wheels go round and the sunset creeps past the
Street lamps, chain-link and concrete
A little piece of paper with a picture drawn floats
On down the street till the wind is gone
The memory now is like the picture was then
When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again
He'd begun his little "project" when his stomach rumbled, demanding to be fed. He sighed, dropped his tools, and went straight for the kitchen. He opened the fridge to find no leftovers readily available. He shrugged, closed the door and knelt to get in some lower cabinets. He opened one, dug out a rather large economy size can of soup, and then proceeded to extract a pot. It would've taken Vegeta a few minutes to complete this task, if he'd even perform it himself, but where as Vegeta would impatiently wait for things to get done, he was watching and making notes. He had an excellent memory to boot - he could remember the day he was born. It kind of made him feel special. Regardless, that information didn't help out in his current situation, so he went on to heating up the stove and opening the can. He began preparing his meal with ease, and as he idly stirred his soup, he let his mind drift.
He shifted, just enough to see what Vegeta was doing and still not be noticeable. A tricky thing to do, but after being in that position he knew plenty more about it than Vegeta did, and being as an observer to Vegeta, he knew plenty of the position he now held. He was a well-rounded individual. He was actually surprised at what he came across. Vegeta was half-reminiscing and half-dreaming at the same time, so that that odd non-existent buzzing was droning on and on while his entire make-shift surroundings resembled a type of mixed Edgar Allen Poe and M.C. Escher feeling.
The combination of the two caused too much distortion for even normal functions to be completed with ease, and Vegeta had to wonder if he was doing this to himself on purpose. He knew attempts to escape by extreme means were pointless, he'd known this for a long time. Without control, you had nothing, save for all the lovely untouchable attributes. As he noticed his soup boiling he withdrew back to the real world, his mouth watering as his stomach growled again. Vegeta really didn't keep them well nourished at times.
Now you got me caught in the act
You bring the thought back
I'm telling you that
I see it right through you
Now, where as Vegeta was known for some of his manners, he himself prided on being the "typical" male, mainly because he was anything but typical. He'd drink milk out of the carton, tinker with things in the garage, fix things around the house, watch sports, and even drink beer on occasion. Now adding to that long list was his personal favorite - obnoxious eating. It involved stuffing your face without the use of silverware, and being noisy about it too, which meant slurping, sipping, chewing with your mouth full and open, and burping.
So going with the flow, he picked up the pot and began eating the soup directly from it. While swallowing, he did notice that certain blue-haired woman enter the room. She also stopped and stared at him, but it didn't bother him at all, he was used to much worse things. He finished his small meal, giving a sigh of satisfaction, before burping. He excused himself and hit his chest a few times before smiling at Bulma, giving her his full attention, "Yes, what is it?"
Slowly she approached him, one eyebrow raised, "What were you eating?"
"Soup."
"Where'd you get it?"
"From the can."
"So you just opened a can of soup, put it in a pot and ate it?"
"No. I cooked it first, like you're supposed to."
"And you did this by yourself?"
"And why not? I'm a big boy."
Bulma didn't know what to say in response to that. She'd always gotten the not-so-subtle hint that Vegeta dropped, the same hint that made her wish to be more feminist. Finally, she marched over to him and placed the back of her hand against his forehead, "You're a bit warm, and flushed."
He chuckled at her actions, pulling back slightly, "I had been training pretty hard today, you know."
This brought back forgotten thoughts from earlier, "Why did you want the blue prints for the capsule?"
Vegeta couldn't help but grin, "It's a surprise." Bulma didn't look too happy about that kind of idea, in fact she looked more worried than anything. "Man, you really crack me up, Bulma," he stated as he got up from his chair, taking the pot and putting it in the sink, running some water into it.
"Are you feeling okay?" she finally managed to bring herself to ask, unable to ignore his good attitude. He chuckled again, shaking his head while looking down. He brought his gaze back up to her and his expression softened, "..Never been this close...." She tilted her head to the side as if she was certain she had heard him wrong. But then, a moment later, his hand caressed her cheek. She blushed as he gave her that look of barely masked desire.
'What's gotten into him??' she wondered, but didn't question it as he leaned in, gently kissing her. It was perfect. His first kiss. And then, a voice booming, interrupting everything:
"GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER!"
The abrupt manner, and the high volume of it all caused him to clutch his head, and he stumbled, catching himself on the table. "Are you okay!?" Bulma practically demanded, at his side and looking on in great concern. He hadn't been acting right since the fight at the tournament...
He growled loudly and stood up straight. He turned to Bulma, mumbled a mixed apology and excuse, then darted off to his room. He slammed the door shut, and marched up to the mirror. Pointing an accusing finger he told Vegeta, "I don't give a fuck if you want to hear this or not, but Bulma doesn't just love you. Yeah, it's true. Bulma loves Vegeta, Vegeta. Don't you remember who Vegeta is? I'm not putting up with this, I have every right to touch her!"
"No, you don't!"
"Are you Vegeta, the Prince of Saijins!?"
"Yes!"
"And who am I!? Who am I, Vegeta!? Say my name, like you've said it before! I want to hear you say it now!!"
Silence.
"SAY IT!"
Silence.
"IS NOT MY NAME VEGETA, THE PRINCE OF SAIJINS!?"
"YES, IT IS!! There, are you happy!? Are you fucking happy!?"
The room went spinning, and when it returned, his reflection had moved to his right, in front of the dresser. They glared at each other.
"Now you know how it feels. The more dead you become, the more disconnected you are. You can leave, but you can never, ever, come back. But you already know part two, that you'll want to come back. Why? Because this is your life. Well, news flash, Vegeta, this is our life, and it's ending one minute at a time."
From the top to the bottom
Bottom to top I stop
At the core I've forgotten
In the middle of my thoughts
Taken far from my safety
The picture is there
The memory won't escape me
But why should I care
Sweat poured off of his skin, and he forced himself to pause as a wave of disorientation washed over him, courtesy of heat stroke. Just like the joy of stretching after a good long rest, the training he put himself through was more relaxing than ever. After examining the limitations of the capsule room, he had snuck into Bulma's lab, jacked a toolbox, and returned to tweak the machinery to his specks. He wiped his brow and basked in the pain that effected his entire body. The intense ache in his muscles, joints, and bones was just as much agony as it was ecstasy. He had watched Vegeta train and was disappointed at how he was giving them a bad name. It was a good thing he paid attention, otherwise they, or he, (or rather he or they), would be in a world of hurt.
Vegeta thought that he was close to rival point with Kakkarot, but unlike Vegeta, he honestly believed he had a slim chance to beat the other warrior. If only he'd been here longer, and not slacked off as much. What was Vegeta thinking? 500 G? He shook his head at the pitifulness of the situation. 500 was too easy, and he'd had to use some of his other skills to remedy the situation.
He was a prince, but he'd be damned if he'd let everyone wait on him hand and foot. Sure, that'd be nice, but he much rathered doing things on his own. He took pride in it, something Vegeta didn't, sadly. He looked up at the dull red lights that glowed around the pod. He didn't like being cooped up all that much, in fact. He walked over the console and pressed the large red button, watching as the panel dropped from 1000 G to normal. He'd been trapped in his coffin for so long, he wanted to see the outside world. Briefly he wondered where Vegeta went. Probably a futile effort to communicate with their family.
He'd granted Vegeta the freedom of movement, something that had been denied to him, but he wasn't cruel, like he was. He didn't really care where he'd gone right now, being as that gave him some "me" time. Of course, he could never be alone, even without Vegeta being in the same room as him, he could still feel the man, with his mind, body, and spirit - naturally.
He had long forgotten how to enjoy life, and it made him cynical, bitter, cold. He noticed that since the replacement, his attitude, mood, and just general being, increased in - how shall he say? - positivity? And why not? This was his life and he was living it. There was nothing greater than that. No profound realizations would be necessary now, no memory to keep reassuring him that self-destruction was not the way, from day to day. Almost smugly, yet with a tinge of sadness, he thought, 'That was then, and this is now.'
He picked up the discarded tool box, stepped outside the room, paused, contemplated, then set down the metal case. With a slight "peppy" feeling to his walk, Vegeta strolled down to Bulma's lab for the second time that day, though this time, the normal occupant was present. "Hello woman," he greeted, a lilt in his voice.
"Hey Vegeta," she responded, not even bothering to look up from her work.
He leaned against the table next to her, acting a bit too casual, "Would you..maybe just by chance..have the blue prints for Capsule 3?"
It was obvious Bulma was too busy for this, gauging her reaction, "Filing cabinet. Second drawer." He decided to leave her in peace and instead go after his prey. He found it with ease, and, extracting the rolled up piece of paper, began whistling one of his favorite tunes. It was a special song to him, especially since he was the only one alive who knew it. And just as he was half-way out of the door, Bulma finally realized something. "Why do you ask?" she said, turning around to see that she was talking to air.
There's a place so dark you can't see the end
Skies cock back and shock that which can't defend
The rain then sends dripping, an acidic question
Forcefully, the power of suggestion
Then with the eyes shut, looking thought the rust and rot
And dust, a spot of light floods the floor
And pours over the rusted world of pretend
The eyes ease open and its dark again
To his horror, he'd found that his attempts to interact where futile, and so he let his intangible presence submit to his cell. The small coffin filled with black liquid, that was his home now. This alternate plane of existence was all that was left for him, and he'd never escape, he'd never return, he'd just die. Eventually. And all that was left for him right now was his past coming back to haunt him. He'd been running for so long now, and he could run no more. Was this his fault?
He felt himself close in, exiting to only reenter. From a new perspective he watched simultaneously from a first and third person point of view. He shook it away, returning to the darkness that was now his only ally, and Vegeta had to briefly wonder if this is how he'd lived his life. So detached, so close to everything but having it out of reach. Everything he was in was fabricated for comfort, and it changed to his will, though its location, its meaning, was always the same. Same thing, different appearance. He couldn't help but think, 'Same appearance, different person.'
The coffin was then his old room, that windowless, high ceiling, tomb-like enclosing. All across the wall tally marks had been made. He gazed in astonishment to see that they covered the ceiling and floor as well. The dresser, included, had tally marks scratched in, and the mirror had burn marks on it. They were also tally marks. He gazed at the sheetless bed and was surprised to see red smeared across it. More tally marks, and then in the bottom corner it read: "Ran out of room. Vegeta was here."
Then his old room was his old room, just at a later date. It was as if he aged it because he knew there was more to the story. He was right. All the tally marks were overlapped. For every vertical line, there was a matching horizontal. "Why is there so many?" he asked himself, and silently the answer was given to him. Different locations, same entity, anything could be transferred. Subconsciously it was given, "One for each of me." He banished it, and went back to his third person point of view. He had to think of something or he'd be stuck here forever. That's when he realized the full truth of the statement, 'Even if I die, this won't end.'
In the memory you'll find me
Eyes burning up
The darkness holding me tightly
Until the sun rises up
He kept moving around, so unaccustomed to the strange feeling in the back of his head. It was like the buzzing he'd once had, and the loss of time without blacking out. It was like being three places at once and not being anywhere all the time. All he had was his memories, because even he was ignoring him now, and why not? He had ignored him whenever he possibly could. Regret always came too late. Now all he had was a picture of a green sky with Kakkarot standing over him. It was all his fault, it was all his fault..it was all his fault...
He enveloped himself deeper in his coffin, inhaling all of the liquid he could. He suffocated himself over and over, never feeling as hopeless as he did the day he died. And the hopelessness was his console, for he finally came to the conclusion that this was his life. This was their life, this was his life, they were one in the same, but different. Everything he didn't want to see before, he saw now. Denial had been refused, just as the ability to..leave..was refused. Twilight was setting into place, and Vegeta hoped that it wouldn't stay very long.
Moving all around, screaming of the ups and downs
Pollution manifested in perpetual sound
The wheels go round and the sunset creeps past the
Street lamps, chain-link and concrete
A little piece of paper with a picture drawn floats
On down the street till the wind is gone
The memory now is like the picture was then
When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again
He'd begun his little "project" when his stomach rumbled, demanding to be fed. He sighed, dropped his tools, and went straight for the kitchen. He opened the fridge to find no leftovers readily available. He shrugged, closed the door and knelt to get in some lower cabinets. He opened one, dug out a rather large economy size can of soup, and then proceeded to extract a pot. It would've taken Vegeta a few minutes to complete this task, if he'd even perform it himself, but where as Vegeta would impatiently wait for things to get done, he was watching and making notes. He had an excellent memory to boot - he could remember the day he was born. It kind of made him feel special. Regardless, that information didn't help out in his current situation, so he went on to heating up the stove and opening the can. He began preparing his meal with ease, and as he idly stirred his soup, he let his mind drift.
He shifted, just enough to see what Vegeta was doing and still not be noticeable. A tricky thing to do, but after being in that position he knew plenty more about it than Vegeta did, and being as an observer to Vegeta, he knew plenty of the position he now held. He was a well-rounded individual. He was actually surprised at what he came across. Vegeta was half-reminiscing and half-dreaming at the same time, so that that odd non-existent buzzing was droning on and on while his entire make-shift surroundings resembled a type of mixed Edgar Allen Poe and M.C. Escher feeling.
The combination of the two caused too much distortion for even normal functions to be completed with ease, and Vegeta had to wonder if he was doing this to himself on purpose. He knew attempts to escape by extreme means were pointless, he'd known this for a long time. Without control, you had nothing, save for all the lovely untouchable attributes. As he noticed his soup boiling he withdrew back to the real world, his mouth watering as his stomach growled again. Vegeta really didn't keep them well nourished at times.
Now you got me caught in the act
You bring the thought back
I'm telling you that
I see it right through you
Now, where as Vegeta was known for some of his manners, he himself prided on being the "typical" male, mainly because he was anything but typical. He'd drink milk out of the carton, tinker with things in the garage, fix things around the house, watch sports, and even drink beer on occasion. Now adding to that long list was his personal favorite - obnoxious eating. It involved stuffing your face without the use of silverware, and being noisy about it too, which meant slurping, sipping, chewing with your mouth full and open, and burping.
So going with the flow, he picked up the pot and began eating the soup directly from it. While swallowing, he did notice that certain blue-haired woman enter the room. She also stopped and stared at him, but it didn't bother him at all, he was used to much worse things. He finished his small meal, giving a sigh of satisfaction, before burping. He excused himself and hit his chest a few times before smiling at Bulma, giving her his full attention, "Yes, what is it?"
Slowly she approached him, one eyebrow raised, "What were you eating?"
"Soup."
"Where'd you get it?"
"From the can."
"So you just opened a can of soup, put it in a pot and ate it?"
"No. I cooked it first, like you're supposed to."
"And you did this by yourself?"
"And why not? I'm a big boy."
Bulma didn't know what to say in response to that. She'd always gotten the not-so-subtle hint that Vegeta dropped, the same hint that made her wish to be more feminist. Finally, she marched over to him and placed the back of her hand against his forehead, "You're a bit warm, and flushed."
He chuckled at her actions, pulling back slightly, "I had been training pretty hard today, you know."
This brought back forgotten thoughts from earlier, "Why did you want the blue prints for the capsule?"
Vegeta couldn't help but grin, "It's a surprise." Bulma didn't look too happy about that kind of idea, in fact she looked more worried than anything. "Man, you really crack me up, Bulma," he stated as he got up from his chair, taking the pot and putting it in the sink, running some water into it.
"Are you feeling okay?" she finally managed to bring herself to ask, unable to ignore his good attitude. He chuckled again, shaking his head while looking down. He brought his gaze back up to her and his expression softened, "..Never been this close...." She tilted her head to the side as if she was certain she had heard him wrong. But then, a moment later, his hand caressed her cheek. She blushed as he gave her that look of barely masked desire.
'What's gotten into him??' she wondered, but didn't question it as he leaned in, gently kissing her. It was perfect. His first kiss. And then, a voice booming, interrupting everything:
"GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER!"
The abrupt manner, and the high volume of it all caused him to clutch his head, and he stumbled, catching himself on the table. "Are you okay!?" Bulma practically demanded, at his side and looking on in great concern. He hadn't been acting right since the fight at the tournament...
He growled loudly and stood up straight. He turned to Bulma, mumbled a mixed apology and excuse, then darted off to his room. He slammed the door shut, and marched up to the mirror. Pointing an accusing finger he told Vegeta, "I don't give a fuck if you want to hear this or not, but Bulma doesn't just love you. Yeah, it's true. Bulma loves Vegeta, Vegeta. Don't you remember who Vegeta is? I'm not putting up with this, I have every right to touch her!"
"No, you don't!"
"Are you Vegeta, the Prince of Saijins!?"
"Yes!"
"And who am I!? Who am I, Vegeta!? Say my name, like you've said it before! I want to hear you say it now!!"
Silence.
"SAY IT!"
Silence.
"IS NOT MY NAME VEGETA, THE PRINCE OF SAIJINS!?"
"YES, IT IS!! There, are you happy!? Are you fucking happy!?"
The room went spinning, and when it returned, his reflection had moved to his right, in front of the dresser. They glared at each other.
"Now you know how it feels. The more dead you become, the more disconnected you are. You can leave, but you can never, ever, come back. But you already know part two, that you'll want to come back. Why? Because this is your life. Well, news flash, Vegeta, this is our life, and it's ending one minute at a time."