Pure writers block fic. I'm stuck on All for One and needed something to write.
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody from any anime/manga. You know that.
Author's Note: Um.... First time writing in the first person. I personally think it's good, but what about you, dear readers?
When I think about it, I should be writing the LONG SINCE LATE sequel to 'friends forever'...I don't think I'll ever finish that.... But do not fear! If you've been waiting for the sequel, I'm having another Pu'ar/Yamcha fic coming out as soon as I finish All for one! YAY!
Nine Lives
By Rabbit of Earth
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"If you were to ask me back when he was alive if I would die before him, I would answer 'Yes' because he was always healthier than I was. Healthier, stronger, everything. But I know now that I am still living strong, while he is six feet under in the cemetery. I think I'm on my seventh life now, but I can't be sure on that. I've been living for so long that I lost count. I can live up to about 90-100 years and then I die. But in about two minutes, I'm back on my feet. That's the problem with being a cat. Most people think the nine lives rumor is just a lie, but I'm proof that it's true. Even Goku and Vejiita are dead now. Old age finally got to them after many, many years.
It's funny how I said 'he' instead of 'Yamcha'. Maybe it's so I don't have to feel that ache in my heart. I loved him so much and now...
There it is. That ache I dread.
Everytime I think of Yamcha, I feel like crying. It's been so many years now, but I remember everything like it was yesterday. I turn to look at the mirror and smile a little. No matter how many years I live, I always look so young on the outside. But that's not what I was talking about. I was talking about Yamcha, not my appearance. That's a different subject for a different time. I'll explain later...
I remember how we first met. I can't help but laugh at that memory. I had just graduated the shape-shifting academy at only seven years of age, and was crossing the desert. It was getting hot in the middle of nowhere, so I decided to rest in the shade of one of those things that looked like mushrooms. To this day, I still don't know what they are. But that's getting away from my story.
I was getting bored just sitting there, but I didn't want to walk anymore for the day. Seven year-olds can't sit still for very long, you know. So I decided to practice my shape-shifting abilities. I took the shape of a giant dinosaur I had seen earlier on my walk, before I had entered the desert. The moment I did, I heard a yelp from behind me. I turned my head and saw the most beautiful thing in this world. A young boy stood below me, terrified of what he had just seen. His jet-black hair was terribly messy and his clothes dirty, but I didn't care. I got out of my trance when he began to speak, stuttering slightly from fright. He began to explain that he wouldn't steal from me if I didn't hurt him. I figured he had never seen a dinosaur before, having lived in the desert. I realized then that I had scared him to near death and quickly went back to my normal form. I laughed softly and apologized for my actions. He quickly calmed down stared at me puzzled.
'How did you do that?' he asked suddenly, after looking me over. I blushed and looked down. Why, I'm not sure. I had never had much contact with people outside of classmates at the academy and was unsure of what to do. So I answered his question.
'I'm a shape-shifter. I can transform into anything, as long it can't be used up.'
'You mean like shampoo or cheese?' I nodded, still staring at the ground. I think he smiled at my answer. What he said next caused me to look up at him again.
'My name's Yamcha. What's yours?' I smiled and stuck out my paws.
'Pu'ar!' I had wanted to hit myself; I had said my name too excitedly, but Yamcha didn't seem to mind. He smiled with me and grasped my paw, shaking vigorously. The moment he touched my hand, I knew I was in love with him. And for a seven-year-old cat to think that about a strange human, it must have been the real thing. He asked if I wanted to become his partner. I quickly agreed and picked up my capsules. When we arrived at his hideaway, he began to ask me questions about myself, such as how I had learned to shape-shift or why I was in the desert. I answered every question honestly, not wanting to lie to him. I later realized he was afraid of women (he never knew what to say to them) so I never mentioned I was a girl. I loved him so much for just meeting him and I didn't want to upset him in anyway. I liked his hideout; it was small, yes, but it was all we really needed. It had some furniture here and there and other miscellaneous items that could prove useful.
In time, I forgot about my feelings for him. 'How' you may ask. I was having too much fun. Yamcha and me were quick friends and working together as desert bandits was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in my entire life. We found some of the strangest things on people when we stole from them. Once, when we found a camera, we used up the entire new role of film just making silly faces. I still have those pictures around the apartment. My favorite's framed and sitting in my room next to my bed. But back to when we were bandits. We weren't really bad; we were just trying to live. Neither of us could work anywhere and we had no record of our parents or their whereabouts. We would take anything that could be useful to us, as well as simple things that were just for amusement. We went on for two years like that. It was just us. We didn't need anybody else in the entire world.
But then she came.
It started out simple enough. I spotted someone coming through our territory and we went to go 'greet' them. When we got over to them, we explained what we were there for. We introduced ourselves, which started it. A pig a little bigger than me spoke up. He knew me! I looked at him and gasped. The pig had been Oolong, someone who was a bully to me in shape-shifting school. Luckily he had been kicked out for reasons I don't feel like mentioning. This is my story.
The other one (I later learned his name was Goku) began to fight Yamcha, who was winning against Goku easily. The small boy complained of hunger, but we didn't care. He had started a fight and it was going to end. But then Yamcha froze. I didn't realized what happened until I followed his gaze. It was a girl. We retreated; Yamcha couldn't fight if he was near a girl. We later decided to follow them, still wanting their capsules, then later the DragonBalls. The DragonBalls aren't important to my story, so I'll leave them out from now on. Oh boy, was Yamcha ever frightened of Bulma. She continued to hit on him, which wasn't helping the situation. We ended up getting trapped with the three much later in out journey. That's how Yamcha lost his fear of women. Being trapped with such a pretty, talkative one made him much more comfortable. Her name was Bulma, and when we escaped she and Yamcha, my Yamcha, began dating.
In truth, I was happy for them. Yamcha had finally rid of his biggest fear and Bulma got a boyfriend. And I figured that it wouldn't last very long and then it would be just Yamcha and me again. After all, they were only 16 and relationships like theirs don't last that long at that age. So I really wasn't jealous of Bulma. At least, not until that day.
That day when Bulma came to our new apartment three years after our little adventure with Goku, things started out normal, but soon I began to realize that I wasn't wanted around for a while. They continued to move closer, Yamcha telling me that maybe I should go out or something. I may have only been 12, but I knew what would happen if I went out for a while. And I didn't want that. I couldn't allow that woman to sleep with my Yamcha. He was mine! I hadn't expected them to continue dating for three years and then that! Not knowing what else to do, I had run into the kitchen and thrown down the closest plate, shattering it, in hopes the noise would pull Yamcha away from Bulma and wreck their mood.
Nothing. I don't think he even noticed. I peeked around the corner and saw I was correct. The two were now pulling the other closer, their mouths making a sickening wet sound. I cringed and turned my head away.
I reached for a cup, ready to smash it like I had the plate. But, deep within my soul, I knew it would have no effect. I grasped the cup in both of my paws, afraid of dropping it, which was ironic seeing how originally I wanted to smash it to pieces. I looked down at the floor, the scattered pieces laughing at me. My grasp on the cup began tighter, hoping to squeeze away the laughter. I clenched my eyes shut so I wouldn't have to see the world around me. I heard a crashing noise; it echoed through my mind. I opened my eyes and looked at my paws. They were stained with my blood as it fell upon the pieces of cup and plate. It didn't hurt, my cut hands. At least, not in the physical sense. But I knew I was defeated. I had been in denial for years, but on that day I realized that Yamcha would never, could never, be mine. He was a handsome, young man while I was just a silly flying blue cat.
I cried that day. For the first time in five years, since I had met Yamcha, I cried.
Yamcha and Bulma found me, the pitiful messed up furball, with blood and tears embedded in my fur. By then I wasn't floating above the mess. I had been sitting in it, not even noticing the shards of plate that cut into me. They were worried and asked me what happened. But I wasn't listening to them. Even if I had been, I couldn't hear them. It was like I wasn't even in my body anymore. The feeling I was having was because I had lost so much blood in the time I had been there. The two cleaned me up and let me sleep. I scratched and hissed when Bulma came near me when they first found me. I hated her. I didn't want her to come any closer to me after what she had done to me. I clawed her hand several times before I became weary and could barely move.
I had a strange dream when I passed out. Everything was blue. My color blue. The only thing you could see of me was my tan skin and that was it. Suddenly, Yamcha appeared. He explained to me that there would always be other women in his life and that I was merely his best friend. His partner in crime. A cat. But he explained it in such a way that I no longer hated Bulma or any other women that would be around. Because he would always love me and would choose me over them if he had to. Because friendship was more important.
When I woke up, I still felt horrible and still was jealous of what Bulma had. I always have and always will. Once, I watched them make love. Don't think me a pervert, because I'm not. I just sat there, pretending I was a picture on the dresser, wishing it could be me and not her. I wanted him to look at me like he did her. I knew it would never happen, but I always stayed with him.
I'm sorry. I have to stop for a moment. There's someone at the door. Before I started telling you this, I decided I wanted to order take-out Chinese food, so it's probably the deliver man. I don't like cooking much nowadays.
Right then. Where was I? Oh, of course. My jealousy. I tried to ignore it throughout the years as it grew. I became a friend with Bulma soon after my incident in the kitchen, yet I always had to hold back some things that I wanted so much to say to her. But then, when she was about...hmm...I can't seem to remember now. But Bulma's age isn't important right now. What matters is Vejiita. I know I mentioned him earlier, as well as Goku. Both are from a long dead race called Saiya-jins (who live for a long time) but that comes into play later in my story.
When Bulma first met Vejiita, she was scared of him. How could she not be? He was fierce, cruel, violent, and even a little bit evil. Yet...after her little adventure on another planet (where they met) she invited him to stay at her place since he had nowhere else to go. Like I've said before, it's not important. You want my story, not theirs. I won't remind you again.
A few years later, Yamcha had a relationship with another woman and Bulma found out. She wasn't too happy about either, nor was I. I was so disappointed in Yamcha for doing that. But it's not like it mattered to me about what happened to Bulma. I just didn't want Yamcha to continue his life like that. I didn't think it was very right. But, as it turned out, Bulma had been with Vejiita a few times and was going to have his child!
When I found this out, I was the happiest organism in the world. Finally, after so many years, Yamcha was mine again! Mine! Nobody else's! I didn't have to share him with anyone, or leave when they wanted to be alone or anything! Yamcha, to say the least, wasn't as happy. While he had felt bad about what he had done, Bulma didn't seem to be sorry she had slept with Vejiita. This broke Yamcha entirely. My happiness soon diminished, as he grew depressed and dismal. I did my best to cheer him up and he was thankful for it. Over time he forgave Bulma and the two just stayed friends. Bulma and Vejiita married and ended up having a second child years later.
Yamcha had a few other girlfriends here and there, all of whom I was jealous of, but I knew they would never last. Not like I 'knew' he and Bulma would last for maybe a year, but really knew.
And he never cheated on any of them. Ever. I don't care what you've heard about Yamcha, but it's not true! He was faithful to every single one of them. And to me. He never rid of me. He loved me. Even if it was just as a friend, I liked his love.
And I never stopped loving him.
But then...Yamcha grew old. And sick. Most men at the age of 85 get that way. His once black hair had long since turned a light gray color, a few wrinkles around his face; he was still handsome despite his age. But his eyes didn't change. His dark, deep eyes still were as beautiful and perfect as they always had been.
He was dying and we both knew it. He had died before, but we could wish him back with the DragonBalls but not this time. Damn...I said the DragonBalls weren't important to my story, didn't I? Oh well.
I was sitting on his chest right up near his face, watching him. I remember how I...I asked him why he had to die before me. I was meant to go first. He chuckled and said he wasn't sure. He thanked me for being there for him no matter what he did. I don't know why I asked this next question, but I did. And he nodded yes for the answer. I think it was his dying that allowed himself to agree.
'Can I kiss you, Yamcha?' Is what I asked.
Why? Why, while he's dying and old and everything else did I want to kiss him? Because if I had asked him anytime earlier, he just would have laughed and said I was cute. Or it would have been just a kiss on the cheek. I would have had to live with the embarrassment everytime I saw him after that.
Don't forget either, that I'm only seven years younger than Yamcha, so I too was old and tired. I just didn't show it like he did.
I remember the kiss so well, as though it was only 30 seconds ago. I had only expected for me to be kissing, but he kissed me back when my lips brushed against his. It was like we both forgot for a moment that I was a cat and he was a crippled old man. It had to be the most wonderful moment of my entire life.
When I pulled away, we both smiled at each other and closed our eyes. We fell asleep like that, with me still on his chest. His breathing caused it to heave up and down, the motion soothing me as I slept. Although I was sleeping, I could feel the motion stop suddenly. Tears began to flow out of my clenched eyes, rolling down the covers on the bed. I cried for Yamcha and for myself.
Yamcha had died peacefully in his sleep, and I was left alone.
I'm sorry. I have to stop for a moment. I'm starting to cry again and I don't want you to hear my cracking voice or listen to my sobs. I'll be back in a minute.
There. I'm a little better now. I'm so sorry again. It's just...sometimes it's hard for me to relive the memories. There was so much joy in that one moment, yet so much pain followed.
When they first found us, they thought I was dead too. Maybe I was. I know I was still in my first life though, so I think I had just shut down for a while. In closer inspection, they found that I was only in a deep, deep sleep, never wanting to wake up to that cruel reality.
I found out that I had been sleeping for three days. Isn't it sad? Nobody knew Yamcha had died for three days until the neighbors decided to pay us a visit. I never liked those people. They had just moved in and their children were always rude to me. Yamcha had always shooed them away and threatened to get them evicted. But, once again, that's not important. It's just to give you a background. I think I continue to stray from the subject so I don't have to relive it. But I promised I would tell my tale, so I have to just focus.
When they woke me up, I didn't even see them. I just looked at Yamcha. A peaceful expression could be found throughout all the wrinkles. His happy face caused me to cry again. It wasn't fair. He wasn't supposed to die! I was! I was! Now I had nobody in the world. The neighbors decided it would be best if they stayed with me, but I could see the look in the children's eyes. They only wanted to play. To pester. Didn't they have any respect?
I calmly explained to them that they should go away, but those little kids persisted. 'We want to play with the kitty!' they continued to chant, with their mother trying to pull them away. What was wrong with these people? I had to ask myself that hundreds of times as I watched, still perched on Yamcha. Finally they left; the woman informed me that they would call the mortician and all the other people that were needed to have a funeral. I thanked her and fell back asleep. Isn't it funny? I had slept for three days and still, I was tired. Or maybe I just wanted to die with Yamcha. I had nothing to live for anymore. Nothing.
You may be thinking to yourself 'Why didn't she kill herself?' Well, to tell you the truth, I did. Right after Yamcha's burial. Or, to be more specific, two days after. I had slept on his grave that very night he had been placed there, still not wanting to leave his side. I would have stayed longer, but the morning was chilly and I needed to get inside. I spent the day wondering what I would do with my life, most likely to be short from that point on considering how old I was. That's when I decided to do it. I would kill myself and be with Yamcha again.
I didn't want to jump off anything, because that would be messy and I didn't want that. So I decided to just stab myself. Quick, simple, and most of me would be intact.
It took so much to do it. To plunge the knife into myself and watch as crimson blood, my blood, flowed gently from the wound. I could feel myself dying as I fell to the ground. For a moment, I saw Yamcha. He was just standing there, looking perfectly normal. He wasn't old like he had been when he had died. He looked young and happy; I liked seeing him like that. But suddenly, the world around me burst into flames and I was pulled back.
I opened my eyes and looked at myself. Although there was blood everywhere, there had been no indication that I had been stabbed. Then I realized what had happened. I had been revived.
I knew it was my new life, because I felt much healthier than I had. Yet, in the back of my mind, I realized I was still old despite how young I felt. I suppose it was because my body was still that of 78-year-old cat.
So why not kill myself again? If I wanted to die so badly, why didn't I just continue to do it until I died permanently? I hate to admit it, but I was scared of trying again. The pain had been so full as it coarsed through my body and it had hurt so badly. So, instead I went to live with the Sons. Goku had lived for a while longer, about a hundred years or two, and was happy to have company in his old age.
It seemed to come too quickly, Son Goku's death. I was once again alone, my second life still ticking away at me. God, I hated that. I had nobody and nothing.
After a few weeks of living by myself in Yamcha's old apartment (I had asked the Son's to continue paying for it; I couldn't part with it...) I realized I wouldn't survive by myself if I were to continue on the way I had been. But a cat couldn't very well get a job and I didn't want to go to the animal shelter; I couldn't bear to live with anybody I didn't know. It was hard enough living with Goku; I missed Yamcha too much.
That's when I knew it was time for a change in my appearance. Didn't I tell you I'd get to that?
If you were to look at me as I tell this story, you would most likely ask why I am saying I'm a cat. But please remember I'm a shapeshifting cat, so I can have any form I want. Or need, in my case. I have the looks of a young woman, human of course, despite how old I am inside.
Like I said before, cats can't get jobs. However, young, pretty women with no experience in anything can get simple jobs. My first job was horrible, but it gave me the money I needed.
As I began to work, I began to become more of an introvert. My once creamy colored skin had become, and still is, rather pale and sickly looking. But I don't really care much. However, I did take up an interest in writing. I would just scribble poems and such on napkins or bits of cardboard on my lunch breaks. Most of them were rather saddening and reflected my feelings. I hadn't expected anybody to read them, but one co-worker found a short story on the floor and knew it was mine...I think my name was written on it. I didn't realize I had dropped it until that co-worker, Yaro, came up to me and confronted me about what I had written.
I was surprised when he told me that he liked it very much and wanted to see more of my work. I agreed and scheduled for him to come over to my apartment later that day. I didn't like Yaro much, he was always annoying during work hours, but I for some reason or another wanted some company for a while.
When Yaro arrived, he immediately asked to see my writings. I pulled them out from a drawer and handed them to him. He read them over, letting the words soak into his brain as his eyes darted from page to page. He smiled broadly and looked me straight in the eyes, telling me that my writing was 'wonderful'.
As it turned out, Yaro knew how I could get my work published, thanks to his sister, and wanted to. I immediately refused. I didn't want people to read my work! I had surprised myself when I agreed to allow Yaro to read it, but thousands of others? I wasn't sure about that. Yaro persisted and I finally agreed to it. 'What harm could it possibly do?' is what he had asked. I couldn't think of a thing, so Yaro took my work with him, but not before asking what my last name was so he would know what to tell his sister. I stopped for a moment to think of it; it hadn't occurred to me to think of a last name. I told him the most beautiful name I could think of.
'Yamcha. My full name is Pu'ar Yamcha.'
I'm not sure how long it had been since I had given my writings to Yaro, but I know it had been more than two days because my manager called me to ask why I hadn't been in work for the past two days. I simply said I wasn't feeling very good and I was contagious. In a sense, I wasn't lying; mentally I felt awful and I didn't want my co-workers to become morbid and sad with me. It wouldn't be right to do that to them, they deserved to be happy without me.
After maybe three more days of sitting alone in my room, once Yamcha's and mine, someone began banging at my door. I sluggishly rose from my seat on the edge of my bed and headed for the door. When I opened it, I was surprised to see Yaro standing in front of me, a huge grin on his face. In his hands were some papers. I was unsure of what they said until later.
'Pu'ar!' He said with great delight, inviting himself into my apartment. 'The newspaper wants to publish one of your stories; they have a spot for it!' He grasped my hand and switched the papers from his free hand to mine, explaining that I had to sign them to give permission to use my writings. I paused for a moment, still unsure if this was what I should do. If I were to sign the papers, so many people would read what I had written. I quickly scribbled my name and handed the papers back to Yaro.
Hold on...my phones ringing. Can't say who's calling. It's most likely my publisher; I haven't made many friends since my third life, since Yaro.
Okay. Sorry. I was wrong; it was just a fan of mine. I wish I knew how they got this phone number though.
After a week from when the newspaper published my story, I received a check in the mail to pay me for my work. I rushed over to the bank and put the payment into my account, not wanting it to be lost somehow. Money could disappear if you weren't careful; Yamcha proved that sometimes. It's funny...I always managed his bills when he was alive, never knowing I would have to do my own as well. I was taking the long route home, just to think about where this could lead me, my writing.
'Maybe I should listen to Yaro.' I remember thinking to myself. 'Maybe I should get a publisher for my work. The pay seems to be good, and I could get away from my awful job.'
When I got home, I had made my decision; the next day I began to look for a publisher. I to work again. I needed to earn money still. Yaro begun helping me in my search, knowing how 'wonderful' my writings were and wanting to help. We went on for about a month before we found somebody who would publish my work. After a month of my success, Yaro treated me to dinner as a celebration of a kind. It's strange, but over time I had begun to like Yaro. At first he was just a person who wanted to help and I willingly took the help, but he had begun to become a bit more. In truth, he was the only friend I had. At times he reminded me of Yamcha; the way he told corny jokes at the worst time possible, how he seemed to find something good in a horrible situation...perhaps that's why I liked him. It had been years since Yamcha's death, but back then, even now, I still loved him with every bit of my heart. I could never love Yaro or anybody else; Yamcha had taken a big piece of my heart to the grave and there wasn't enough left to love anyone anymore.
When dinner ended, we went back to my apartment with Yaro commenting on how it was strange that I still lived there, despite my new found 'wealth'. I had laughed, explaining it had sentimental value.
I got us some drinks and had Yaro sit in the main room, as Yamcha had done whenever somebody came over. I sat down and handed him his drink; he began the conversation. We were just talking about anything, enjoying the company the other gave. Near the end of the night, Yamcha came into the conversation. It was nice to have Yaro there to comfort me as I began to cry. I was grateful. Yet, for some reason, I didn't feel safe with him. I soon found out why.
'It'll be okay Pu'ar. I'm here now.' he said softly, his arms wrapped around my shoulders. I remember opening my mouth to answer him, but he turned my body to face him and firmly pressed his lips on mine. I shoved him away and stood up, shocked.
'What do you think you're doing?' I cried. I hadn't seen it coming, wish I had. Yaro had only smiled and lunged for me, knocking me to the floor. He straddled me to prevent me from getting up as he unbuttoned my blouse. I began squirming in attempts to get away, but it wasn't working.
'We're friends now Pu'ar. And friends do things for friends.' He had explained. My mind was racing for a way out of this situation before my 'friend' raped me.
Although I didn't want to expose the fact that I'm a shapeshifter, I had no other choice; I converted to my original shape just so I was small enough to get out from under him, then grew a bit.... about the size of a tiger. Yaro screamed (like a girl I might add) and ran out of my home. I went back to my human form a collapsed. It had been so long since I had last shapeshifted and it was a bit tiring, not to mention the fact that I had almost been raped.
The first thing I did when I woke up was take a shower; I felt dirty. After that, I quit my old job for fear I might see Yaro there. My writing career was going fine, so I didn't need to work there anyway.
About a week after the incident, I got a call, which was strange because I never get calls. Except of course from my publisher every now and then, but back then she didn't much. I picked up the phone and questioned the caller. The moment he spoke up, I slammed the phone down and pulled out the cord.
I didn't want to talk to Yaro.
After 'he' called, I changed my phone number almost immediately and informed my publisher and nobody else. That's the way it's been ever since. I've never tried to get another friend; the last one was just a horny jerk who thought that since he helped me in my career he could have sex with me. Every now and then I change my name because Pu'ar Yamcha can't live that long, sort to speak. Right now I'm back to that name. It was always my favorite and it's been long enough to have it back. I'm still living in the apartment, ignoring my money. I put it in the bank and use what I need. I think in my final life I'm going to blow it all because I have nobody to give it to.
I don't go outside much, except to buy food and such and to see the occasional movie. I'm sure to always leave at 6:00....oh jeez...It's 5:47 now. I'd better get going.
You may think it to be pathetic to still be devoted to Yamcha, but I don't. He was the only one who treated me like a person, not a cat, wussy baby, or a sex toy. I was devoted to him when he was alive and I don't think death should cause me to stop. I've always loved him and always will. And I know he's waiting for me....I see him everytime I die. In time, I can be with him again.
Well, I guess that's the end of my story for now. For four of my seven lives, I've been a hermit, thanks to Yaro. Perhaps more will happen later; I'll be sure to record it when it does."
Pu'ar sighed and clicked of the tape recorder. It had been so long since she had remembered her past, and it wasn't one most people would want. But in the beginning there had been wonderful times and those were what she loved. Glancing once more at the clock, Pu'ar scooped up her notebook and walked out the door, being sure to lock it.
The walk to the cemetery wasn't that far and Pu'ar knew the walk by heart. Walking through the dismal gates, she paused for a moment to pick a few of the wild flowers growing along the edge of it. Scanning the area for other people, she was a bit pleased to find nobody else was there that day. She walked over to the all too familiar grave and sat down. Placing a light kiss on the edge of the tombstone, she put the flowers down and flipped to a specific page in her notebook.
"Yamcha...I wrote a poem for you today. I'm sorry it's a bit lengthy, but I couldn't help that." Pu'ar whispered, a sad smile creeping to her face. She cleared her throat and began.
"I close my eyes and see
The days inside my head.
How I wish I could go back,
Just you and me.
I see your face and wish
you weren't so very far.
But I open my eyes and see
I'm all alone.
I almost feel sorry for you.
You almost are, except for me.
But our moments aren't forgotten, they grow stronger as I sleep.
I always remember
The way you made me laugh,
The way you make me weep.
But then the day came where you would go
And leave me by myself.
I'm not sure I forgive you yet
for all my tears that flow.
I still cry out for you,
Hoping you will come.
And for the night we could hold each other,
But you can't come through.
Your grave, it's thick and hollow.
Your stone grey and dull.
Sometime I just stare at it
Sitting through the morrow.
I've changed my looks and my name.
So nobody will know.
But I'm sure you could recognize me
in my new life and fame.
I turn my eyes and see
The grave keeper closing the gate.
I pull on my cloak and kiss you one last time.
The stone is cold on my lips, but it doesn't bother me.
The wind blows my hair, covering my eyes.
But I know the way by memories.
I'll get home safe.
I think I'll be just fine."
Pu'ar closed her notebook and closed her eyes. She knew Yamcha heard it; he would tell her the next time they saw each other.
'I believe I'll see him again.' Pu'ar thought happily and she stood up to walk home. 'I just hope he's proud of me.'
Pu'ar could hear the rustic gates close behind her as she walked away, as it always did.
But she would go back soon.
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Woo! 10 stanzas in that poem! I write a mean poem sometimes! Please don't steal that poem; It took me a while to write. What did you think of the poem anyway?
Please review! I like this story and I want to know what you think of it. Like it? Hate it? Tell me!
Hugs and handshakes to my readers! I love you!
Rabbit of Earth ^..^
http://www.geocities.com/puarshrine/
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody from any anime/manga. You know that.
Author's Note: Um.... First time writing in the first person. I personally think it's good, but what about you, dear readers?
When I think about it, I should be writing the LONG SINCE LATE sequel to 'friends forever'...I don't think I'll ever finish that.... But do not fear! If you've been waiting for the sequel, I'm having another Pu'ar/Yamcha fic coming out as soon as I finish All for one! YAY!
Nine Lives
By Rabbit of Earth
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"If you were to ask me back when he was alive if I would die before him, I would answer 'Yes' because he was always healthier than I was. Healthier, stronger, everything. But I know now that I am still living strong, while he is six feet under in the cemetery. I think I'm on my seventh life now, but I can't be sure on that. I've been living for so long that I lost count. I can live up to about 90-100 years and then I die. But in about two minutes, I'm back on my feet. That's the problem with being a cat. Most people think the nine lives rumor is just a lie, but I'm proof that it's true. Even Goku and Vejiita are dead now. Old age finally got to them after many, many years.
It's funny how I said 'he' instead of 'Yamcha'. Maybe it's so I don't have to feel that ache in my heart. I loved him so much and now...
There it is. That ache I dread.
Everytime I think of Yamcha, I feel like crying. It's been so many years now, but I remember everything like it was yesterday. I turn to look at the mirror and smile a little. No matter how many years I live, I always look so young on the outside. But that's not what I was talking about. I was talking about Yamcha, not my appearance. That's a different subject for a different time. I'll explain later...
I remember how we first met. I can't help but laugh at that memory. I had just graduated the shape-shifting academy at only seven years of age, and was crossing the desert. It was getting hot in the middle of nowhere, so I decided to rest in the shade of one of those things that looked like mushrooms. To this day, I still don't know what they are. But that's getting away from my story.
I was getting bored just sitting there, but I didn't want to walk anymore for the day. Seven year-olds can't sit still for very long, you know. So I decided to practice my shape-shifting abilities. I took the shape of a giant dinosaur I had seen earlier on my walk, before I had entered the desert. The moment I did, I heard a yelp from behind me. I turned my head and saw the most beautiful thing in this world. A young boy stood below me, terrified of what he had just seen. His jet-black hair was terribly messy and his clothes dirty, but I didn't care. I got out of my trance when he began to speak, stuttering slightly from fright. He began to explain that he wouldn't steal from me if I didn't hurt him. I figured he had never seen a dinosaur before, having lived in the desert. I realized then that I had scared him to near death and quickly went back to my normal form. I laughed softly and apologized for my actions. He quickly calmed down stared at me puzzled.
'How did you do that?' he asked suddenly, after looking me over. I blushed and looked down. Why, I'm not sure. I had never had much contact with people outside of classmates at the academy and was unsure of what to do. So I answered his question.
'I'm a shape-shifter. I can transform into anything, as long it can't be used up.'
'You mean like shampoo or cheese?' I nodded, still staring at the ground. I think he smiled at my answer. What he said next caused me to look up at him again.
'My name's Yamcha. What's yours?' I smiled and stuck out my paws.
'Pu'ar!' I had wanted to hit myself; I had said my name too excitedly, but Yamcha didn't seem to mind. He smiled with me and grasped my paw, shaking vigorously. The moment he touched my hand, I knew I was in love with him. And for a seven-year-old cat to think that about a strange human, it must have been the real thing. He asked if I wanted to become his partner. I quickly agreed and picked up my capsules. When we arrived at his hideaway, he began to ask me questions about myself, such as how I had learned to shape-shift or why I was in the desert. I answered every question honestly, not wanting to lie to him. I later realized he was afraid of women (he never knew what to say to them) so I never mentioned I was a girl. I loved him so much for just meeting him and I didn't want to upset him in anyway. I liked his hideout; it was small, yes, but it was all we really needed. It had some furniture here and there and other miscellaneous items that could prove useful.
In time, I forgot about my feelings for him. 'How' you may ask. I was having too much fun. Yamcha and me were quick friends and working together as desert bandits was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in my entire life. We found some of the strangest things on people when we stole from them. Once, when we found a camera, we used up the entire new role of film just making silly faces. I still have those pictures around the apartment. My favorite's framed and sitting in my room next to my bed. But back to when we were bandits. We weren't really bad; we were just trying to live. Neither of us could work anywhere and we had no record of our parents or their whereabouts. We would take anything that could be useful to us, as well as simple things that were just for amusement. We went on for two years like that. It was just us. We didn't need anybody else in the entire world.
But then she came.
It started out simple enough. I spotted someone coming through our territory and we went to go 'greet' them. When we got over to them, we explained what we were there for. We introduced ourselves, which started it. A pig a little bigger than me spoke up. He knew me! I looked at him and gasped. The pig had been Oolong, someone who was a bully to me in shape-shifting school. Luckily he had been kicked out for reasons I don't feel like mentioning. This is my story.
The other one (I later learned his name was Goku) began to fight Yamcha, who was winning against Goku easily. The small boy complained of hunger, but we didn't care. He had started a fight and it was going to end. But then Yamcha froze. I didn't realized what happened until I followed his gaze. It was a girl. We retreated; Yamcha couldn't fight if he was near a girl. We later decided to follow them, still wanting their capsules, then later the DragonBalls. The DragonBalls aren't important to my story, so I'll leave them out from now on. Oh boy, was Yamcha ever frightened of Bulma. She continued to hit on him, which wasn't helping the situation. We ended up getting trapped with the three much later in out journey. That's how Yamcha lost his fear of women. Being trapped with such a pretty, talkative one made him much more comfortable. Her name was Bulma, and when we escaped she and Yamcha, my Yamcha, began dating.
In truth, I was happy for them. Yamcha had finally rid of his biggest fear and Bulma got a boyfriend. And I figured that it wouldn't last very long and then it would be just Yamcha and me again. After all, they were only 16 and relationships like theirs don't last that long at that age. So I really wasn't jealous of Bulma. At least, not until that day.
That day when Bulma came to our new apartment three years after our little adventure with Goku, things started out normal, but soon I began to realize that I wasn't wanted around for a while. They continued to move closer, Yamcha telling me that maybe I should go out or something. I may have only been 12, but I knew what would happen if I went out for a while. And I didn't want that. I couldn't allow that woman to sleep with my Yamcha. He was mine! I hadn't expected them to continue dating for three years and then that! Not knowing what else to do, I had run into the kitchen and thrown down the closest plate, shattering it, in hopes the noise would pull Yamcha away from Bulma and wreck their mood.
Nothing. I don't think he even noticed. I peeked around the corner and saw I was correct. The two were now pulling the other closer, their mouths making a sickening wet sound. I cringed and turned my head away.
I reached for a cup, ready to smash it like I had the plate. But, deep within my soul, I knew it would have no effect. I grasped the cup in both of my paws, afraid of dropping it, which was ironic seeing how originally I wanted to smash it to pieces. I looked down at the floor, the scattered pieces laughing at me. My grasp on the cup began tighter, hoping to squeeze away the laughter. I clenched my eyes shut so I wouldn't have to see the world around me. I heard a crashing noise; it echoed through my mind. I opened my eyes and looked at my paws. They were stained with my blood as it fell upon the pieces of cup and plate. It didn't hurt, my cut hands. At least, not in the physical sense. But I knew I was defeated. I had been in denial for years, but on that day I realized that Yamcha would never, could never, be mine. He was a handsome, young man while I was just a silly flying blue cat.
I cried that day. For the first time in five years, since I had met Yamcha, I cried.
Yamcha and Bulma found me, the pitiful messed up furball, with blood and tears embedded in my fur. By then I wasn't floating above the mess. I had been sitting in it, not even noticing the shards of plate that cut into me. They were worried and asked me what happened. But I wasn't listening to them. Even if I had been, I couldn't hear them. It was like I wasn't even in my body anymore. The feeling I was having was because I had lost so much blood in the time I had been there. The two cleaned me up and let me sleep. I scratched and hissed when Bulma came near me when they first found me. I hated her. I didn't want her to come any closer to me after what she had done to me. I clawed her hand several times before I became weary and could barely move.
I had a strange dream when I passed out. Everything was blue. My color blue. The only thing you could see of me was my tan skin and that was it. Suddenly, Yamcha appeared. He explained to me that there would always be other women in his life and that I was merely his best friend. His partner in crime. A cat. But he explained it in such a way that I no longer hated Bulma or any other women that would be around. Because he would always love me and would choose me over them if he had to. Because friendship was more important.
When I woke up, I still felt horrible and still was jealous of what Bulma had. I always have and always will. Once, I watched them make love. Don't think me a pervert, because I'm not. I just sat there, pretending I was a picture on the dresser, wishing it could be me and not her. I wanted him to look at me like he did her. I knew it would never happen, but I always stayed with him.
I'm sorry. I have to stop for a moment. There's someone at the door. Before I started telling you this, I decided I wanted to order take-out Chinese food, so it's probably the deliver man. I don't like cooking much nowadays.
Right then. Where was I? Oh, of course. My jealousy. I tried to ignore it throughout the years as it grew. I became a friend with Bulma soon after my incident in the kitchen, yet I always had to hold back some things that I wanted so much to say to her. But then, when she was about...hmm...I can't seem to remember now. But Bulma's age isn't important right now. What matters is Vejiita. I know I mentioned him earlier, as well as Goku. Both are from a long dead race called Saiya-jins (who live for a long time) but that comes into play later in my story.
When Bulma first met Vejiita, she was scared of him. How could she not be? He was fierce, cruel, violent, and even a little bit evil. Yet...after her little adventure on another planet (where they met) she invited him to stay at her place since he had nowhere else to go. Like I've said before, it's not important. You want my story, not theirs. I won't remind you again.
A few years later, Yamcha had a relationship with another woman and Bulma found out. She wasn't too happy about either, nor was I. I was so disappointed in Yamcha for doing that. But it's not like it mattered to me about what happened to Bulma. I just didn't want Yamcha to continue his life like that. I didn't think it was very right. But, as it turned out, Bulma had been with Vejiita a few times and was going to have his child!
When I found this out, I was the happiest organism in the world. Finally, after so many years, Yamcha was mine again! Mine! Nobody else's! I didn't have to share him with anyone, or leave when they wanted to be alone or anything! Yamcha, to say the least, wasn't as happy. While he had felt bad about what he had done, Bulma didn't seem to be sorry she had slept with Vejiita. This broke Yamcha entirely. My happiness soon diminished, as he grew depressed and dismal. I did my best to cheer him up and he was thankful for it. Over time he forgave Bulma and the two just stayed friends. Bulma and Vejiita married and ended up having a second child years later.
Yamcha had a few other girlfriends here and there, all of whom I was jealous of, but I knew they would never last. Not like I 'knew' he and Bulma would last for maybe a year, but really knew.
And he never cheated on any of them. Ever. I don't care what you've heard about Yamcha, but it's not true! He was faithful to every single one of them. And to me. He never rid of me. He loved me. Even if it was just as a friend, I liked his love.
And I never stopped loving him.
But then...Yamcha grew old. And sick. Most men at the age of 85 get that way. His once black hair had long since turned a light gray color, a few wrinkles around his face; he was still handsome despite his age. But his eyes didn't change. His dark, deep eyes still were as beautiful and perfect as they always had been.
He was dying and we both knew it. He had died before, but we could wish him back with the DragonBalls but not this time. Damn...I said the DragonBalls weren't important to my story, didn't I? Oh well.
I was sitting on his chest right up near his face, watching him. I remember how I...I asked him why he had to die before me. I was meant to go first. He chuckled and said he wasn't sure. He thanked me for being there for him no matter what he did. I don't know why I asked this next question, but I did. And he nodded yes for the answer. I think it was his dying that allowed himself to agree.
'Can I kiss you, Yamcha?' Is what I asked.
Why? Why, while he's dying and old and everything else did I want to kiss him? Because if I had asked him anytime earlier, he just would have laughed and said I was cute. Or it would have been just a kiss on the cheek. I would have had to live with the embarrassment everytime I saw him after that.
Don't forget either, that I'm only seven years younger than Yamcha, so I too was old and tired. I just didn't show it like he did.
I remember the kiss so well, as though it was only 30 seconds ago. I had only expected for me to be kissing, but he kissed me back when my lips brushed against his. It was like we both forgot for a moment that I was a cat and he was a crippled old man. It had to be the most wonderful moment of my entire life.
When I pulled away, we both smiled at each other and closed our eyes. We fell asleep like that, with me still on his chest. His breathing caused it to heave up and down, the motion soothing me as I slept. Although I was sleeping, I could feel the motion stop suddenly. Tears began to flow out of my clenched eyes, rolling down the covers on the bed. I cried for Yamcha and for myself.
Yamcha had died peacefully in his sleep, and I was left alone.
I'm sorry. I have to stop for a moment. I'm starting to cry again and I don't want you to hear my cracking voice or listen to my sobs. I'll be back in a minute.
There. I'm a little better now. I'm so sorry again. It's just...sometimes it's hard for me to relive the memories. There was so much joy in that one moment, yet so much pain followed.
When they first found us, they thought I was dead too. Maybe I was. I know I was still in my first life though, so I think I had just shut down for a while. In closer inspection, they found that I was only in a deep, deep sleep, never wanting to wake up to that cruel reality.
I found out that I had been sleeping for three days. Isn't it sad? Nobody knew Yamcha had died for three days until the neighbors decided to pay us a visit. I never liked those people. They had just moved in and their children were always rude to me. Yamcha had always shooed them away and threatened to get them evicted. But, once again, that's not important. It's just to give you a background. I think I continue to stray from the subject so I don't have to relive it. But I promised I would tell my tale, so I have to just focus.
When they woke me up, I didn't even see them. I just looked at Yamcha. A peaceful expression could be found throughout all the wrinkles. His happy face caused me to cry again. It wasn't fair. He wasn't supposed to die! I was! I was! Now I had nobody in the world. The neighbors decided it would be best if they stayed with me, but I could see the look in the children's eyes. They only wanted to play. To pester. Didn't they have any respect?
I calmly explained to them that they should go away, but those little kids persisted. 'We want to play with the kitty!' they continued to chant, with their mother trying to pull them away. What was wrong with these people? I had to ask myself that hundreds of times as I watched, still perched on Yamcha. Finally they left; the woman informed me that they would call the mortician and all the other people that were needed to have a funeral. I thanked her and fell back asleep. Isn't it funny? I had slept for three days and still, I was tired. Or maybe I just wanted to die with Yamcha. I had nothing to live for anymore. Nothing.
You may be thinking to yourself 'Why didn't she kill herself?' Well, to tell you the truth, I did. Right after Yamcha's burial. Or, to be more specific, two days after. I had slept on his grave that very night he had been placed there, still not wanting to leave his side. I would have stayed longer, but the morning was chilly and I needed to get inside. I spent the day wondering what I would do with my life, most likely to be short from that point on considering how old I was. That's when I decided to do it. I would kill myself and be with Yamcha again.
I didn't want to jump off anything, because that would be messy and I didn't want that. So I decided to just stab myself. Quick, simple, and most of me would be intact.
It took so much to do it. To plunge the knife into myself and watch as crimson blood, my blood, flowed gently from the wound. I could feel myself dying as I fell to the ground. For a moment, I saw Yamcha. He was just standing there, looking perfectly normal. He wasn't old like he had been when he had died. He looked young and happy; I liked seeing him like that. But suddenly, the world around me burst into flames and I was pulled back.
I opened my eyes and looked at myself. Although there was blood everywhere, there had been no indication that I had been stabbed. Then I realized what had happened. I had been revived.
I knew it was my new life, because I felt much healthier than I had. Yet, in the back of my mind, I realized I was still old despite how young I felt. I suppose it was because my body was still that of 78-year-old cat.
So why not kill myself again? If I wanted to die so badly, why didn't I just continue to do it until I died permanently? I hate to admit it, but I was scared of trying again. The pain had been so full as it coarsed through my body and it had hurt so badly. So, instead I went to live with the Sons. Goku had lived for a while longer, about a hundred years or two, and was happy to have company in his old age.
It seemed to come too quickly, Son Goku's death. I was once again alone, my second life still ticking away at me. God, I hated that. I had nobody and nothing.
After a few weeks of living by myself in Yamcha's old apartment (I had asked the Son's to continue paying for it; I couldn't part with it...) I realized I wouldn't survive by myself if I were to continue on the way I had been. But a cat couldn't very well get a job and I didn't want to go to the animal shelter; I couldn't bear to live with anybody I didn't know. It was hard enough living with Goku; I missed Yamcha too much.
That's when I knew it was time for a change in my appearance. Didn't I tell you I'd get to that?
If you were to look at me as I tell this story, you would most likely ask why I am saying I'm a cat. But please remember I'm a shapeshifting cat, so I can have any form I want. Or need, in my case. I have the looks of a young woman, human of course, despite how old I am inside.
Like I said before, cats can't get jobs. However, young, pretty women with no experience in anything can get simple jobs. My first job was horrible, but it gave me the money I needed.
As I began to work, I began to become more of an introvert. My once creamy colored skin had become, and still is, rather pale and sickly looking. But I don't really care much. However, I did take up an interest in writing. I would just scribble poems and such on napkins or bits of cardboard on my lunch breaks. Most of them were rather saddening and reflected my feelings. I hadn't expected anybody to read them, but one co-worker found a short story on the floor and knew it was mine...I think my name was written on it. I didn't realize I had dropped it until that co-worker, Yaro, came up to me and confronted me about what I had written.
I was surprised when he told me that he liked it very much and wanted to see more of my work. I agreed and scheduled for him to come over to my apartment later that day. I didn't like Yaro much, he was always annoying during work hours, but I for some reason or another wanted some company for a while.
When Yaro arrived, he immediately asked to see my writings. I pulled them out from a drawer and handed them to him. He read them over, letting the words soak into his brain as his eyes darted from page to page. He smiled broadly and looked me straight in the eyes, telling me that my writing was 'wonderful'.
As it turned out, Yaro knew how I could get my work published, thanks to his sister, and wanted to. I immediately refused. I didn't want people to read my work! I had surprised myself when I agreed to allow Yaro to read it, but thousands of others? I wasn't sure about that. Yaro persisted and I finally agreed to it. 'What harm could it possibly do?' is what he had asked. I couldn't think of a thing, so Yaro took my work with him, but not before asking what my last name was so he would know what to tell his sister. I stopped for a moment to think of it; it hadn't occurred to me to think of a last name. I told him the most beautiful name I could think of.
'Yamcha. My full name is Pu'ar Yamcha.'
I'm not sure how long it had been since I had given my writings to Yaro, but I know it had been more than two days because my manager called me to ask why I hadn't been in work for the past two days. I simply said I wasn't feeling very good and I was contagious. In a sense, I wasn't lying; mentally I felt awful and I didn't want my co-workers to become morbid and sad with me. It wouldn't be right to do that to them, they deserved to be happy without me.
After maybe three more days of sitting alone in my room, once Yamcha's and mine, someone began banging at my door. I sluggishly rose from my seat on the edge of my bed and headed for the door. When I opened it, I was surprised to see Yaro standing in front of me, a huge grin on his face. In his hands were some papers. I was unsure of what they said until later.
'Pu'ar!' He said with great delight, inviting himself into my apartment. 'The newspaper wants to publish one of your stories; they have a spot for it!' He grasped my hand and switched the papers from his free hand to mine, explaining that I had to sign them to give permission to use my writings. I paused for a moment, still unsure if this was what I should do. If I were to sign the papers, so many people would read what I had written. I quickly scribbled my name and handed the papers back to Yaro.
Hold on...my phones ringing. Can't say who's calling. It's most likely my publisher; I haven't made many friends since my third life, since Yaro.
Okay. Sorry. I was wrong; it was just a fan of mine. I wish I knew how they got this phone number though.
After a week from when the newspaper published my story, I received a check in the mail to pay me for my work. I rushed over to the bank and put the payment into my account, not wanting it to be lost somehow. Money could disappear if you weren't careful; Yamcha proved that sometimes. It's funny...I always managed his bills when he was alive, never knowing I would have to do my own as well. I was taking the long route home, just to think about where this could lead me, my writing.
'Maybe I should listen to Yaro.' I remember thinking to myself. 'Maybe I should get a publisher for my work. The pay seems to be good, and I could get away from my awful job.'
When I got home, I had made my decision; the next day I began to look for a publisher. I to work again. I needed to earn money still. Yaro begun helping me in my search, knowing how 'wonderful' my writings were and wanting to help. We went on for about a month before we found somebody who would publish my work. After a month of my success, Yaro treated me to dinner as a celebration of a kind. It's strange, but over time I had begun to like Yaro. At first he was just a person who wanted to help and I willingly took the help, but he had begun to become a bit more. In truth, he was the only friend I had. At times he reminded me of Yamcha; the way he told corny jokes at the worst time possible, how he seemed to find something good in a horrible situation...perhaps that's why I liked him. It had been years since Yamcha's death, but back then, even now, I still loved him with every bit of my heart. I could never love Yaro or anybody else; Yamcha had taken a big piece of my heart to the grave and there wasn't enough left to love anyone anymore.
When dinner ended, we went back to my apartment with Yaro commenting on how it was strange that I still lived there, despite my new found 'wealth'. I had laughed, explaining it had sentimental value.
I got us some drinks and had Yaro sit in the main room, as Yamcha had done whenever somebody came over. I sat down and handed him his drink; he began the conversation. We were just talking about anything, enjoying the company the other gave. Near the end of the night, Yamcha came into the conversation. It was nice to have Yaro there to comfort me as I began to cry. I was grateful. Yet, for some reason, I didn't feel safe with him. I soon found out why.
'It'll be okay Pu'ar. I'm here now.' he said softly, his arms wrapped around my shoulders. I remember opening my mouth to answer him, but he turned my body to face him and firmly pressed his lips on mine. I shoved him away and stood up, shocked.
'What do you think you're doing?' I cried. I hadn't seen it coming, wish I had. Yaro had only smiled and lunged for me, knocking me to the floor. He straddled me to prevent me from getting up as he unbuttoned my blouse. I began squirming in attempts to get away, but it wasn't working.
'We're friends now Pu'ar. And friends do things for friends.' He had explained. My mind was racing for a way out of this situation before my 'friend' raped me.
Although I didn't want to expose the fact that I'm a shapeshifter, I had no other choice; I converted to my original shape just so I was small enough to get out from under him, then grew a bit.... about the size of a tiger. Yaro screamed (like a girl I might add) and ran out of my home. I went back to my human form a collapsed. It had been so long since I had last shapeshifted and it was a bit tiring, not to mention the fact that I had almost been raped.
The first thing I did when I woke up was take a shower; I felt dirty. After that, I quit my old job for fear I might see Yaro there. My writing career was going fine, so I didn't need to work there anyway.
About a week after the incident, I got a call, which was strange because I never get calls. Except of course from my publisher every now and then, but back then she didn't much. I picked up the phone and questioned the caller. The moment he spoke up, I slammed the phone down and pulled out the cord.
I didn't want to talk to Yaro.
After 'he' called, I changed my phone number almost immediately and informed my publisher and nobody else. That's the way it's been ever since. I've never tried to get another friend; the last one was just a horny jerk who thought that since he helped me in my career he could have sex with me. Every now and then I change my name because Pu'ar Yamcha can't live that long, sort to speak. Right now I'm back to that name. It was always my favorite and it's been long enough to have it back. I'm still living in the apartment, ignoring my money. I put it in the bank and use what I need. I think in my final life I'm going to blow it all because I have nobody to give it to.
I don't go outside much, except to buy food and such and to see the occasional movie. I'm sure to always leave at 6:00....oh jeez...It's 5:47 now. I'd better get going.
You may think it to be pathetic to still be devoted to Yamcha, but I don't. He was the only one who treated me like a person, not a cat, wussy baby, or a sex toy. I was devoted to him when he was alive and I don't think death should cause me to stop. I've always loved him and always will. And I know he's waiting for me....I see him everytime I die. In time, I can be with him again.
Well, I guess that's the end of my story for now. For four of my seven lives, I've been a hermit, thanks to Yaro. Perhaps more will happen later; I'll be sure to record it when it does."
Pu'ar sighed and clicked of the tape recorder. It had been so long since she had remembered her past, and it wasn't one most people would want. But in the beginning there had been wonderful times and those were what she loved. Glancing once more at the clock, Pu'ar scooped up her notebook and walked out the door, being sure to lock it.
The walk to the cemetery wasn't that far and Pu'ar knew the walk by heart. Walking through the dismal gates, she paused for a moment to pick a few of the wild flowers growing along the edge of it. Scanning the area for other people, she was a bit pleased to find nobody else was there that day. She walked over to the all too familiar grave and sat down. Placing a light kiss on the edge of the tombstone, she put the flowers down and flipped to a specific page in her notebook.
"Yamcha...I wrote a poem for you today. I'm sorry it's a bit lengthy, but I couldn't help that." Pu'ar whispered, a sad smile creeping to her face. She cleared her throat and began.
"I close my eyes and see
The days inside my head.
How I wish I could go back,
Just you and me.
I see your face and wish
you weren't so very far.
But I open my eyes and see
I'm all alone.
I almost feel sorry for you.
You almost are, except for me.
But our moments aren't forgotten, they grow stronger as I sleep.
I always remember
The way you made me laugh,
The way you make me weep.
But then the day came where you would go
And leave me by myself.
I'm not sure I forgive you yet
for all my tears that flow.
I still cry out for you,
Hoping you will come.
And for the night we could hold each other,
But you can't come through.
Your grave, it's thick and hollow.
Your stone grey and dull.
Sometime I just stare at it
Sitting through the morrow.
I've changed my looks and my name.
So nobody will know.
But I'm sure you could recognize me
in my new life and fame.
I turn my eyes and see
The grave keeper closing the gate.
I pull on my cloak and kiss you one last time.
The stone is cold on my lips, but it doesn't bother me.
The wind blows my hair, covering my eyes.
But I know the way by memories.
I'll get home safe.
I think I'll be just fine."
Pu'ar closed her notebook and closed her eyes. She knew Yamcha heard it; he would tell her the next time they saw each other.
'I believe I'll see him again.' Pu'ar thought happily and she stood up to walk home. 'I just hope he's proud of me.'
Pu'ar could hear the rustic gates close behind her as she walked away, as it always did.
But she would go back soon.
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Woo! 10 stanzas in that poem! I write a mean poem sometimes! Please don't steal that poem; It took me a while to write. What did you think of the poem anyway?
Please review! I like this story and I want to know what you think of it. Like it? Hate it? Tell me!
Hugs and handshakes to my readers! I love you!
Rabbit of Earth ^..^
http://www.geocities.com/puarshrine/