A/N: Hello again.. I'm finally back from vacation. Now, my face is all torn
up and chapped and my muscles are sore. Stupid ski slopes. LoL. Anyways,
I'm going to tell you now that you probably will not like my ending. It
says angst for a good reason. Also, there will be a sequel so that no one
kills me, but it might take a little while because my AP exams are getting
close and I have to pass those first. Well, back to the story....
Disclaimer: I don't own this show and personally, I think Sesshomaru and Inuyasha are cuter....I wish I owned them....but, I don't. Life sucks so get over it.
--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=--= I live with many laments, for my people, for myself, but mostly for that little girl. lost to me now, who showed me how- and why- to live. There is no pain greater than this; not the cut of a jagged-edged blade nor the fire of a dragon's breath. Nothing burns in your heart like the emptyness of losing something, someone, before you have truly learned of its value. (Homeland, RA Salvatore, has changes) --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=--= For some reason he found himself here again. Week after week, month after month, in her room. And here, he would sit on her bed or in her chair at her desk and think. It was comforting. Her bedroom walls were a simple textured white with lightly stained wood floorboards running along the border. Her bedroom and closet doors were both wood of the same cast as the floorboards. Her bed was an old fashioned brass bed with a black comforter and hunter green sheets. Her window curtains were also black with sheer white curtains underneath. Her walls were covered in a medley of different items, ranging from masks to mirrors. On one wall was an assorted number of posters. One was of Audrey Hepburn in 'Breakfast at Tiffany's', another was the origional movie poster from the 1937 'Gone with the Wind.' Then there were posters from different competitions around the world. On another wall was a collection of a few odd looking masks. Some were actually vaguely intriguing, like the one of a golden face with sorrowful eyes. And from those eyes came two black tears falling towards black lips. She had what appeared to be frills from a bonnet on the top of her head also painted gold but with wide strips of silver framed in black lacing through it. Or the comedy and tragedy masks made of brass that were tilted away from each other. On a third wall were a few mums from the homecoming dances, each from a different boy and all looking very much the same. Homecoming was just so cliche and pointless. And against most of the wall was her brass bed. On the last wall was her desk and her door. Above her desk there hung a mirror which was covered in various knick-knacks like drawings and window decals from colleges. Her desk itself was covered in photo albums and picture frames, all filled with pictures of her family and friends. He was surprised to find himself in over three-quarters of the pictures; but, he was one of her good friends. Next to her desk, hanging lopsidedly was a bulletin board, again covered by a barrage of pointless items. There were notes from ex- boyfriends that she had apparently found humorous, emails about nothing and even an old dried rose that he recognized as one that Bra had sent to her on Valentine's Day to cheer her up. Of course, Bra had signed it as Secret Admirer, but Pan had guessed who it was due to the handwriting. But either way, she had always said that was the best day ever. And then, on her ceiling were more posters, only hese were of bands she liked. They strechted from one corner to the other and no hint of the ceiling was given. There were posters of Blink, GC, and other punk bands like the Ramones, along with Grateful Dead, The Beatles and Pink Floyd. Classic rock, alternative and even oldies were all represented through the medley of clashing posters. It was amazing how Pan had left so much of herself here in the room and at the same time, left nothing. So far, Trunks had touched little. He had left everything as it was almost as if to preserve Pan's essence in its true form. But today, for some reason only known to God, he felt the need to leaf through items that belonged to her. Thus, he began to pick up all the loose papers onher desk and read through them. Most were old homework assignments that had been waiting to be done, but would now wait forever; however, one caught his attention. The paper appeared to be a peice of stationary with realistic drawings of nature upon them. The paper itself was recycled and appeared refined beacuse of its courseness. On this paper was Pan's rough cursive blotch spots from what must have been tears. Thus intrigued, Trunks began to read the note to himself. Have you ever wondered what it feels like to die? I have and now I think I know. Dieing is not physical. It is when your soul shrivels up and starts to rot. It is when you hurt too much too care. I am dieing. Now if only I could leave this world. Hopefully, I will. The wise always say that it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, but if that is true, why all this pain? Love is just another way to bleed and happiness is a loaded gun, ready to be shot so as to malfunction and kill its holder. When Grandpa left the gun was placed in my hands and now it has gone off. I am so sorry. Death is all encompassing. It is a void that is swallowing me. Peice- by-peice I disappear. And now I have found the faith to kill myself. No, not myself. Kill the pain. Remove it permanently. I have found the strength to kill the monster before it killed me. I destroyed the soul-eating black hole inside me. Remember this, all answers are no. Life hurts. Death cures all.
-Pan
If one had looked at Trunks' face as he read Pan's last words they would have noticed his face becoming steadily more pale and his hands starting to shake. By the time Trunks finished reading the note he was white as untouched snow, his violet hair and blue eyes standing out against his face. He sat there in her chair, at her desk, unable to move and the note clasped tightly in his hands. 'How come noone found this? Why didn't anyone realize this was how she felt? I was her friend and she never told me what the problem was, never told any of us. We had no idea anything was wrong. Not me, not Bra, not even Goten. I wish there was a way to tell you this Pan. We really miss you and we love you. I guess they were right when they say you never know how much you love them til they are gone.'
--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=--=
That note, which was read by Trunks those few days ago,--which broke down the final barriers between his heart and the knowledge of Pan's death, like some giant hand crumbling a sod of dirt,--was now in his pocket close to his person, and always present. It never strayed far from him, so as to always be at the beck and call of wandering fingers desperate for something of Pan's. At night, it sat on his bedside table, next to his watch, wallet and other personal items: upon waking it was the first thing he touched. Eventually the words grew illegible on the folded and wrinkled paper, soft to the touch from wear. And gradually, over a period of some two months after the discovery of the note, a realization came to him: he had lover her, as much as Gohan and Videl had, this same love, but different.
Disclaimer: I don't own this show and personally, I think Sesshomaru and Inuyasha are cuter....I wish I owned them....but, I don't. Life sucks so get over it.
--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=--= I live with many laments, for my people, for myself, but mostly for that little girl. lost to me now, who showed me how- and why- to live. There is no pain greater than this; not the cut of a jagged-edged blade nor the fire of a dragon's breath. Nothing burns in your heart like the emptyness of losing something, someone, before you have truly learned of its value. (Homeland, RA Salvatore, has changes) --=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=--= For some reason he found himself here again. Week after week, month after month, in her room. And here, he would sit on her bed or in her chair at her desk and think. It was comforting. Her bedroom walls were a simple textured white with lightly stained wood floorboards running along the border. Her bedroom and closet doors were both wood of the same cast as the floorboards. Her bed was an old fashioned brass bed with a black comforter and hunter green sheets. Her window curtains were also black with sheer white curtains underneath. Her walls were covered in a medley of different items, ranging from masks to mirrors. On one wall was an assorted number of posters. One was of Audrey Hepburn in 'Breakfast at Tiffany's', another was the origional movie poster from the 1937 'Gone with the Wind.' Then there were posters from different competitions around the world. On another wall was a collection of a few odd looking masks. Some were actually vaguely intriguing, like the one of a golden face with sorrowful eyes. And from those eyes came two black tears falling towards black lips. She had what appeared to be frills from a bonnet on the top of her head also painted gold but with wide strips of silver framed in black lacing through it. Or the comedy and tragedy masks made of brass that were tilted away from each other. On a third wall were a few mums from the homecoming dances, each from a different boy and all looking very much the same. Homecoming was just so cliche and pointless. And against most of the wall was her brass bed. On the last wall was her desk and her door. Above her desk there hung a mirror which was covered in various knick-knacks like drawings and window decals from colleges. Her desk itself was covered in photo albums and picture frames, all filled with pictures of her family and friends. He was surprised to find himself in over three-quarters of the pictures; but, he was one of her good friends. Next to her desk, hanging lopsidedly was a bulletin board, again covered by a barrage of pointless items. There were notes from ex- boyfriends that she had apparently found humorous, emails about nothing and even an old dried rose that he recognized as one that Bra had sent to her on Valentine's Day to cheer her up. Of course, Bra had signed it as Secret Admirer, but Pan had guessed who it was due to the handwriting. But either way, she had always said that was the best day ever. And then, on her ceiling were more posters, only hese were of bands she liked. They strechted from one corner to the other and no hint of the ceiling was given. There were posters of Blink, GC, and other punk bands like the Ramones, along with Grateful Dead, The Beatles and Pink Floyd. Classic rock, alternative and even oldies were all represented through the medley of clashing posters. It was amazing how Pan had left so much of herself here in the room and at the same time, left nothing. So far, Trunks had touched little. He had left everything as it was almost as if to preserve Pan's essence in its true form. But today, for some reason only known to God, he felt the need to leaf through items that belonged to her. Thus, he began to pick up all the loose papers onher desk and read through them. Most were old homework assignments that had been waiting to be done, but would now wait forever; however, one caught his attention. The paper appeared to be a peice of stationary with realistic drawings of nature upon them. The paper itself was recycled and appeared refined beacuse of its courseness. On this paper was Pan's rough cursive blotch spots from what must have been tears. Thus intrigued, Trunks began to read the note to himself. Have you ever wondered what it feels like to die? I have and now I think I know. Dieing is not physical. It is when your soul shrivels up and starts to rot. It is when you hurt too much too care. I am dieing. Now if only I could leave this world. Hopefully, I will. The wise always say that it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, but if that is true, why all this pain? Love is just another way to bleed and happiness is a loaded gun, ready to be shot so as to malfunction and kill its holder. When Grandpa left the gun was placed in my hands and now it has gone off. I am so sorry. Death is all encompassing. It is a void that is swallowing me. Peice- by-peice I disappear. And now I have found the faith to kill myself. No, not myself. Kill the pain. Remove it permanently. I have found the strength to kill the monster before it killed me. I destroyed the soul-eating black hole inside me. Remember this, all answers are no. Life hurts. Death cures all.
-Pan
If one had looked at Trunks' face as he read Pan's last words they would have noticed his face becoming steadily more pale and his hands starting to shake. By the time Trunks finished reading the note he was white as untouched snow, his violet hair and blue eyes standing out against his face. He sat there in her chair, at her desk, unable to move and the note clasped tightly in his hands. 'How come noone found this? Why didn't anyone realize this was how she felt? I was her friend and she never told me what the problem was, never told any of us. We had no idea anything was wrong. Not me, not Bra, not even Goten. I wish there was a way to tell you this Pan. We really miss you and we love you. I guess they were right when they say you never know how much you love them til they are gone.'
--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- -=--=
That note, which was read by Trunks those few days ago,--which broke down the final barriers between his heart and the knowledge of Pan's death, like some giant hand crumbling a sod of dirt,--was now in his pocket close to his person, and always present. It never strayed far from him, so as to always be at the beck and call of wandering fingers desperate for something of Pan's. At night, it sat on his bedside table, next to his watch, wallet and other personal items: upon waking it was the first thing he touched. Eventually the words grew illegible on the folded and wrinkled paper, soft to the touch from wear. And gradually, over a period of some two months after the discovery of the note, a realization came to him: he had lover her, as much as Gohan and Videl had, this same love, but different.