Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ. A/N: I did not like the last chapter at all, it was really awful. I like this one better, its more angsty! Yes, I know they cannot remember anything from Gotenks, but it does not make sense if they do not. It is shorter that the other one, as you probably do not want me to go about ho much I did not like the last chapter, here's chapter 3.

A Young Child sits here

Gotenks dropped to the floor, Buu had escaped from this plain no walled prison and he had not, it was not fair. He had failed where the Idiotic Pink blob had succeeded. Piccolo had left five minutes ago in a mood, so he was stuck here all by himself, nothing to do. It was his fault Piccolo was in a mood, he had not been fast enough, he was weak. He picked up the pole from the broken shower and bent it in half. He was fed up of this life he wanted it too end. A bright light formed around Gotenks and out fell the two child warriors.

Trunks looked at Goten with confused eyes, when he was fused with him he had been able to feel a great pain within him, it seemed to be screaming because of this torture, but it had suddenly subsided, it was not his pain that he had bared. It hadn't felt like that before, then again it had felt he was hiding something from him ever since they had entered the hyperbolic time chamber. Perhaps this was what he was hiding?

"Goten, what's wrong? Trunks asked concern filling his cerulean blue eyes.

"There's nothing, Trunks." 'Nothing you would understand' He said calmly adding the last part in his head.

Trunks stared into those ebony black eyes; they were once filled with happiness and love of the world around him. Where they lacked happiness, it had been replaced by denial and the Love by grief. These eyes did not belong to his friend, these eyes belonged to a stranger.

"Yes." 'I'm sure wouldn't understand.' Goten lied.

"Well, I'm going to see if I can find Piccolo"

"Fine."

Trunks let his ki rise, and shot off in the direction he had last seen Piccolo.

Goten sat down in the broken rubble of the entrance, that rubble reminded him of his life. It once had been perfect, and now one thing one bad thing had happened, it had hit like an earthquake shaking his world apart, his carefully balanced blocks fell down. He picked up a handful of the sand that had came from the time glass, he remembered doing this when he was Gotenks, he watched run through his finger and on to the floor, it reminded how all those people had died, if only had woke up earlier, then those people wouldn't. His mother would not be dead, if he was not such a coward his brother would not be dead, if he did not look so much like his father, he wouldn't bring Bulma to tears every single time she looked at him, if he had only been stronger of mind, he wouldn't have made so many fatal decisions as Gotenks. It was all was his fault! In his mind the sun had set for the first time and maybe the last, the night now engulfed the ways of his mind. In this night there was no moon or stars to guide the way home, to give that extra little gift of hope. His candle of hope was now just a burnt out wick. He needed someone to help him, but there was no one to help him they were gone. What happened if he did die here, he doubted he would ever leave this place, even when he died, his spirit would still wonder here looking for an exit to this prison. His life was a cycle of hurt, revenge, denial, nothing could stop it, it would go round in a continuous circle forever.

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Trunks flew through the air, how could Goten bare such a great pain on his own? How could he live a life like that, being ever drawn to the black abyss of failure? He blamed himself, Trunks knew it, but really, Goten should have been blaming him. It was his fault if only he had not been so prideful and arrogant; all those people wouldn't be dead. His mother was probably dead now, Buu had probably killed her, but he might not have she might not be dead, he had to cling to that small flame of hope, even if she was dead they could bring her back with the dragon balls with everyone else. After Buu was destroyed, everything was going to be normal, Trunks thought. Yet there are memories and people find that the worst ones cling to them like a wet t-shirt while happy ones are like cherry blossom in a strong breeze. Memories can be the most prized possession we have or the most hated. A flame was in Trunks's heart, it was burning for all those lost in what he saw as this pointless struggle for power. Power, what good did it bring, if it hadn't happened so many years ago, then all of the innocents would not of lost their lives, but he to was one of those innocents, he was just one who knew how to fight. well. All because of his blood, if that blood did not exist, then a lot of things wouldn't have happened but then he would have Vegeta as father then. His father had only shown love to him once, inform that normal humans would, but he'd shown him when he'd taught him how to fight, he wouldn't have done that if hadn't loved him. He looked around he still had not seen Piccolo, where the hell was he! He focused his mind on trying to find him, he was back near where Goten was. Typical everything seemed to be against him lately.

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Goten sat amongst the rubble, silver tears could be traced down his face. The shattered glass from time glasses was on sprinkled on the floor. They were a rainbow of different colours, in the light. Where was the light coming from, he could not see a source. He would definitely have to ask Piccolo that. A particularly long shard of glass caught his obsidian eyes; it reflected his long drawn, mournful face. He picked it up to see how many injuries his face had obtained in the long battle with Buu. Bruises were found on his jaw line, the black and blue colours reminded him of his mood, depression and hate. Blood had mingled with his tears and scratches were found every where. Nothing could come anywhere to his sacrosanct mood of despair, no mask hid it now, the lies fabrication was revealed to himself. He held the glass tighter in his hand, to tight, crimson blood ran down his fingers as the glass became further embedded in his hand. No pain was felt though, Goten thought it was strange. He drew to his arm and slit a small thin line, blood dripped out of it.

Drip. The pain of Gohan's death left.

Drip. His mothers death left him,

Drip. Vegetas death left him

Drip. His Fathers absence left him

Drip. His Failure left him. The drops came progressively smaller and as they did he felt the pain sear in his arm, but It felt good, it felt relaxing. Slowly he rolled down his sleeve, covering the wound he had made by his own hand. No one had seen, no one knew, they never would.