The Years After
Chapter One
Author's Note: A few, saddening dark themes of how I imagined Mirai ChiChi's struggle with her husband's death, the Androids horrible crimes, and her son's death. This is how I imagined ChiChi's struggle, a short epic. Please read and review.
Goku and I had married when we were both seventeen years old and a year later I gave birth to our first son, Gohan.
Goku would often leave, but not in the way most men would do. He would leave silently at night through the window and turn up days later dirty and well worn with a smile always on his face. He lived to fight and to train and though I complained, I was happy when he was happy. Gohan mirrored his father in his eating habits and in his strength and I had tried to protect my boy from seeing the violence that his father had seen. I forced him to study, but Gohan was a bright boy, and learned so fast that occasionally I would give in and let him go romping off with his father.
In the beginning Gohan was a nervous child and would often cling to his father's pant leg at the sight of small things, like when a fox would spring out of the bushes yards away on our weekly walks through the forest. In the end though, he become strong and fearless, do to the encouragement of his father and his mentor, Piccolo-san.
I do sometimes regret that I didn't praise Gohan more for the great things he had done. I had always deep inside wanted a child who would need the doting of his mother. So I could be with my son and have a piece of my husband with me at all times.
Gohan admired his father. Worshipped him really. I can't see why not, because Goku was always loving and caring to him. I don't know, and will never know, what it felt to Goku to be called "Daddy" affectionately by his only son.
The day Goku became sick was a surprise, since only a month before I had become pregnant with his child. He was healthy and extremely athletic, ate well and was sheer muscle up and down his body. In the end, though, not even this could save him. He staggered home, his hand clutching the where his heart was, buried deep inside his chest. He was crying out in pain, blood seeping through his mouth and his nostrils. Gohan had helped carry his father, but Goku 's bulky form was too much for such a young child. It was so sudden and so shocking. He had seemed a little pale that morning.
"ChiChi, I'm fine, really. I'll be back by the afternoon!" these were his words to me that same morning.
"Dad is sick! MOTHER! Hurry!" Gohan had cried. Goku had collapsed on the ground, wheezing as I ran to them with my arms outstretched.
"Gohan!" I had said sharply, fear banging in my chest. "Go fetch your grandfather! Please go quickly!"
Gohan just stood there for a long moment, fear clouding his vision. He was only nine years old.
"GOHAN!" I screamed, at the brink of hysterics. "HURRY!"
Gohan had taken off towards my father's house as fast as he could, which was very fast. My father could easily contact Bulma and the others with his communication and Bulma's advice would be something I would need.
I carried my husband into my house and laid him onto our bedroom pallet. He cried out, opening his eyes.
"It hurts so bad.ChiChi.it hurts."
I had never heard Goku whimper, his voice so sad, like a dying animal's cry. I laid a wet washcloth on his brow.
"Goku, I'm here. I know it hurts."
I held his hand and tended to him as best I could. I had no good medicine and to fetch vervain to cool the fever or herbs to reduce the pain would take too much time. In my husband's dying hours, I would need to be with him.
"Is Gohan.alright?" my husband stammered. Even in Goku 's dying state he was thinking about others.
My father, Bulma with her baby son Trunks, and Gohan all came quickly to my side. Bulma had brought medicine to help the pain and cease palpitations while Gohan, my smart little son, had brought some vervain from the grove I sometimes used in the woods.
I quickly got down to work with Bulma 's help. We put Trunks to sleep in Gohan's bedroom and for nearly four hours Goku writhed with pain. In the end, towards night, though, nothing could save Goku.
Bulma sensed this and left to stand outside with her baby son to distract herself. My father went outside too and Gohan and I stood by Goku's side. Blood was seeping out of his mouth, wetting the pillow his head rested on. Gohan, sensing his father's waning spirit, left the room with his head bowed.
"It.hurts." Goku moaned.
"Shhhhh, my darling," I whispered. "I know."
I climbed in with my husband for one last time. I wrapped my arms around his neck and although he was too weak to return the gesture, he sighed.
"Thank.you.Chi...."
Tears were blurring my vision as I held him in my arms, my forehead pressed against his. Why must Kami do this to such a forgiving and kind man? I now felt weak and grieved, even though Goku hadn't even left yet.
"I love you, Goku-san. You can never know how much. Please, wait for me in the afterlife. Please wait."
His heart fluttered until midnight when it stopped. I could feel his body relax in my arms. I fell asleep there with him for one last time.
When I had awoken, there was blood everywhere, where it had seeped up from his body in its departing gesture. When a body dies, it lets loose of all its held. The blood from his bowl and lungs had come out through his mouth and his nostrils, covering my dress, the sheets, and even floor below the bed. I didn't care that I was drenched in my husband's blood and that his cold body was in my arms. I could hear a wailing all around me and I held his body to me tightly and wept.
I didn't realize, until Gohan, Bulma, and my father rushed into the room with tears streaming down their faces that the wailing was mine.
Chapter One
Author's Note: A few, saddening dark themes of how I imagined Mirai ChiChi's struggle with her husband's death, the Androids horrible crimes, and her son's death. This is how I imagined ChiChi's struggle, a short epic. Please read and review.
Goku and I had married when we were both seventeen years old and a year later I gave birth to our first son, Gohan.
Goku would often leave, but not in the way most men would do. He would leave silently at night through the window and turn up days later dirty and well worn with a smile always on his face. He lived to fight and to train and though I complained, I was happy when he was happy. Gohan mirrored his father in his eating habits and in his strength and I had tried to protect my boy from seeing the violence that his father had seen. I forced him to study, but Gohan was a bright boy, and learned so fast that occasionally I would give in and let him go romping off with his father.
In the beginning Gohan was a nervous child and would often cling to his father's pant leg at the sight of small things, like when a fox would spring out of the bushes yards away on our weekly walks through the forest. In the end though, he become strong and fearless, do to the encouragement of his father and his mentor, Piccolo-san.
I do sometimes regret that I didn't praise Gohan more for the great things he had done. I had always deep inside wanted a child who would need the doting of his mother. So I could be with my son and have a piece of my husband with me at all times.
Gohan admired his father. Worshipped him really. I can't see why not, because Goku was always loving and caring to him. I don't know, and will never know, what it felt to Goku to be called "Daddy" affectionately by his only son.
The day Goku became sick was a surprise, since only a month before I had become pregnant with his child. He was healthy and extremely athletic, ate well and was sheer muscle up and down his body. In the end, though, not even this could save him. He staggered home, his hand clutching the where his heart was, buried deep inside his chest. He was crying out in pain, blood seeping through his mouth and his nostrils. Gohan had helped carry his father, but Goku 's bulky form was too much for such a young child. It was so sudden and so shocking. He had seemed a little pale that morning.
"ChiChi, I'm fine, really. I'll be back by the afternoon!" these were his words to me that same morning.
"Dad is sick! MOTHER! Hurry!" Gohan had cried. Goku had collapsed on the ground, wheezing as I ran to them with my arms outstretched.
"Gohan!" I had said sharply, fear banging in my chest. "Go fetch your grandfather! Please go quickly!"
Gohan just stood there for a long moment, fear clouding his vision. He was only nine years old.
"GOHAN!" I screamed, at the brink of hysterics. "HURRY!"
Gohan had taken off towards my father's house as fast as he could, which was very fast. My father could easily contact Bulma and the others with his communication and Bulma's advice would be something I would need.
I carried my husband into my house and laid him onto our bedroom pallet. He cried out, opening his eyes.
"It hurts so bad.ChiChi.it hurts."
I had never heard Goku whimper, his voice so sad, like a dying animal's cry. I laid a wet washcloth on his brow.
"Goku, I'm here. I know it hurts."
I held his hand and tended to him as best I could. I had no good medicine and to fetch vervain to cool the fever or herbs to reduce the pain would take too much time. In my husband's dying hours, I would need to be with him.
"Is Gohan.alright?" my husband stammered. Even in Goku 's dying state he was thinking about others.
My father, Bulma with her baby son Trunks, and Gohan all came quickly to my side. Bulma had brought medicine to help the pain and cease palpitations while Gohan, my smart little son, had brought some vervain from the grove I sometimes used in the woods.
I quickly got down to work with Bulma 's help. We put Trunks to sleep in Gohan's bedroom and for nearly four hours Goku writhed with pain. In the end, towards night, though, nothing could save Goku.
Bulma sensed this and left to stand outside with her baby son to distract herself. My father went outside too and Gohan and I stood by Goku's side. Blood was seeping out of his mouth, wetting the pillow his head rested on. Gohan, sensing his father's waning spirit, left the room with his head bowed.
"It.hurts." Goku moaned.
"Shhhhh, my darling," I whispered. "I know."
I climbed in with my husband for one last time. I wrapped my arms around his neck and although he was too weak to return the gesture, he sighed.
"Thank.you.Chi...."
Tears were blurring my vision as I held him in my arms, my forehead pressed against his. Why must Kami do this to such a forgiving and kind man? I now felt weak and grieved, even though Goku hadn't even left yet.
"I love you, Goku-san. You can never know how much. Please, wait for me in the afterlife. Please wait."
His heart fluttered until midnight when it stopped. I could feel his body relax in my arms. I fell asleep there with him for one last time.
When I had awoken, there was blood everywhere, where it had seeped up from his body in its departing gesture. When a body dies, it lets loose of all its held. The blood from his bowl and lungs had come out through his mouth and his nostrils, covering my dress, the sheets, and even floor below the bed. I didn't care that I was drenched in my husband's blood and that his cold body was in my arms. I could hear a wailing all around me and I held his body to me tightly and wept.
I didn't realize, until Gohan, Bulma, and my father rushed into the room with tears streaming down their faces that the wailing was mine.