Disclaimer: I don't own DragonBallZ.
Thanks for the reviews! Always encouraging.
Bulma's stomach was so empty it felt as if it was drying up. It was withering because it had nothing to keep it satisfied. In her hunger she felt a burning sickness from within. She wanted to vomit the sickness up, but there was nothing inside her to regurgitate. She was so lost by now that slowly, inch by inch, her mind was fading away.
Vegeta sat at the wooden table beside the window where the sun shone through, making the room pale with light. His fingernails dug into the wood, scratching it deeply. There had to be some kind of explanation, he thought. Two strong half-Saiyan warriors don't simply disappear without others knowing. It had never happened before. He wanted to keep searching for the two boys, but he'd looked everywhere on the planet with no success. Part of him wanted to keep sitting in his house, silent, but he couldn't keep away from the world forever. Then again, the world had nothing to give him anymore. He was better off locked away in near-isolation.
. . . . . .
Chi-Chi was lying on top of her sheets on the bed, staring up at the white ceiling above her. The rich blackness in her eyes had become bright with grief, and her eyelids were swollen, red and chapped from her endless crying. She would stop every now and then to breathe while Goku tried to comfort her, but nothing could fill the empty space in her maternal heart. Within her long and slender fingers she clutched a picture of her youngest son to her bosom, wanting him back.
Goku wouldn't train anymore. He would sit upon the mountaintop, the wind making his ears bitter with iciness, and continually search for Goten's Ki. Everyday, though, he would come home with no success.
That night, as usual, he walked into the dwindling warmth of his home, past the walls with forgotten pictures, up the stairway, and into the soundless, muffled room where Chi-Chi still clutched Goten's picture. She even kept one of his old toys on her nightstand, a tiny, soft, blue dog that he'd played with as an infant. Goku slowly advanced towards her, and hesitantly leaned her forward to console her within his embrace. She didn't return it. She remained still and limp in his arms, barely breathing.
. . . . . .
In the darkness of evening, while the skies were of deep, velvet black and riddled with constellations above, a shadowed, limping figure dragged itself through the trees of the woods. Low breathing disturbed the night air as the dark, steel eyes looked for lights on the hillside. The dead leaves from beneath the figure's feet rustled, until the stranger reached the boundaries of the forest, and stared up to the hill, barely lit with starlight.
And somewhere, at the very same moment, in the streets of a live city, someone was dragging their blistered feet over the cold concrete. The shadow refused to walk under the street lamps, instead moving around the lights to stay in the dark. One of his hands was clutching his shoulder, his arm drawn weakly over his chest. The bleak eyes scanned the walls of each building, looking for the doorway of his past.
. . . . . .
Goku heard the pounding upon his front door, a heavy, strained echo that traveled across the halls. Restless and uncomfortable shifting came through the wooden barrier, as a weak hand scraped its nails down across the wood.
Goku rose from his seat gingerly to meet the person at his doorway. But when he opened it, he was stunned beyond speaking.
Before he had opened the door, his mind was expecting it to be Krillin, or Videl, or even Vegeta. The electricity of his shock ran up through his arms and his spine as he stared down at the figure kneeling upon the mattress, hands spread out wide across its fabric.
A raspy voice greeted him.
. . . . . .
This time, Vegeta refused to answer the door. He sat at the same wooden table all the way across the house, looking out to the belt and sword of Orion. He was going to let it leave, he was going to let the visitor at his door knock until they gave up and went back to wherever it was they came from. He heard the doors open. Two bare feet dragged their callused soles over the hard floor.
Bulma didn't look up at whomever it was towering over where she sat. She didn't want to talk to anyone if she couldn't talk to...
"You look worse than I do," he told her.
Impossible, but the raspy, weak, choked voice sounded so much like...she looked up at the dirty, pale face until she broke into strained, weary tears.
Oh, I'll bet you don't know who the strangers are! (Sarcasm there.) Review!
Thanks for the reviews! Always encouraging.
Bulma's stomach was so empty it felt as if it was drying up. It was withering because it had nothing to keep it satisfied. In her hunger she felt a burning sickness from within. She wanted to vomit the sickness up, but there was nothing inside her to regurgitate. She was so lost by now that slowly, inch by inch, her mind was fading away.
Vegeta sat at the wooden table beside the window where the sun shone through, making the room pale with light. His fingernails dug into the wood, scratching it deeply. There had to be some kind of explanation, he thought. Two strong half-Saiyan warriors don't simply disappear without others knowing. It had never happened before. He wanted to keep searching for the two boys, but he'd looked everywhere on the planet with no success. Part of him wanted to keep sitting in his house, silent, but he couldn't keep away from the world forever. Then again, the world had nothing to give him anymore. He was better off locked away in near-isolation.
. . . . . .
Chi-Chi was lying on top of her sheets on the bed, staring up at the white ceiling above her. The rich blackness in her eyes had become bright with grief, and her eyelids were swollen, red and chapped from her endless crying. She would stop every now and then to breathe while Goku tried to comfort her, but nothing could fill the empty space in her maternal heart. Within her long and slender fingers she clutched a picture of her youngest son to her bosom, wanting him back.
Goku wouldn't train anymore. He would sit upon the mountaintop, the wind making his ears bitter with iciness, and continually search for Goten's Ki. Everyday, though, he would come home with no success.
That night, as usual, he walked into the dwindling warmth of his home, past the walls with forgotten pictures, up the stairway, and into the soundless, muffled room where Chi-Chi still clutched Goten's picture. She even kept one of his old toys on her nightstand, a tiny, soft, blue dog that he'd played with as an infant. Goku slowly advanced towards her, and hesitantly leaned her forward to console her within his embrace. She didn't return it. She remained still and limp in his arms, barely breathing.
. . . . . .
In the darkness of evening, while the skies were of deep, velvet black and riddled with constellations above, a shadowed, limping figure dragged itself through the trees of the woods. Low breathing disturbed the night air as the dark, steel eyes looked for lights on the hillside. The dead leaves from beneath the figure's feet rustled, until the stranger reached the boundaries of the forest, and stared up to the hill, barely lit with starlight.
And somewhere, at the very same moment, in the streets of a live city, someone was dragging their blistered feet over the cold concrete. The shadow refused to walk under the street lamps, instead moving around the lights to stay in the dark. One of his hands was clutching his shoulder, his arm drawn weakly over his chest. The bleak eyes scanned the walls of each building, looking for the doorway of his past.
. . . . . .
Goku heard the pounding upon his front door, a heavy, strained echo that traveled across the halls. Restless and uncomfortable shifting came through the wooden barrier, as a weak hand scraped its nails down across the wood.
Goku rose from his seat gingerly to meet the person at his doorway. But when he opened it, he was stunned beyond speaking.
Before he had opened the door, his mind was expecting it to be Krillin, or Videl, or even Vegeta. The electricity of his shock ran up through his arms and his spine as he stared down at the figure kneeling upon the mattress, hands spread out wide across its fabric.
A raspy voice greeted him.
. . . . . .
This time, Vegeta refused to answer the door. He sat at the same wooden table all the way across the house, looking out to the belt and sword of Orion. He was going to let it leave, he was going to let the visitor at his door knock until they gave up and went back to wherever it was they came from. He heard the doors open. Two bare feet dragged their callused soles over the hard floor.
Bulma didn't look up at whomever it was towering over where she sat. She didn't want to talk to anyone if she couldn't talk to...
"You look worse than I do," he told her.
Impossible, but the raspy, weak, choked voice sounded so much like...she looked up at the dirty, pale face until she broke into strained, weary tears.
Oh, I'll bet you don't know who the strangers are! (Sarcasm there.) Review!