Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own DBZ.
"Knife in the Eye" Interpretation by the Author: Yes, well… I told myself if I ever did another short story, I'd explain what "Knife in the Eye" meant to me, personally. Some of you may want to read this, others of you may not… If you're curious enough, have a go at it! ^_^
First off, the narrator in the story was Goku. I think that was still a mystery to some, even when it ended. Next, I should go ahead and admit that the entire story came out almost like a fluke. I didn't even realize half of what I was writing. I think my subconscious did it all, and afterwards I found meaning for everything.
The "knife" in Goku's eye, the pinpricks, the shrapnel wound, the hole in Goku's soul… they symbolized faults. Flaws that we hide ourselves from: that we don't—or can't—notice. That's why they were in places Goku couldn't see, because to "see" them would be to find great fault in himself, possibly pushing him towards suicide. He was running from his problems: a sort of subconscious survival technique.
So how did Vegeta know it all? He was dead in the first place, on the inside. That's why there was no light shining on the inside of his eyes. It symbolized his death. He had either been forced to realize his faults in his hard past, or it had forced itself upon him, and the spirit inside him had died early.
The whole nickname "champ" thing came from Justin B.'s story, and the "boxer" reference just popped up because when I was writing, I was also listening to Simon and Garfunkel's song "The Boxer." It was a fluke in my writing that just turned out well. ^_^;; Nothing intentional there.
And to wrap this whole bit up… Goku visited Vegeta in the first place because I wanted to make him seem deeper than he was, like a real person. To me, Akira Toriyama made a fictional character that was… well… fictional. Goku's too easy-going and careless all the time for him to be "real," so I twisted him around and made it look like a mask he used for everyone. When he came to Vegeta, he just couldn't stand carrying the charade on for any longer. He needed an escape from the pressure of family, if only for a bit, and Vegeta gave it to him in a fight. ^^;; Yea, twisting Goku's personality is gettin' to be a real habit of mine in my writing, lol…
So did you guys think along the same lines as me? Or did the story have some totally different meaning to you? Either way, it's fantastic to me! ^-^ Just as long as I inspired you!
Author's Notes: I think I got a lot deeper into this fanfic than I wanted to… Pushed it too much to the edge, you know. Went overboard with the metaphors and junk. But we'll see… Let me know what you think of it!
Oh, and thanks to WingsofPhantasy9 for BETAing!
Glass
My name is Gohan. I'm twelve years old, with a pet dragon, with a mother. I have a father, but I'm fatherless. I also have a mirror. I look at myself in my mirror sometimes. And sometimes I look back out at myself.
Currently, I'm wishing I had a father, even though I have one. He's trapped inside photographs, though, so he doesn't come out to play too often. Sometimes Mom tells me through pursed lips that I have a living father too. I can only suppose that I do, fatherless child that I am.
I look in my mirror, and this time I'm looking back out at myself. I can also see behind me; my window opens and night pours inside. I watch green antennae snake their way inside my room, followed by a head, a torso, and a body. Piccolo closes the window again to keep bugs out and to keep the breeze from flapping my curtains. He looks at me. My mirrored self, however, is the one he gets in return.
"If I had come earlier, would you have been here?" he asks. "Or would I have only gotten the shell of yourself, as I'm getting now?"
In return, I ask what the difference is. Piccolo shifts himself so that he blocks the moonlight that had been seeping through my window, throwing him, my room, me, and my reflected self into darkness. The only thing I can see now is a milky, glowing outline of a cape and a turban.
"Do you think of me as the Demon King? As an embodiment of pure evil?" I frown, still watching him from my reflection. I tell him no, of course not. "There is the difference, then, between body and soul—reflection and life—shell and heart. If I were to tell you that your mind now is gone, and that all I sense is an outer shell of your thoughts, what would you say?"
I tell him that my mind has always been absent, and that my thoughts were always lost on my father, even though I don't have one. I tell him that my real passion has been spent on worshiping the shell of my father, and that now my shell is left to find the real him. Piccolo's head jerks to the side, as if he's considering me. I can't see his face, though; all I see is the glimmering outline.
"But why isn't a shell good enough?" he asks me. "Why can't you just settle on what you think you know? Why can't you settle on memories of Goku? Why can't you see me as as much of a parental figure as he is? We both helped you grow, and after the fight with Cell, he's not coming back." But I tell him I can't—I just can't—now that the honest truth has been confirmed. I tell him it's not possible, and that I'm not bold enough to lie to myself. He is silent, and my reflection can only see so much of him. "You are braver than the rest of us, Gohan. Braver and stronger than us all. I always figured you'd overcome us, kid; that you'd whip our butts in the end. And you have, even though you've just about damned yourself for it, as many great leaders have done before."
So am I destined for greatness?
I ask him if I'm smarter than Mom believes me to be, and he nods. I shudder and groan, punching the mirror. Glass shatters—through my hand—through my heart—through my soul—and through my shell. I put my glass-infected hand to my head, burying my face in it. I tell Piccolo to give me one more night, give me one more night of this. He sighs.
"I can't do that, Gohan. Only you can do it to yourself." He pauses. "But you've bought yourself a lifetime-full. You don't need assistance from me."
I refuse to cry, though I've done it all my life. The glass doesn't hurt, though it will later. I turn to plead with Piccolo's black, faceless form, and now he looks like the evil Demon King himself. I contradict him, saying I can't do this alone. I need my father.
His cape shivers, though he closed my window minutes before. "I am here, Gohan, even though Goku isn't." I tell him that's not true; his shell is here. He turns his head, and the milky shine on him seems to fade. "Yes… You're right. But with me being attached to Kami, I don't believe I've ever really been here to begin with. And you always seemed content with that."
He turns, opens the window, and leaves the room. I sigh, stand up, and head over to close the window again. The glass in my hand is only just starting to hurt.
~Pudgoose