Where- where am I?, she thought.

This was a dark empty place and Bulla wandered around fruitlessly. Vague, dreamy memories swam in her head. She groped along for anything that would define the space and give it shape. All she found was emptiness. To her recollection she and this place just appeared One moment she was nothing, the next she was called into being already standing on her feet. Cloak's voice rumbled through her skull like a migraine.

I give you all my darkness- my darkness- my darkness…

"Is this hell?," she asked herself.

"No," a deep distorted voice answered her back.

Bulla turned on her heels and saw him there. He was modest in statue with his swept back white hair reaching the crook of his neck. Burning fumes streamed from his eye sockets, illuminating the darkness. The fumes were the same turquoise shade as the glowing rind crowning his head. His washed-out lilac skin helped her connect the pieces. His body became a swerving after image, like an expiring illusion.

"Hello?," she finally brought herself to speak.

"What are you doing, Bulla?," he asked her.

"You know me?"

"I do," he stated simply.

"I'm lost. I want to go home," she said over his echoing voice.

"I know, but you need to go back."

"Go where?"

"To your life."

"I don't want to live anymore," she groaned.

"You don't like what I made," he said sadly.

"What?"

"You don't like who I made."

"I'm weak and good for nothing," she explained.

"By what standard- theirs? Yourself? Or mine?," he said tilting his head.

She paused, knowing that the priest wanted her to think rather than to answer.

"Who made steel and snowflakes, sand and stone, Water evaporates in the sun, yet can carve them all. Was it not I? Your weakness will save many."

Sea gulls chirped in her ears. Bulla opened her eyes. A soft breeze kicked dust up in a narrow dirt road. An orange sun burned high in the sky above her head. She tried to sit up in her bed, but her belly throbbed.

Her torso was bound in clean white bandages. The tin sheets on her bed smelled fresh and clean like wind dried laundry. IV tubing connected her arm to a big glass jig handing on a stand overhead. It was boned ry. A soft pillow cradled her head. Bandaged bodies of all shapes and sizes lined the covered side walks on their beds and mats. Gaggles of children played in the street. Their echoing laughter brought a grim smile to her face.

I never thought I would hear such a thing again, she thought.

Shop signs rattled on the empty store fronts as the balmy wind blew. The sun toasted her bare skin beneath the blankets. A short petite being hurriedly approached her bed from the masses. Bulla assumed it was female from the body shape and long orange ponytail sweeping off her back. Two, wispy antennae bounced on her forehead. Bulbous pink eyes contrasted her grey skin. She leaned close to Bulla and held her hand. Bulla focused on the middle of her nose-less face.

"My name's Battori. I'm glad you're awake. I'm a scribe from galactic affairs. I need some information to get you to your folks."

"Okay," Bulla said over her sore throat.
"Bulla Briefs."

"Do you know where you are?"

"No."

"The date?"

"No."

"How old are you?"

"Either 16 or 17, I'm not sure because I don't know how long I've been gone."

"Were you incarcerated?"

"No. They abducted me."

"Where are you from."
"Planet Earth."

"Where is that?"

"The Milky Way galaxy."

"What about solar system coordinates?"

"What? I have no idea wh-"

"Planetary grid?"

"I-I don't know that."

"Nest of kin?"

Bulla kept her mouth shut. She debated on what to say. Embarrassment and panic reared heir ugly heads.

"No one," she said from impulse.

They can never know, she thought.

"If someone was going to report you missing, who would it be?," the stranger gently asked.

"Bulma Briefs, Trunks Briefs, or Vegeta," her voice cracked as she swallowed her pride.

"Vegeta who?"

"His name is just Vegeta; there's no surname They live in West City on Planet Earth."

"Okay, your nurse will be back soon."

"Wait," Bulla said, "How did I get here?"

"That young man carried you here," she said and pointed her finger before walking off wither forms.

Bulla followed her finger to the sidewalk below her bed. Tsungage's roasted face made her do a double take. He sat on the downy mat next to his IV stand. Thick black sutures marked his face as it if had split in half. They trained form his hair line and into his brown, leading over the bridge of his wide nose. They marked his crudely shaven cheek and lip. They followed the edge of his jawline back toward his pointed ear. A thick red ring banded his neck with barely meshed together new tissue. His collar was gone. Bulla was at a loss for words. Indignation and surprise competed within her to control her mouth. His expectant honey eyes locked onto her. Bulla tucked her blanket tight beneath her underarms making sure it hugged her bare chest

"Hey," he dared to speak first.

She ignored him.

"Hey-um girl," he struggled for words.

"Please don't call me that," She groaned.

"Okay, lady- you understand me now, right?"

"Unfortunately."

A long pause settled between them. His mind raced.

Gee, sorry I raped you, he thought sarcastically, what the fuck could I ever possible say-

"Where's Drewda?," she beat him to the punch.

"Who?"

"The little boy- did he make it? I don't see him," she said.

"Oh, you mean Grouda. He's fine."

"His name's Grouda?"

"Yeap," he said pointing him out among the running children, "Over there."

An unspeakable burden lifted from Bulla's heart. There he was chasing leaves l like nothing had ever happened. A big toothy smile rounded his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Bulla said, "About on the ship. I didn't know he was your son."

"He's my brother," he corrected her, "Why'd you attack me though? It makes no sense."

"You were going to get him killed in my head, "She raised her voice.

"Funny, I'm not laying in a bed."

"Oh yeah, why'd you keep going when Kalus broke up the little party? That's right. I know who you are helmet head."

"I- they threatened to kill all three of us. I didn't want to."

"But you did."

"Look, lady, I can't tell you what to do with that I did. Grouda found you on the salt marsh and I packed you both here. I can't make the decision for you. I helped you so you can make it yourself."

Anger braised her heart as she stewed in silence. Confusion set in as she processed his words.

"So what the clerk said is true?," she asked.

"Yes."

Bulla's heart softened for some reason that she couldn't even fathom. A pit of sympathy grew inside her as she surveyed his face.

"I'm sorry they did that to your face," she offered.

"How old are you?," he caught her off guard.

"Why?"

"Just indulge me."

"Haven't you been indulged enough."

"That was dirty and cheap."

"Fine, 16 or 17, I don't know, now."

Shock and disgust washed over his face, "You're just a kid," he said in a breathless whisper.

"How old are you?," she shot back.

"20 or 21 cycles around our polaris."

"Such age and wisdom," she made fun of him, "You can't even buy a drink on most of my planet scrub," she chuckled.

"Lady, your name?"

"Too late for that don't you think?"

"Please."

"Bulla. Bulla Briefs," she reluctantly answered, "You' re 'Soon-gah-gay', right? That's what Grouda called you on the ship."

"Misoungage," he corrected her in a gentle tone, "He has a tough time with the first syllable."

"What?"

"Miso-un-gah-gay," he sounded out for her.

"Huh?," Bulla said.

"Just call me Gage. Nice to meet you, lady-B."


That's all she wrote... for now. Thank you for taking the time to read this story. Please don't hesitate to leave your feedback. Also I wanted to take a moment to see if anyone is interested on collaborating in the future. This project was large and super time consuming. I would like to continue to series, but I will need some serious help to make it more managable for myself. Please send me a PM if you are interested so we can talk. Also, I am interested in helping someone else with any projects, if requested. Thank you all in advance. May God keep you all until the next time. :)

PS- I'm looking for feekback about OCs and overall execution, especially from readers who check out the whole story.