| In the End Author's note-- I hope you like all these stories... They are Piccolo and Gohan centric... only because they are my favourite characters. Please email me or leave a message in the guestbook. Chapter one:: The prey. The wind keened softly past the walking shadow. His head was drooped and his countenance steely. He seemed far removed from the world and a forlorn look graced his exterior. The eyes were melancholy and pain-filled. The slender shoulders seemed to hold the weight of the entire world on them. Stray sunbeams glanced off the vivid hues of the man�s skin. An ebony overcoat fluttered spiritedly in the stiff breeze. A sable turtleneck with gold embroidery graced his upper torso and a pair of black jeans and black dress shoes completed the picture of the depression. Dead leaves skittered across the dry pavement, heralding his arrival. He could feel various eyes stare deeply at him. But, then� he did stick out slightly. A stray arrow of light struck the small gold hoop he wore in his right ear. Though the day was sunny and cheerful, he was not. But then, he was rarely ever was. Memories seemed to swamp over him� His mind cluttered with remembered pain, like miniscule spiders that had ensnared a hapless insect in their delicate web and now drained the life out of it. He shook his head, trying to clear the recurring images out of his mind� He could remember the sights, smells and sounds so clearly. Walking in with a bouquet of flowers for his beloved. Hearing strange noises from the room upstairs. The smell of jasmine, his favourite flower. The coolness of the door handle. The soft light that reflected off of his beloved�s sable hair� The lurid gleam off the hair of the other individual in the bed. Standing in disbelief, denial and then finally acceptance. The shatter of his world. The apologies. The door slamming� His heart breaking� He felt a warm wetness run down his cheek. He angrily swiped away the offending tear. The wind picked up on the pace with a decided chill in the normally balmy air. He shrugged his shoulders and hunched them forward, trying to warm himself. Trying to get the chill out of his heart. He thought he had found the one person in the world that gave a damn about him� He was wrong. No one cared about him. No one. He was alone, drifting along on the cold highway of life. A dead leaf whispering along a lonely street in ghost town. He craned his neck skyward, searching for the stars in the waning afternoon light. With his exceedingly sharp eyes, he could pick out the faint prickle of light in the urn overhead. He huffed. His own raced cared nothing about him. Why should he go there? He leaned back earthward. Though the events had happened a scant year ago, they still burned hot in his heart, like hellfire on a damned soul. He continued his leisurely pace along the pavement. He had no reason to hurry. Why try to hurry along death? It came soon enough. �But,� he mused,�Not soon enough� This must be hell, for I burn everyday for the one thing I cannot have nor will ever have again.� He sighed and continued on his way. Not knowing of the wary eyes that followed his lean form towards the horizon. The last of his black overcoat fluttered in the breeze as he rounded the corner. Piercing orbs followed him out of sight. The figure hidden in the shadows slowly separated itself from its parent�s darkness. Sable locks whispered silently as the head turned to follow the retreating figure. A sigh escaped from between the thin lips and the muscular chest heaved up and down. He did this every day. And everyday, he sat and watched the weary wanderer. The young man strolled to the park bench that sat a few feet away from him. He reached for his wallet and pulled it out of his faded denim jeans� back pocket. Ruffling through the many papers that were crammed into it, he pulled out a single portrait. The image was old and tattered. Parts of the colors on the photo had faded, but you could still clearly see two individuals. The little picture had once been part of a major photograph, but had been cut out to include only two individuals. His best friend and himself� He smiled. A man and a small child grinned up at him. Well, the child was grinning his head off; a barely perceptible smile graced the older man�s lean features as he stared down at the youngling in front of him. A small half smile graced the face of the reminiscing figure. He suddenly sat up and took out his wallet. He replaced the picture carefully as not to damage it. As he gazed back at the place where the other walker had rounded the corner, a phrase slipped from between his lips. �Soon. Piccolo-san. Soon.� back next |