Disclaimer: I don't own DragonBall Z or any of it's characters.
~Won't face this day and I won't care now, the sunrise promises nothing new~ Name Taken: the safety of Routine
Another day of hiding my tears
Another day of lying
Another day . . .
Another sleepless night
The colors painted across the sky: orange, pink, dark blue. The golden sunlight caressed my pale skin, illuminating my ebony hair.
I gazed straight ahead, my hair falling into my eyes, my hopeless eyes.
You see hope in them, but there is none.
I stand by myself in my cold bedroom; the icy air sending shivers down my spine, hairs rising on my bare arms. I rubbed away the goose bumps as the sound of Goten's voice shook me from thoughts…… I didn't have. Now it's time to put my mask back on.
The false smile and hope.
Everything about me is fake, what you see is not what you get.
I turned away from the closed window and to the empty bed. It's neatly made, not a single blemish on the flattened blanket. I can't sleep on that bed. Her soft scent still lingers on the pillows and the silky sheets. No matter how many times I washed them, it still remains.
It never leaves, it won't, it haunts me.
It's been a year.
A whole damn year. A year ago my beautiful wife died. She died silently in her sleep. She left me. For hours, I stared at her lifeless body not comprehending my loss. Even after they took her body away, I remained catatonic. I didn't cry, no I can't cry. I don't cry.
Close friends visited, but I didn't respond to their comforting words. I couldn't accept that she was gone. She cannot be brought back with the dragonballs; she died of natural causes. I'll never run my fingers through her graying hair; I'll never hear her soothing voice.
My beautiful Chichi . . . gone. The love of my life…
A low voice came from the right of me. My eyes darted over to the door; it cracked open. My youngest son peered in.
"I'm gonna go to Trunks' house… See you tonight." I forced a smile; you know the one. He didn't say good-bye.
He quickly disappeared from sight. The door still remained open, warm air crept in. I lowered my head, my bare feet suddenly very interesting.
A low cry came from my empty stomach. I better get something to eat. I padded across the soft carpet and out the open door. I shut it behind me, the sound echoing in the silence.
God . . . this house. Everything about it reminds me of her.
I love her. I miss her. I need her.
A tear caught on my heavy lashes. I quickly blinked it away as I stepped on the tile floor of the kitchen. The delicious aroma of freshly cooked bacon not in the air.
Why would it be? She's dead. She's gone . . . forever . . . Until we meet again in the afterlife.
I stepped in front of the sink, my eyes shifted to a black handled knife sitting on a plate. I stared at it, picturing the jagged blade against my wrist. Cutting deeply, crimson flowing down my skin. The contrast between white and red startling.
Oh God! Do I want to die? Do I?
I shook my head, NO, no I don't. I keep telling myself that but my heart say 'yes'. A low throb begins at my brow; the familiar pain is coming back. Telling me to let out the waterfall of tears held back by a worn dam.
No- I can't.
I rubbed my temples and turned towards the fridge. My fingers groping the handle, my eyes blurred with unshed tears. I swung it open and eyed its contents, suddenly not feeling hungry. I closed the door. That happened more than it should. I could see every morning more and more weight disappearing from me. My muscles turning to nothing.
I moved back to the sink, my eyes never wavering from the glistening blade, water dripped down the sharp blade. That could be my blood.
My life dripping off it
My life running off my fingertips
Would anyone miss me?
Do I care if anyone will miss me?
Yes, I do care. Stop thinking like that, but my black eyes still rested upon the knife.
What if I did it?
What if I pull the blade across my wrist?
Will it hurt?
Does it matter if it hurts?
No, it doesn't. My time here is over. The others don't need me. They're all very strong. They still don't compare to me but one day they will surpass me. Vegeta, the Prince of Sayians, will be happy to know he is the strongest warrior on Earth. At least someone will gain from my demise.
Do it now before it's too late and another dies. Another person you care about on the list.
Master Roshi, Krillian, Eighteen, Yamcha, Tien, Chaoitzu, Hercule, Bulma, Yajarobi, Mr. Briefs, Mrs. Briefs, Oolong, and Chichi.
Chichi . . .
Dead, they're all dead . . .
To be continued . . .