Alright. Here is the first chapter of my first story ever! Keep that in mind, and that I am new at this, but any critism is welcome! I have only a few things to tell you- first of all, I have finished writing this story. You heard me right- approximately 55 000 words in twenty-five lovely chapters. Why then, do I not post it all at once? I want to do what everyone else can- improve. So, I am posting a new chapter every two weeks OR whenever I recieve three good reviews. I mean the type that actually helps me. I don't care how long they are- although long ones are appretiated- they only need to have some sort of opinion in it. Tell me what you like. Tell me what you don't like. What/who do you want to see more of? Even just tell me a grammar or spelling mistake I had. It only needs to be beneficial in some way. This makes it so that the following chapters can be even better than the previous, and the new stories I am writing will be all the more better.
That said, I will honestly tell you that this story is a little slow at the beginning, but trust me, it gets waaaaaaaaay better as we get into the later chapters. If you would like, I can tell you which chapters are my favourites at the beginning of each. Or not. Just leave a review and tell me there.
Finally, I have to say that I am CANADIAN, and spell as such. I will be using things such as "Colour" instead of "Color" and "Valour" instead of "Valor". So if you think I have spelt something wrong, this might be why.
Legend of Fonts:
Thought (This only applies with certain passages, but they will obviously be thought because they are written in the first person)
Memory (This will be obvious from thought, because it will still be written in the third person)
~ Dreaming ~ (This will come into play later)
Um... I think that is all. I will add more if I find any I missed.
Okay! Without further ado, I give you Chapter One!
That was one of the only things that differentiated one day to the next- that despicable number attatched to it, continuing in its perpetual, merciless increase with every day. The days held titles no longer: they were just days. There were two parts of every ceaseless twenty-four hour cycle: day and night, but even those had little difference. It was just time counting on previously from that horrible, unforgettable moment, the moment that just kept replaying in his head over and over again.
"Good-bye, my son."
He... he had to say it, didn't he?
"Good-bye, my son."
He couldn't have just let it happen, could he?
"Good-bye, my son."
...of course not.
"Good-bye, my son."
He... he was above that.
"Good-bye, my son."
But... why did it have to be him?!
"Good-bye, my son."
Why... why couldn't it have been...
"Good-bye, my son."
Why did you have to die?!
No matter what he did or said, nothing could make him understand it. He remebered the first day- or at least, partially remebered it. Through a blur of bloody eyes, dizziness of concusioned head, and fuzziness of the pain of immesurable broken bones, he rembered that awful feeling. It had happened previously, and that provided him with some experience of how it was going to feel. Yet the previous time, there was still a glimmer of hope that his father was alive: a single, unprotected flame of optimism that he had kept alight, bright and never wavering. He by no means once truly believed that he would never see his father again and maybe, more than anything, that belief is what allowed him to continue on every day.
Except now, that light was non-existent. His father was dead, and no force on earth was able to change the fact that he had a single, vacant hole in his life where a father would always be absent. He was far from alone, but he always had a gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of his stomach, knowing that he was alone if he was going to go out and train or any other activity. Because of that single reason, he never did go out and train any more.
It was eleven months exactly. Or 334 days. Or 47 weeks and 5 days. Or 8016 hours. Or 480 960 minutes. Or 28 857 600 seconds. 28 857 601... 28 857 602... 28 857 603... when would the torture end? Gohan felt he was ready to see the site where it all transpired.
His mother protested, believing that the only thing he needed to do was study. However, when she saw the solemn, cold and determined look in his eye, she understood that stopping him would be a severe mistake.
Besides, she reasoned, Gohan has been inside the house for way too long- he could use the fresh air. He rarely ever comes out of his room nowadays- I guess he's really taken to his studies. She gave her approval to let him go.
Without even thinking, Gohan decided to take his seldom-used bicycle. He was surprised by this action, but it was more of an instinct, and he found that usually his instincts were to be trusted.
As he rode along the wooded path, the hours ticked slowly by, with little to no meaning to him. He was going a fair pace, not sprinting but far from slow, and when he passed by a bush or tree, the air rushed past them and threatened to tear their branches off with a single pass. The wind was refreshingly cool in his hair, which was slightly longer than his father's style of hair cut, for his mother was continuously arguing to let it grow out, and she had become enraged after the several times that Gohan would appear with it cut short again. She said that she wanted to cut his hair herself, or else let it grow long again. The demi-Saiyan had disobeyed this wish four times already, and the last encounter with his mother on the subject made him wonder whether doing that again would be wise. She could become interfering and meddlesome, and Gohan did not want that.
As he continued on, he attempted to recollect the rest of the events of that day, besides that moment, but his mind hesitated, and strangely found it extremely difficult to do. It wasn't that he had poor memory- more like his subconsciousness was finally taking initiative, and trying to steal that moment away from him and prevent him from causing further harm to his mental self.
Suddenly, his eyes darted up as he saw a poorly trimmed shrub approaching him. He had plenty of time to swerve and dodge it, but there was something internal that stalled him. He merely didn't care as a branch came and sliced past his face, no doubt drawing blood. His pace slackened, and he came to a halt as he regained his composure. He felt his forehead to find that the wound he received previously had re-opened, and a stream of blood was oozing out from it. He wondered if it would scar, as it hadn't fully healed from Dende's treatment, or in the eleven-month time it had to do so. He quickly wiped the blood from his hand onto his shirt, and looked around at the area he was now currently occupying.
Gohan recognised the area almost immediately, but from what he didn't understand. He was drawing near the location he was aiming for, but everywhere around him there were stalks of wheat almost twice as tall as he was. At first he was puzzled at why someone would be farming here, but then realised that before that fateful day, the entire area must have been a rural community. He pressed on, focused and wondering if there would even be anything left to see. Again, that instinct of his told him to get there, and soon.
The road he was traveling on suddenly turned from deer-path to newly paved, and he saw numerous vehicles flying past him. He knew it wouldn't be normal for someone to be biking on such a busy street, and decided that a more scenic route would be better suited. Luckily, the nearby wheat had a path traveling down it, and he granted that meant that it must lead somewhere. Gohan twirled his bike around and continued down the path, glad to be heading away from the noise.
Surprisingly, the path seemed to be leading exactly to where his unusually limited memory recalled the spot to be located. The grain was turning slightly, so he could not see what lay ahead, but his sensitive ears could hear something before he arrived, and it almost caused him to fall over backwards.
"HAR HA HAR HA HAR HAA HAR!"
He recalled suddenly, one of the events of that prophetic day. The one person who had no connection with Gohan on that day, Hercule Satan, claimed possession of that boisterous laugh. Gohan threw down his bicycle, with no regard to where or how it landed, and jogged forward to the end of the pathway. There was a sudden inclination, and Gohan heard people talking, and decided to manoeuvre onto his stomach so not to expose himself.
He inched his way forward and saw ahead, in a clearing, Hercule wearing his trademarked cape and sparring outfit. He was standing in front of what appeared to be a large tarp, covering something that would, no doubt, be revealed later. Poised with his hands in two fists on his hips, he was laughing at something a nearby news reporter had said. Gohan was listening intently, as he heard the world-champion begin to talk to all of the news reporters and spectators.
"Now, are we about ready to begin? I don't want to keep my adoring fans waiting… har ha har haa!" He shouted to everyone. The cameramen pointed the video-recorders to their respective news reporters as they all gave the introduction to an unquestionably live broadcast. Gohan focused all of his attention on what important event was taking place here- of all places!
"Now, we take you live to your reigning world martial-arts champion, Mr. Satan!" One reporter announced loudly as all of the cameramen pointed towards the so-called champion. He was obviously enjoying his time on air.
"As all of you already know," he started, "I am Hercule Satan. Many months ago, on this spot, a terrible monster known as Cell held a deadly tournament to decide the fate of the planet…"
Gohan couldn't believe his ears. He watched, entranced not by the man but by what could possibly be standing upright behind him. His hearted raced as his mind held itself to one conclusion; they were going to honour his father.
"…but I stood firm, waiting for my turn…" Mr. Satan continued.
Gohan did not pay attention to what the man was saying anymore; he was too busy thinking of what the statue would look like. He thought it might be his father in his fighting stance, or perhaps his father standing up tall with his eyes closed, scratching the back of his head as his father- and himself, in fact- was notorious for doing.
"…threw him back like he was warm butter!" Mr. Satan described, much to the amusement of the reporters who couldn't help but snicker every time he used a phrase incorrectly.
Gohan suddenly thought that they might have his father with his serious face in the statue- the solemn face he wore when someone was threatening the people he cared for, such as Cell did. That face sent chills down Gohan's spine. Gohan suddenly realised why his father had that face. When he first stood up against Cell, he couldn't find it in his composure to smile at the beast. Cell, however, took everything lightly, laughing at the pain of other people. Gohan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the memory came back to him.
Gohan watched in horror as his friends were being brutally tortured to the cheek of death, all because he was not strong enough to fight Cell. He could do nothing but feel himself slowly lose his sanity.
"Playtime's over, children. You can kill them now."
Gohan now felt the anger coursing through his veins just at the thought of that moment. He clenched his fists as he attempted to regain his slipping control of his feelings and consciousness. He directed his attention back to the clearing as he watched the champion ready himself to remove the tarp.
"I present to you…
"The HERCULE MEMORIAL!" Mr. Satan shouted, and many reporters chortled as the tarp fell to the ground. Gohan started to stand, shocked at what he saw.
Standing nearly eighty feet tall was a large likeness of Mr. Satan. At the base of the statue's feet was a large stone block with names of people engraved into it. Sergeants, Lieutenants, and many other military people, as well as the names of innocent citizens were all listed below the phrase "ALL THOSE WHO WERE LOST IN THE TRAGEDY. MAY THEY REST IN PEACE."
Gohan's eyes darted across the stone tablet. He even hovered in the air slightly to get a better view of the other three sides. He blinked at what he found, or rather, lacked to find.
They didn't mention his father.
Not only is the statue not a memorial to Father, the man who, without a doubt, was the saviour of earth not only in this instance, but in numerous others, but they also do not even mention him among one of the fallen. They are going to give all the credit to this person that I have never even heard of until recently. They are all too happy to give awards, money, and undoubtedly other riches to this man who did nothing, absolutely nothing. This man is going to have a gigantic statue to represent him for thousands of years for something he never even did. Meanwhile, Father's name will fall into obscurity, forgotten for all of the deeds he did, many of which saved the planet's existence. The entire credit would go to this man, who would only be too happy to accept all of the rewards, without ever doing any work. Father had trained for so long, suffered so much, and eventually even given his life for this man to take all of the credit.
Completely unaware that he was already in his Super Saiyan form, Gohan stood with his head bowed. He clenched his fists even tighter, and as a result his fingernails punctured his skin and blood began to seep down his hand. Tears began to stream from his eyes, and the inevitable happened.
...hmm? So, are you intrigued? I hope you decide to stick with me through this story.
If you were confused by the first little part of the chapter, it was Gohan's thoughts with his memory of that awful moment. Anytime you see an italic passage in the story with no introduction, it is highly likely it is Gohan's thoughts. Also, sometimes I will have a random bit of italic at the end of a sentence. This is ninety-nine percent of the time Gohan's opinion of whatever that passage said. Here's the examples from this passage, I also bolded the italic:
"Gohan focused all of his attention on what important event was taking place here- of all places!"
"Or 8016 hours. Or 480 960 minutes. Or 28 857 600 seconds. 28 857 601... 28 857 602... 28 857 603... when would the torture end?"
This is what I think Gohan would think about the subject. The only reason that I do this is because I want the narration/storytelling/whatever it is called to remain partially neutral on the story, because I have a habit of showing my opinion in my writing. It is almost certain that I will do so in this story at some point, but I want to try and avoid that as much as possible.
Anyways, that's enough from me. Read, Review if you would like, but most importantly, Enjoy!
See you in two weeks (or less).