Nowhere

BY : Felix_McKraken
Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1872
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z or any of the characters. This was made purely for entertainment purposes and no profit is made off of it.

Nowhere: -t-h-i-r-t-y-f-i-v-e-

The humidity was oppressively thick. So much so that when heavy droplets of rain began to descend upon the world it was a comfort. His head tipped back to gaze at the blotchy sky. The clouds seemed ugly to him - as he imagined they would look if an amateur artist had painted them. Yet, something seemed so oddly familiar about these in particular though. It was something unsettling, as if they were associated in his mind with a negative time or place.

CAN YOU SO EASILY FORGET? the chastisement came. It was a heady sensation hearing these words - it was like they were imprinted onto his mind. It was so powerful his body viscerally reacted by futilely trying to move away.

The sky then darkened unnaturally. No, not darkening. Dissipating. It wasn't... There was... wasn't...

 

Brief snippets of pain.

The pulse of his heart in his ears, the feeling of white heat, and the steady depletion of his stamina...

No. He thought this over and over again. NO, I DON'T WANT TO SEE THIS.

The darkness turned darker.  Then burnt.

It ate everything around him.

He felt fear. The type of fear that made it pure agony to live. And it was the type of agony where your physical form wasn't what was threatened, but you were threatened. And he was all alone, just like the last time. Last time?

No. NO! he begged, he pleaded, he sobbed and prayed. He understood that annihilation was unavoidable; he simply wanted to choose his terms. If he could just-

(Spopovitch and Yamu)

 

 

Which

                way

                                would

                                            you

                                                        go

                                                                                Kakarot?

 

 

 

 

Then

I'm

going

left.

 

He was enveloped in.

He was exhausted, but wide awake. Dear god, he couldn't think about sleep. What was this? This smear of sensation that eroded his speech and mutilated his perception?

 

 

 

It was a quiet afternoon and his room exhaled musty warmth as he opened the door to enter. He moved stiffly towards his dresser and gently placed his towel on the top. He met his own face in the mirror, but only held the look for a moment before he opened the drawer. He paused. He was not certain why he had done so, except that he felt an ultimatum brewing. Reaching for a fresh pair of pants, he hesitated again. He did not consider himself a sentimental person by any stretch of the imagination, but today his attention was obviously elsewhere. Carefully, he extracted two items and set them on top of the polished wood.

The first was something of a treasure. It was salvaged - as if by a miracle - and it was the only thing left of his father, his planet, his race. His fingers gently ran across the metal and stone inlay for a few minutes, the touch an unspoken elegy. Finally enough time had passed that nostalgia receded, and he felt mostly assuaged.

The second object…

He lifted a metal, rectangular container. It had been an extra of Bulma’s or her father’s. Its current use did not mirror its original. He rotated it, essentially fidgeting while he went through the motions of his inner debate. He hadn’t intentionally sought out the contents. It had been coincidence, but that didn’t explain why he took it into his possession. He opened the container.

It was a small piece of fabric, and nothing more.

At least, he tried to tell himself that.

Tried to ignore the striking colour.

Tried to ignore the memories of

                                            DISBELIEF.

                                            PAIN.

                                            REGRET.

Tried to ignore the feelings of

He made His Decision then. He would train in space. Away from this planet. Away from Him.

 

 

What was this? This smear of sensation that eroded his speech and mutilated his perception?

 

It was... happening... again...

              Over...

              and...                     over...

                            again...

 

no

  no

 

 

 

 

 

stop

 

please

 

 

stop.



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