Monster 2: Resurrection

I laid in the bathtub, sinking down into the hot water. Why did they make these porcelain creations so damn small? Even a woman must have a hard time trying situate herself comfortably in such a confined little area. I closed the cream colored curtain, locking away the outside world that so disturbed me.

Ah, but a good bath could take away even the most chaotic fears and doubts that the world surrounds us with. And as a secret ladies, men take a lot more of these then they’d ever let on.

I tried to stretch, my large feet sprawled out on the shower tiles across from me. I sat simply gazing at them, remarking that they truly are an ugly creation when positioned awkwardly. What a strange thing the human mind must be to throw such random trivialities into process. So many strange ideas to deal with, I felt suddenly as if I were on drugs, trying to form sentences and opinions with a thousand strands of emotion and thoughts going through me. Like trying to explain something when a million other ideas were overwhelming you.

I just closed my eyes to them all, letting myself relax for a moment. I wouldn’t think about the condition of the world or my family or even myself. And I certainly would NOT start thinking about him!

A cold wisp of air suddenly crept over my naked chest and arms, my eyes flying open when something plopped into the tub with me. Through the mass of bubbles, I struggled to decipher what it was, feeling something tickling my leg beneath the sheen of white.

It felt hairy and rather large and I braced myself before gripping it and pulling it out. A large rat squirmed and screamed in my hand, its guts and insides pouring out into the tub with me. I threw it in horror, its blood staining the shower curtain as it collided with the material before slipping down to twitch on the floor. I could hear it still shrieking, its fat, bare tail slapping against the tiles.

I gagged, trying desperately not to vomit as I climbed out of the tub, turning away as the rat’s inwards began to float on the surface. Who would do this? Why?!

But of course, I knew ‘who’ though the question of ‘why’ still lingered.

Trunks.

I stomped out of the bathroom, a towel securely wrapped around my waist as I darted around corners, searching for the little monster.

“Trunks!” I hollered, damning to hell all of Bulma’s insistence that I remain calm and collected with the boy. Be patient my ass!

I stormed to the kitchen, demanding of Bulma where the little delinquent son-of-a-bitch was. She stared at me blankly before pointing towards Trunks, his body hunched over yet another drawing.

“Why you little….” I seethed through my teeth. Bulma immediately was on her feet, standing next to me with more anger then any concern. Predictable really. She’d take the place of that fiend if it meant the entire world went under.

“Goku, I think you need to calm down,” she was telling me. I shrugged her comforting hand off, glaring down at his back. He ignored me completely.

“Just WHAT do you think you’re doing throwing DEAD RATS into the tub with me?!” I all but screamed. Still he refused to acknowledge me and before I could reach down and grab the little sucker, Bulma had a finger poking into my chest.

“Are you crazy?” She spat, eyes filled with rage. “How DARE you make such SICK accusations against our son? YOUR son?! Would you ever treat Gohan that way? I don’t think so. So where the HELL do you get off talking to Trunks that way?”

“Bulma,” I breathed, closing my eyes and willing myself to remain calm. “Have you EVEN been listening? That little shit-..”

She poked me hard in the chest, her way of punishing me for the swear.

“Trunks,” I peevishly corrected myself. “Put a dying RAT in the tub with me. Tossed it right in.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” She snapped. “You must be truly going out of your mind, Goku. Trunks has been in this room with me the entire time.”

With that, the purple haired boy smiled up at me, waving his tiny little fingers for emphasis. I just gazed down in shock -rather then believing that he had nothing to do with it- trying to figure out just how the little bastard pulled it off.

“Now I demand an apology,” She was saying as I connected eyes with him. “Goku, say you’re sorry for accusing Trunks. And Trunks, you forgive daddy for being wrong. OK?”

I grit my teeth together, swallowing hard before muttering out a half-assed apology.

“It’s ok papa,” He grinned sweetly, turning back towards his drawing. “I wouldn’t want animal parts thrown in a bathtub with me either.”

“Good,” Bulma stated, shooing me away before rubbing Trunk’s back. I clenched my teeth in my mouth, turning back the way I came begrudgingly. There was NO way he had nothing to do with it. Everything about him was a complete lie and someday, Bulma’s precious fantasies would be revealed for what they were. Bullshit.


I slipped on the bathroom floor while entering it, sprawled out completely on the floor before bashing my head against the sink. I laid there, angry with myself for stomping out soaking wet and not even considering how slippery the floor would be later. I let my head rest for a moment before opening my eyes, clambering backwards at the scene.

I hadn’t slipped on water. The entire floor was sheathed in blood! I covered my mouth, stifling the scream that tried to overwhelm me. Fur and pieces of hair littered the floor near the bathtub, the curtain disguising what was behind it.

But I knew, nonetheless, something was waiting for me. I could hear sounds like scratching against the sides of porcelain, an occasional whimper or what eventually sounded like thousands of beetles climbing on top of each other. I hated this. I hated that I was so paralyzed by fear that I could barely get myself upright.

I steadied my hand on the sink before pulling myself upwards, screaming in terror as leeches covered my hand, overflowing the sink filled with blood. I tried desperately to shake them off, in my horror slipping once again on the floor and falling backwards into the tub.

The shower curtain ripped off its rings, clambering down around me as I sunk into a bath of dead animal parts and insects. I was too horrified to scream, feeling the fur and hair trickle with the blood around my body. The twitching of a squirrel’s leg against my thigh was enough to send me into hysterics and I all but blasted myself into standing position, watching as blood leaked from the shower head.

Jaw bones of tiny dogs with sharp teeth, eyeballs of various animals and what I soon assumed was one of our family cats, its head twisted backwards. I couldn’t help myself and finally ended up retching all of my stomach’s contents into the far corner of the bathroom.

But even in my chaotic, nonsensical state, I knew that I couldn’t reveal this to Bulma. No, her mental capacity was too fragile, too emotional to handle such a wretched scheme enacted so obviously by her pride and joy. And how could I explain that I’d known it was him, even as he hadn’t left the same spot for hours?

And so, when I’d gathered my senses, I began the tedious task of cleaning the mess myself, unable to sleep for yet another night.

How surprising.

As I worked, the words Trunks had said echoed in my mind, perhaps saving my sanity as I pondered them rather then the horrific mess I was tending to.


“It’s ok papa. I wouldn’t want animal parts thrown in a bathtub with me either.”

....................................


I lay awake, as exhausted as I felt, staring up at the ceiling. Bulma’s silent form slept next to me, not stirring as I sighed in discontent.

Trunks wasn’t mine, I decided. I would play Bulma’s game, raise him as my own and nod and smile when they called him my son. But it was all living a chosen lie. I could fool my wife into thinking that I honestly believed that I had spawned that soulless, conscienceless thing, but I wouldn’t even try to convince myself. I didn’t want to. I certainly could not be responsible for whatever the child was and-though the thought of DNA testing was out of the question- I knew in my heart, looking from Gohan to Trunks, which was my offspring and which, undeniably, wasn’t.

I listened quietly to the small noises of the house, the familiar creaks and groans brought about by the wind and thunder that rocked the foundation at times. Lightening flashed outside the window, booming seconds later and I shivered beneath the covers, surprised that a light sleeper like Bulma wasn’t up complaining about the sounds.

I sighed, turning off the night light next to me and rolling over on my side to stare at her. She remained quietly dosing beneath the covers, a tuft of her hair lying limp on the pillow. It looked old and lifeless, burnt or something. Fried and dead like a manikin’s. Odd in that way that you can always sort of tell the difference between real people’s hair and that of plastic Barbie doll’s.

Lightening struck, flashing and engulfing the room with white light for only an instant, the color of Bulma’s hair dull and grayish. My eyes widened and before I moved, the two doors to the outside balcony were blown open, cold air and rain pouring in. I tore myself out of bed, shocked at the strength of the wind and how I had to struggle in order to penetrate it. The thick curtains flew at me and I repeatedly pushed them out of my way as I forcefully closed the doors.

The entire room lay in dishevelment, stacks of papers blown this way and that, the sheets on our bed a rumpled mess. How could Bulma still be asleep after all that?! And then I saw it, my heart clenching in my chest and the feeling as though I were sinking taking over my body.

A large foot was protruding from beneath the white sheets, streaks of gangrene and bluish bruises lining the shriveled, decayed skin. Oh God. Oh God, it was all I could think, my heart thudding in my chest; my breathing forceful and coming out in gasps. Fear tore through me and I couldn’t move, staring at the gruesome thing lying limp on our clean sheets.

Moments passed, the lightening bringing horrific shocks to my body as it would illuminate the appalling limb. I forced myself to breathe, to think, refusing to pass out or even blink for fear the thing move or make a sudden jerk. These were irrational thoughts but as the fear poisoned my logic, I felt my body trembling uncontrollable. As if a cold wind had caused unstoppable chills to chatter my teeth, my body sensed the wickedness of this moment.

I demanded that my body move forwards, feeling the heaviness in my legs as I crept towards the thing, the wind shaking the shutters and banging the wood together.

“Look.” I ordered myself. “Move the sheet, and look.”

I stretched my hand towards the sheet, the fingers white and trembling as they closed around the edge. I shut my eyes for a brief second, giving myself a moment to gather my courage and do the inevitable.

One.

Two.

I tore the sheet away from the body, lightening striking at the very moment and white light illuminating the monstrously disfigured face of Vegeta! Blood poured down his eyes like tears as he stared up at the ceiling, a smile pulling at his mouth. Yet he was as dead as he had ever been, body rotten and decayed.

Maggots and beetles poured from his partially parted lips, crawling across the white sheets towards me! I heard screaming so loud that it took me a moment to realize that the person screaming was myself, holding the end of the sheet in my hand as I cried out in horror over and over.

I fell to the floor, scrambling into the corner, breathing in large, quick gasps. I was convulsing, my arms wrapped around my body as I stared at his mutated face, pale white skin and yellowed eyes. I held my breath, praying that I was deceiving myself as the yellows of his eyes moved, glossy and pussing, the black pupil slowly creeping over to stare at me.

“No….” I shook my head. “NO!”

The light turned on suddenly, Bulma stricken face staring in horror first at me and then at the body lying on her bed. She began to shriek, covering her mouth until her round eyes were all that could be seen, wide with terror.

But what lay tangled and deformed on the sheets was no longer Vegeta, but the body of her deceased father, skin stretched from bloating and decay, mouth contorted into a permanent scream.