Epochs of Yore

I do not own DBZ, nor am I making any money off of it.

Epochs of Yore

The thought plays through my head consistently as I lay here in the heart of my one bedroom apartment. The name and face belonging to the most coveted woman rehashing itself within my psyche like history. Her face, her anatomy, her whole striking me as beautiful as if it were for the first each time it plays. The impeccability of her skin, the richness of her lips and the wraithlike hint of her eyes. Just like the photos in magazines…but better.

My eyes reveal themselves only to be blinded by the obscurity of the darkness but reminding me of the secrecy that I confined within my being and the ambiguity of my reasons for our relations.

I chuckle to myself. Everything it seems causes me to reminisce about how fucked up my life has been for years.

I unquestionably will not sleep tonight. That in its self is nothing nearly new, at least not since…..

Trying meekly to discard the memories of that derailing day, I sigh as I sit up in my bed, surmising how my life without her will finale and coming to the realization that it is irrefutably my own fault as I already have infinite times before, for I am unable to help this thinking. The reason we all know why she isn’t here to call my own any longer.

I lean over to turn on the lamp that settled on top of the nightstand and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

The bed.

The bed that so many times endured our sexual convenes. Our sweaty forms of ecstasy kissing, touching, and rolling within the cotton sheets listening to the faint tunes of a slow song or to the monotonous sounds of the night….or maybe in her case--silk sheets. Red ones…

But God, I am getting off the subject though, aren’t I?

She has always liked to live expensively, as she should, but that has never been anything that I’ve habituated myself to. Conversely, someone of her beauty should be subjected to any means necessary by all….alas with the exception of me.

Lets face it…its way to late for any of that now, and it wouldn’t matter if it wasn’t….

I sigh as I take a minute to rub my aching sleep deprived eyes to the brusque light that filled the room before getting up and heading towards my living room. I glance at the wall clock.

4am.

I grunt as the time registers while zooming in on the hard liquor bottles that were left at the foot of the sofa. It seems as though this is my only route to getting any sleep these days….become inebriated and pass out where ever the hell my body decides to. That’s how I’m getting by I’m sure because if it weren’t I would’ve long ago died from exhaustion….even if I cannot evoke it.

Its pathetic I know, but what can I say?

I flop down on the sofa and ineptly knock over a picture frame that sat on one of the end tables. I turn to pick it up and am almost engulfed by sentiment. It is a picture taken a few years ago by most likely her mother. She is smiling jovially and I of course am not.

I don’t like taking pictures. My scars stand out too much if you can believe it.

I remember the picture as if it were taken yesterday. She didn’t have any photos of me and her together and she really wanted some. I of course was against it but I did it for her. We were out side of the corporation possibly for one of her get-togethers. She had them biweekly nearly--which reminds me…I hated this picture and still do to a certain degree. She made me frame it because she liked it. She told me to put it up for display so that I can be reminded of how beautiful she is and how lucky I was to have her.

How right she was but I took her for granted.

My appearance in the picture is once more under my scrutiny. Quite a looker I was. Nice toned body from all my training covered with debonair casual wear and my black silky hair fell to my shoulders. My skin was flawless just like hers with the exception of my scars of course. No wonder I had so many offers. Yes a very appealing man I was…

But now? My hair is a tangled mess due to laxity and twice the length in the photo. I’ve gained weight from improper diet and ‘drinking too much’ I guess is a good way to verbalize it.

Abruptly, something in the picture catches my eye. Something that I have never noticed or even paid enough attention to see it before…“What the hell is this?!” I say aloud, my anger hitting me hard as I come to the recognition that that BASTARD is in the background of this picture! I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it!

“Motherfucker!” I slam the frame onto the hardwood floor breaking the glass of it into small bits. I snort in disgust as I cover my face with my hands. I want to kill him! End his life as he did mine…in more ways than one.

I hate myself for everything. And I really should. The deceit and the amorality. The crying…the guilt, the burden…all because of…me.

They have a son now. With light hair just like his mother and a face much like his father. All together? I chuckle impishly. The appearance of a queer in my eyes. I’ve never been one for kids.

I pick one of the half full liquor bottles up from the foot of the sofa, the contents and my thoughts tempting me to imbibe keenly. I’ll definitely be needing to make a trip to the store….may as well do it now. I’m certainly not doing anything else.

I throw on a white T-shirt and slip on my shoes and walked out the door….preparing myself to buy enough that’ll keep my knocked out for a nice amount of time….