The night wind blew in softly through the window that opened to the balcony. The curtains danced as the soft breeze came in. With it the nice smell of recently fallen rain, of rustling, wet leaves. The light of the moon fell on the wall before him. He could barely make out the things on the shelves across the bed he was on with the poor light.
The one sleeping next to him shifted, his arm stretching out. Still asleep, he moaned in pleasure. Light fell on his sleeping face, his mouth slightly open, his eyes closed tightly. He disturbed to sleep soundly, after all the things Trunks his son had been through lately. He took his gaze away from the sleeping boy and continued to stare out the window.
A thousand tiny lights shone outside. In the distance, the lights from the houses were endless, row after row, shining red and blue. Drowning in the millions of lights of the city. He stared at the yellow snake on the country side, leading into the sky. A highway running hidden in the wilderness, the lights of the cars like a caravan on the earth. Dogs barked in the silence. Distant. The wind picked up again, bringing the diminutive sounds closer to him. People talking, murmuring about their jobs, about their day. A radio player, its quiet music drifting in the silence , Bulma humming softly along with it in the room below. The unintelligible sounds of people in the street. Cars speeding in the road below, the wet asphalt crackling. The mumble of a car starting ready to join the others in the highway. A closing door. The channel news on someone's TV. Human lives. He narrowed his eyes. From here, he thought, he could almost see Kakaroto's house, its windows lit. The Saiyan warrior was up late, his children and him taking a hot bath on the wooden tub outside. Regaling in the peace of the forest's cold night air. He closed his eyes. Kakaroto was faraway in his home in the woods.
Darkness. His eyes closed, the lights of the city forgotten, he surrendered to the darkness. Once, the darkness in his mind had been comforting. He had been used to locking himself away on it, to savouring the independence he found there. He had never been much a group man, keeping to himself. In his mind, he was always alone. In it, he had made a world were he was still king. His mighty planet was still alive. There, he had never lost a battle, never felt humiliation. The deafening noise from the outside world could not harm him. It was a haven were his pride was never hurt. After loosing himself in the darkness, he'd always gathered strength to meet the world around him.
But, the darkness was painful now. And his mighty race was dead.
A sudden kick brought him out of his thoughts. In his sleep, Trunks had stretched and had accidentally hit him. He opened his eyes. The boy looked silly, dressed in the oversized sweater of the Capsule Corp, his hands and legs sprawled like a rag doll. He had only one sock on. His little butt was half naked, his underwear almost all rolled down. Moaning, the kid turned himself over so many times that he was a mess of covers and clothes. His lavender hair was all messed up in his face. The bed was too small for both of them. Slowly, the little one was sprawling himself all over him. He frowned as one of the boy's legs, the sockless one, landed on his own leg. The boy, no doubt, would end up sleeping on top of him. He sighed. His eyes returned to the light of the moon on the wall.
They were strange, he thought, the patterns the light on the wall. They swayed, as the curtains were lifted gently by the wind. The light played, almost, in the wall, falling over the tiny objects on the shelves. It played hide and seek among the little toy houses, coming in and out of their porches. Running over the tiny figurine toys, the grotesque monsters and robots, the tiny fog men. It was reflected on the lights of the toy train assembled there. It went through toy to toy --childishly playing among them. He frowned. He never noticed how many toys his son had. How many different shapes and sizes there were. Humans, he thought, they always made so much of one thing. Variety they call it. He smirked. Humans love toys, even the grown ups. To them, everything is a toy, life was a game. Their cars are toys to them. They make parks so they can play in the various machine rides, dreadful, silly things that spin around taking the rider through some plastic, carton fantasy house listening to shirpy songs as the puppets dance. Humans love to created fantasies, as if the life they lead has no interest. They created sports, including fighting as one of them. They gave it a stupid name, he thought, boxing. Even their food has toys! How many times had his son spent entire mornings playing with his cereal box? He frowned. He had never had a toy. In his childhood he had not had the time or care for one. It had been a constant battle. In order to live and grow strong, he had to fight ,to conquer to protect his pride. He smiled. His enemies had been his toys. They had also come in many sizes and shapes. He had spent delightful hours tearing their limbs apart, shredding them to pieces. Like his son, he had also played with his food.
The light of the railway was blinking in the darkness. He sighed. Trunks had forgotten to turn of the toy train. A least the stupid song that it had brought pre-recorded was not playing. That song could drive anyone insane when played too often. Humans, he thought with a smile, enjoyed many things that were irrational. They liked to be scared by silly thrill rides. They keep building them higher in order to scare themselves witless defying speed. They make movies, books, toys and music to provoke their feelings, making themselves cry over someone they never knew or that wasn't real. They ruin good food, even simple meat. They even play with their psychology. No doubt their biggest flaw is their ability to endlessly create trouble for themselves. They are so fascinated by machines, by the unknown, and philosophy. Their existence. Humans hardly understand the reason to their being alive. A race of weak maniacs! Obsessive, foolish maniacs! Nothing compared to his fiery race. His people had known their full purpose. Nothing they ever did had been in mindless stupidity. Senseless acts, senseless words were not the way of his people. Humans feel the need to find a reason, a feeling for everything. When asked if they truly like the things they own, they answer that they don't really know. They only own them because everyone else does. Humans are crazy. The endless search for their meaning drove them insane, consumed them. He smirked. Humans will never find a meaning to their routinary lives. He, like his people, had never cared. To live and survive had been all there was to know. To be strong. His people had never bothered to go after the petty explanation as to where the world had come from, or what are the makings of their bodies.
He closed his eyes. His race was dead. The senseless humans were alive.
A distant siren broke his thoughts. Humans have no respect for peace and quiet. Maybe if they silenced themselves and their planet, they would be able to find that meaning they so crave.
Trunks spoke incoherently in his sleep, stretching out his other leg, the socked one, over his torso. Vejiita stared at the boy's face. So like his own, so much like Bulma's. The boy, he knew, would never be Saiyan. He was half human. His blood forever tainted with the weakness of a race of dreamers and sentimental fools. After living his life in this planet, he would never be a complete Saiyan warrior. Like Kakaroto, his human side will always interfere. Bulma will always be there to remind him of the ways of her people. This would mar him forever.
Even so, as he felt the child's naked skin hot next to his own, he did not mind that much anymore. Human feelings would not be that harmful. He remembered the fire in his older son, the one that had come from the future. The boy had grown to be even stronger than his father. His actions were dictated by feelings, true, but his sword had always struck true, his dedication to become stronger had impressed him. The relationship they'd had was deeper than he would ever admit out loud. Against his own stubbornness, he had found that the boy's inner feelings and emotions made him strong. He smiled.
Softly, as not to wake him, he lifted the child's legs off from his. He carefully removed his own legs from under the child's, letting his legs fall back in the bed. The bed, he frowned, was much too small. He had never really understood human bed sizes. A twin bed, he believed they were sleeping on. He'd have to get a king size bed. There, Trunks could shift all over it if he wanted to. He smiled as the boy immidiately rolled over into the place that was emptied as he got up from the bed.
He gritted his teeth as his bare foot stepped on one of the many toys that lay on the floor. He always hated that ridiculous sound those inflated, plastic toys make. He looked back at Trunk's sleeping form. Still asleep. With his foot, he kicked the cursed toy, a red dog, out of the way. His son has too many ugly toys.
Being careful not to step on anymore of them, he tip toed away from the bed. It was cold, he noticed, as he opened the window. He stepped out into the small balcony. He regretted that he was only wearing a loose shirt and some underwear. The wild wind blew his hair and clothes. He closed his eyes, leaning on the white rail. It had rained a few drops. The baranda was still a bit wet. His feet felt the rain drops on the floor. The city was engulfed in darkness. Only the million of tiny lights punctured the black void. Faraway. The bustle of the city remained faraway. Like a dream. Like a picture. Never fully grasped, only there in its pure beauty.
Looking down at the darkened city, he sighed. He had never really felt part of this world. Vejiita-sei destroyed, there were no more battles for him to fight. His conquering days were gone. And why conquer anymore? That held no satisfaction for him either. Once in his past, he had believed he had a destiny, a reason to go on fighting. He stared at the snaking cars lights in the distance, at the countless luminescent billboards, smelled the rain still in the air. There is no reason to fight anymore, nowhere left to belong. His vision blurred. Perhaps it was time to die.
He gasped as he felt something grab unto his legs. It was cold against his skin. Looking down at it, he saw Trunk's face staring back at him. His blue eyes staring deep into his soul, like only his child could do. Once he had his father's attention, he released his legs. He sat down next to his standing figure, hanging his bare feet over the balcony rail. The wind blowing his lavender hair wildly.
Vejiita didn't say anything. The boy understood his father's silence. There was much his son comprehended that was beyond his age. He always admired the sense of privacy the child allowed him to have. The child grabbed the bars of the baranda, looking out at the city, a smile on his lips.
"It's so cold, papa!" he said. " I like it!" He let out a tiny laugh, giggling as the cold wind that rushed up from the street tickled his feet. He swung his legs merrily over the railing.
So much like him, yet so unlike him.
Vejiita smiled down at his son. His planet was gone, his race was dead. There will never be anymore Saiya-jin children. Earth will never be a real home to him, its craziness was beyond him. But all was not lost.
He frowned, staring at his son's swinging legs. There was a reason. It was swinging its legs on the baranda dressed in an oversized blue sweater, its underwear falling of, wearing only one sock.
Slowly, he lowered himself to sit next to the young boy, letting his naked legs hang over the railing as well. The rushing breeze was so cold as it tickled his toes.
Trunks leaned back, resting his head on his father's chest, pointing at a bright light, smiling. His father didn't speak. The little boy would never understand his father's bitter past. He would never know about his father's struggles, about his cruel life. Those were things Trunks didn't need to know, all he wanted was to feel the heat in his father's body as he pressed his back unto him.
Vejiita let his hand rest on his son's shoulder holding him close for an instant. A small instant, both of them in that small balcony.
"It
is cold, son" he said "I like it that way too"