Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Phoenix ❯ Prologue ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ or any of the characters. I do not own any of the song lyrics I use in my writing.

 

Author's note: OK…I'mma try to do this as unoften as possible (er…I don't think unoften is a word but you get the point) because I don't want my presence to be around much in the fic….but I'm just here to say this…I rated this fic NC-17 for a reason….there will be language, sex, and other “inappropriate” stuff….so if you no like…you no read? Simple right? I'm not going to give you warnings on the content of each chapter because I feel that that also takes away from the “realness” of the fic….so the only warning you're getting is this one…Don't read unless you're ok with it (why would you even be here if you aren't? If you can't stand NC-17 stuff then you're only going to give yourself a heart attack by going through NC-17 fics)

 

But if you're cool with it…then enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Introduction

 

The phoenix is a sacred bird of legend revered by many cultures. It is the living essence of fire—beautiful, powerful, and highly unstable. To the rest of the world the phoenix is immortal, but in truth it is trapped in a cycle of death and rebirth from ashes. There is no one to share the pain it feels as its own flames engulf its body. There is no one to care for it when it lies in the cold ashes--alone and vulnerable. The phoenix is isolated, soaring over the rest of the world as the symbol of supremacy. All remember and worship the phoenix's splendor. None know of its destruction.

 

For this is the life of the phoenix.

 

 

 

 

Prologue

 

Soryia Tokom bit her fingernails nervously as she watched the little blue-haired girl sitting nearby. With her silky aqua tresses and fastidiously clean jumper, Bulma Briefs was the image of a perfectly pampered little princess. Appearances aren't all that deceiving after all.

 

“Miss Tokom?”

 

Soryia jumped slightly and realized the little girl was speaking to her. Quickly removing her fingertips from her mouth, the headmistress of the most prestigious private school in West City gave herself a mental reprimand for unprofessional behavior and knelt next to her star pupil.

 

“Yes, sweetheart? Would you like anything to drink before the awards ceremony? Maybe you need to use the restroom?” She babbled nervously, knowing that the little girl wanted none of those things.

 

Bulma shook her head, causing her curls to bounce slightly. “No, I'm not thirsty and I already went to the bathroom. I just wanted to know if Daddy or Mommy called,” Soryia gazed into the girl's clear azure gaze and flinched inwardly. Those eyes had no place on the face of a child; they held far too much knowledge. The sweet innocence of Bulma's lotus petal features drowned in the blue depths of the girl's eyes. “They're not coming.” Soryia's thoughts were once again interrupted by the little girl's clear statement. It wasn't even a question.

 

“Oh, honey, I'm sure they will come. It's not everyday that an eight-year-old girl graduates middle school at the top of her class. People all over the city are flocking here to see you—why even the mayor is waiting to shake your hand! Of course, they'll come!” The youthful teacher winced, knowing the extremely shrewd child before her could easily see through her falsely confident declaration. Just for once, in the time she had known Bulma Briefs, Soryia wished the girl could be deceived.

 

Bulma gazed at her headmistress steadily. “They won't come. Especially not today.”

 

Soryia asked the question even though she knew the answer; the hypnotic effect of those blue eyes drew her in. “Why not today?”

 

“Because today, six years ago, my sister died,” Bulma looked away, tilting her small face towards the window where she could see the stars twinkling sadly in the sky. “I was just hoping that maybe they would call,”

 

 

 

 

Soryia returned to her own home a couple of hours later, with images of the night playing in her mind like a possessed movie. In it, she saw little Bulma, hiding her disappointment behind a false veil of excitement and giddiness, accepting her graduation diploma that stated she had completed her education at the private school and would be moving on to high school in the fall, she saw little Bulma posing next to her peers, who had thoughtfully provided her with a stool on which to stand, and she saw little Bulma calmly chatting with professors, city officials, and the mayor, with her vivacious voice that could—and probably would—charm the world.

 

She saw little Bulma staring quietly at the limousine that came to pick her up. She saw the nervous anticipation and the accepting apathy that followed when the robotic chauffeur revealed itself.

 

Soryia had never been one to choose favorites but she had loved the clever Bulma Briefs like she had been her own daughter. The child was brilliant, blessed with a mind could turn many scientists and businessmen into boiling green vats of envy. Perhaps, even more to her advantage, the competent Miss Briefs also inherited a type of charisma and magnetism that lured even the most emotionless skeptic to her side. Yet, despite the intelligence and radiance the child exuded, Soryia loved her because behind it all, Bulma was still a child. A child who had moments of petulance and temper tantrums that sent many away cowering in fear. A child who would grab a grownup's hand and plead for a story and enchant the older students into playing jump-rope or hopscotch with her.

 

Yes, Soryia adored the child. She watched the girl carefully and perhaps was the only one at the school who saw Bulma's vulnerability. The little girl's ambition and perseverance drew strength from a need to prove herself. To prove that she was worthy of being loved, that she would be enough to fill her parents' hearts. Enough to fill the gap left by the one they had lost.

 

Soryia flicked on the light in her study and ran her fingers across the spines of her small collection of yearbooks. The last year of the older Briefs girl's life was Soryia Tokom's last year as an English teacher. She had seen Bra Briefs around the school and knew that the thirteen-year-old had been strikingly similar to her younger sister, except where Bulma was energy encapsulated into a human body Bra had been a perfect little lady. Bulma had never met her sister, but she was aware of her presence everywhere. The school was littered with Bra's awards in math, language, science, arts, humanities, and more. Teachers often lamented over the deceased girl, unknowingly making the living one feel smaller by comparison. But instead of hiding and shrinking away, the girl had striven to become the best and win everybody's respect as Bulma Briefs and not Bra's little sister. Tonight had been her crowning achievement, for she had surpassed even her sister in academic merit.

 

But tonight had ultimately proved how Mr. and Mrs. Briefs felt. They never showed up for the shining hour of Bulma's education at Soryia's school. Instead, a beautiful wreath had been sent with a note congratulating Bulma on her success. Soryia noticed that even though Bulma would usually have thrown a fit at a disappointment such as this, tonight she had only been sad. Worse, she had an air of acceptance. Somehow she had known that her parents would choose to spend the evening at the grave and monument of Bra Briefs.

 

Soryia gazed down at the faded picture of the older girl and wondered if things would have been better if she had lived. Would the parents have loved both children equally? Or would Bra have continued to outshine her younger sibling, resulting in a much more introverted Bulma?

 

She shook herself from her reverie and firmly put the yearbook away. It was silly to ask such morbid questions when there would never be an answer. Unlocking a small safe she kept in her study for the occasions when she didn't feel like venturing into the pantry, she pulled out a glass and a bottle of wine. Uncorking the bottle of merlot, she carefully poured and then leisurely sipped.

 

On her desk was a recent picture of Bulma and herself. The little girl had thrown her arms around Soryia's neck and both were laughing with genuine happiness. Soryia knew that after tonight, it was unlikely that she would see the girl again. Bulma's actions after the ceremony had clearly stated that she wanted to close this chapter of her young life and move on to forget the school where her older sister's presence dwelt like a ghost wandering through the halls. In her mind's eye, Soryia could still see the little girl gazing hypnotically up at her.

 

“Good-bye, Miss Tokom. Take care of yourself.” With that she handed Soryia a small package and resolutely walked off, her short legs carrying her farther and farther away.

 

Soryia now opened the package with trembling fingers. Her fingers brushed against something soft as she pushed past the tissue paper. Slowly, she lifted out a large, white teddy bear. It was a gift the school had given Bulma a few years back; the girl loved stuffed animals and the teddy bear had been outfitted with the school uniform. Bulma had loved the present, and now she had returned it.

 

Holding the bear close to her heart, Soryia raised her glass towards the photo.

 

“A toast to you, Miss Briefs. May you find the peace that your heart seeks.”