Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Wishes, Horses and Beggars ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

Piccolo walked down the streets of the little town, looking in the shop windows and ignoring the people, who were giving him odd stares. With each shop he came to, his mood seemed to sink lower and lower into the dark reaches of depression. In the clothing shops, where they had their most popular wares in their windows, there was always a shirt that featured a Saiya-jin. Or a hat, or a jacket or lunchbox.

It seems as if here, our history is their entertainment he thought bitterly, forlornly. But even so, they still worship them here too. Piccolo took a look around to the children of the town, obviously skipping school, wearing their Goku or Vejita or Trunks shirts, looking at Piccolo as if he were walking around naked.

They do not even know who I am.

Piccolo let out a small, choked laugh as he crossed in a crosswalk, going toward the docks. Just as well, I suppose, they will leave me alone.

Just like when I meditated for those four years...

He shook his head and sighed as he reached the docks. The gentle splash of the waves against the docks seemed soothing, while the distant bellow of a boat's horn echoed pleasantly in the distance. Sitting down cross-legged, he stared across the sound, at the boats coming and going from the port, and the seaplanes that landed in the distance. The hazy sunlight reflected brightly off the waves of the dark water, casting small faeries of light on his stern, green face, the cool breeze blowing up off the water to gently lift his cape.

Shimatta, Piccolo, what are you doing here? What are you doing feeling sorry for yourself like this? This is foolishness. he told himself sternly, a bit of his old self stepping in to take charge. Just because they want to idolize those Saiya-jins does not mean that you never help anyone along side them.

.....

But that's where I was. Along side them. Behind them. Out of sight, unappreciated. For god's sake, I meditated for four years and no one noticed I was gone. Because ... because they do not care. I fought for them, and they do not even care.

Disgusted with himself for wallowing in self-pity, he suddenly stood up and walked away from the water to the down town district. He forced himself to walk amongst the people, but felt outcaste as he did. But this time, he minded. His former self, the seemingly strong, stolid outer shell was gone, and he began to feel the pangs of being different for the first time in his life. His mood steadily fell once more, his gait seeming all too heavy for him.

Downtown slowly became residential area, the people slowly thinning out, the overall atmosphere becoming quiet and calm, if not a little unnerving in a foreign way. Piccolo walked up the streets silently, his cape flowing out behind him, and looked about. Dogs barked at him. People stared out their doors and windows, then slammed them shut as he drew near. The local law enforcement gave him wary glances and talked over their radios. Piccolo closed his eyes a moment and tried to block them all out, but he found that increasingly hard, since being in a strange place had heightened his senses, making him more aware.

He suddenly turned into an alley as he walked, leaning on the first building he came to. He rested his forehead against his arm, squeezing his eyes shut, then opening them slowly. He let out a long, slow breath, coming to a painful conclusion, his heart dropping even more.

"By Kami... I am losing myself."

"What'd' we got here? Looks like he fell in a vat of green Jell-o!"

Piccolo lifted his head a bit to see a group of local punks. They were all looking at him as if he were green. Which, he was.

"What are you, freakshow?" one of them asked, beginning to circle him. The rest of his friends followed in suit. Piccolo merely let out a subtle growl and turned to face them.

"If you do not know already, then you do not pay attention in school," he lied, knowing good and well that if they didn't teach the whole history in Nihon schools, then they didn't in American schools, either.

The punk laughed. "Well, that's a given!"

"So I gathered. You do not seem to be the...`brightest crayon in the box.'" Piccolo mumbled. The rest of the punk's friends chortled at the remark, but their leader suddenly scowled.

"Look, if you don't wanna be fucked up bad, then I think you'd better shut your fucked up mouth!" he threatened, stepping forward. Piccolo snarled a bit at the challenge, knowing that he could take them down with no effort at all. But then he stopped.

Why? Why should I? There is no point to it. If I beat up these kids, I will be known as some sort of monster. And if I come out of this alive, no one will care anyway.

"Back off, little boy. Go home and get your diaper changed." Piccolo spat back, not even knowing why he felt the urge to taunt him. He turned his back and began to walk away. The punk, however, growled and rushed forward, kicking him in the small of his back. The blow made the boy reel back more than Piccolo did, but the damage had been done. Piccolo cried out in surprise and whirled around, rubbing his back.

The blow seemed to be the topper to the cake, the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. He turned and glared at the boys frighteningly, his fists clenched in anger as every taunt, every stinging word, every time he had been left in the background came back to him. The punk smiled in satisfaction as his friends began to gather around him, readying themselves for a fight.

.... a weakling little boy got the best of you.

Piccolo blinked at that realization, his stance faltering a bit.

No wonder you are always in the background.

You are useless.

I am useless.

Piccolo didn't fight back as the boys converged upon him, but rather crumpled under their blows. He laid there and took it, taking it as punishment for being ...himself. And as they beat him, and as his consciousness slowly left him, he began to think that ending here, as pitiful as it is, seemed fitting for such a pitiful fighter.

History class had always bored Kirk, but it interested Lisa just fine. She listened intently while Kirk sat behind her and read his videogame magazine. While Lisa had percussion during second period, Kirk had computer science, where he wowed his compatriots with his hacking skills when the teacher wasn't looking. Third period was second year chemistry, and they listened to their teacher, who was also the football coach, pace back and forth, raving about stoiciometry like it was the winning play at the homecoming game. Lisa half listened while she tried to memorize the periodic table behind her teacher's head, while Kirk took notes like a madman while passing notes about his last gaming session to his friends behind him.

Lunch was always interesting with the people they sat with, which were a variety, to say the least. They always ate outside in the courtyard when it was nice, talking loudly and harassing anyone dumb enough to leave their lunch trash lying around on the ground.

There was Heather, who they had dubbed the Makeup Queen due to her habit of reapplying her cover-up every time the wind blew. Always sitting next to her was Toady or just Toad, or Angel to anyone else. A freshman, she was new to the group and always followed Heather around. Always hanging around the girls was Kirk, of course, but also his male cohort Rory, the chemistry freak with a passion for soccer. Both of them were always trying to hook up with Heather and Toad, at any cost.

Sitting next to Lisa was Raven Bloodlust. A Goth, Raven's real name is Molly McCormick, but felt her name didn't reflect her inner angst toward the bubblegum flavored world. Sitting on a skateboard was Clutch. No one knew his real name, so they all assumed his parents had a grudge against him and named him that. He always wore ridiculously wide pants and Slipknot shirts, but sometimes had an odd day and wore ultra conformist Tommy Hilfiger shirts and khaki shorts. But however they were dressed or however they acted, they always had something to talk about and they always had fun doing it.

The bell rang as lunch came to an end, and the students were set on their burecratic hamster wheel once again. Kirk and Lisa traipsed to their Japanese class, sitting and listening intently as their bouncy, sometimes overly happy Japanese sensei babbled on about her experiences in Hiroshima, in Nihon. English was fifth period, and it was boring as usual, as the teacher babbled on and on about King Arthur and all the symbols in La Morte D'Artur. However interesting it was in the beginning, by the middle of the quarter symbolism was beginning to be a nuisance. And time always seemed to slow to a stop for Lisa during their sixth period geometry class, although Kirk ate it all up. He sat in front of her, answering every question about sines and cosines, scribbling madly on his note sheet and soaking up as much information about angles and degrees as he could.

But even bad times must come to an end, and sixth period math was no exception. The tones of the final bell went off over their heads, like a berserker's cry to battle. Immediately after the first peal there was a great shuffling of papers and slamming of books that arose over the bell and the teacher's last instructions for the day. Homework and papers were shoved into binders, and binders into backpacks as the students poured out of the door into the crowded hallways of the school.

Lisa met Kirk, Raven, Clutch and Rory outside of the band room door, her backpack on her back and her drumsticks in her hand. Clutch hopped on his skateboard while Lisa practiced a roll on Rory's head. Kirk snickered as Raven shooed her sticks away, claiming that she was the only one who had beating rights to Rory, and even as she spoke she exercised them by whacking him upside the head. Rory shooed them both away and hiked his backpack further up on his back.

"You guys are so mean to me," he sniffled playfully. "All the girls wanna do to me is beat me up."

"Well, it's better than no female attention at all, eh?" Raven asked, tightening the laces on her lace up black shirt. Rory let out a choked laugh.

"I'd rather they be asking me out."

Clutch chortled. "Yeah, sure, more like gettin` their groove on-"

"Hey man, shut up!" Rory retorted, laughing and throwing the remnants of his Sunny D bottle at him.

"Hey, pick that up!" Lisa shouted, her arms full of books and papers, as with her backpack. Rory bent down and picked up the bottle and threw it in the nearest garbage can. Lisa sighed, looking behind her shortly to talk to them.

"How can you guys honestly call yourselves environmentally conscious if you keep-"

"Lisa, look where you're going-!" Kirk shouted suddenly, pointing. Lisa turned her head around just in time to trip over a cat and fall face first into the cement of the sidewalk. She landed with a cry, her papers and books scattering all over the ground. Her friends laughed a little, then went to help her up. Lisa was bright red as she stooped back down to the ground and scooped up her papers, stuffing them back in her arms. But, as she happened to look down the alley, she noticed something odd....