Don’t you get it now? I didn’t care. You think to yourself, ‘there’s no way’; ‘He couldn’t possibly be implying that he had SEX with this guy right in the middle of a destroyed New York City!’. You’d better fucking believe I did!
Rolling around, tumbling through buildings, blood spraying from dead bodies as they served as our own monstrous bed. You think you know violence? You’ve never seen sex like this before. A human body couldn’t endure it. Tissue and flesh tearing inside and out; blood pouring from between my legs, bruises and broken bones; three busted ribs.
Hateful. I don’t think there’s any other word. Hateful.
Yes, that’s about perfect. He might have been the murderer of my entire family with the magnitude with which I hated him. It had reached a peak I haven’t felt since, nor had endured prior. And I say endured simply because it was heavy. Like a thousand weights laying over my body and someone coaching me to keep standing when I knew I couldn’t possibly do it.
Oh, but I’m getting too dramatic in my speech. Let’s just say, whatever it is you THINK you know about sex; you’ve never seen anything like this before. It was torturous, inhumane. When I thought I couldn’t keep it up anymore, I bared down harder. When I thought I would literally pass out, I would go faster.
And I learned many things in this one experience. He had just laid back, refusing to move an inch as I attacked him, punching him, strangling him and kissing him until I was swallowing mouthfuls of blood, his and mine. But never once did he deny it. The violence, the abuse, the sex. He took it all with that mocking, arrogant smile, just one more victory over my self control.
Yet when I came time for my……. hahaha, how would you humans phrase it? No, no. I need to say it couthly. Ah. When it came time to “penetrate”, as you might say, I was on the receiving end of the most brutal, passionate “asswhoopin’s” of my life. Its almost humorous when I think back on it.
Trying to achieve the dominance I had won over Jurion, I threw Vegeta against the wall of a building, kissing him savagely as I tried to slide in. In return, I was beaten to the point of death, fighting back just as savagely in my Super Saiyan form and gaining little by it. We’re lucky an early camera crew hadn’t arrived and caught us brawling buttnaked in the middle of million man graveyard.
I want this to be humorous I guess. Its an odd request. Maybe its my way of compensating for what I did. I had sex with another man on the bodies of victims. I forgot in those moments what I had come here for at all. I forgot in those moments who I was, who I’d lost. And to be honest, in those moments, I didn’t care.
So I use humor to cover up my shame and isolation. I have to shrug. Its not unheard of. Smile through the tears, they say. Learn to laugh at yourself. All pretty excuses to cover pain with pathetic humor.
So I did it. And now you know. My great confession. The one I’ll make no excuses for. The one you’ll never see the words “justification” or “conscience” in. Because I didn’t care about either. I wanted sex. I wanted violence. I had upgraded to super Saiyan for the second time in my life and I was high on the effects. So I did it. And now you know. And now, I’m repeating myself because I don’t know what else to say.
So I’ll just get back to the story.
The world went mad.
Mad? No. Insane. Crazy, mentally, logically, physically insane. It was like watching a movie with torture scenes. And you sit there and you cannot for the life of you ACTUALLY believe that humans would do that to each other. But they do. And they did. And all the bombs and the guns and the wars and all the prophesied “Nation rising against nation and Kingdom against Kingdom”, yeah, it happened.
The T.V became a forgotten blur of horrifying images and fool hearty speeches.
Every political leader in the world had the answer and yet, not one of those “wonder theories” stopped Sin. The President of the United States had been demolished in a failed escape from New York, pieces fit back together like a jig saw puzzle after they found him beneath a helicopter. Everyone blamed everyone else. The American Government was the first to start pointing fingers, first at the Germans, than at the Iraqis, than at just about anyone that wasn’t American themselves.
The murders reached the point so that my dreams weren’t even logical journeys anymore. Just sprees of mass blood shed without any recollection of where I had been, who I had been, who I had killed. Just blood and screams until I stopped sleeping altogether. And I mean that in every sense of the word.
If “Kakarot” had something to do with Sin, then by God, I was going to stop him. Sleep was no longer an option. Fuck that little commodity. I WOULD defeat this enemy if that meant keeping him cooped up in my consciousness.
Chi Chi ceased to be my wife and became the source of my constant irritation; the weight on the other side of the bed; the nagging little voice in my head. No longer my other half or consort, merely the human version of “Jiminy Cricket”, there to remind me of all my faults. And maybe it was for the best, as I had completely lay to the side any conscience that might have dwindled in the past.
Gohan was just a shell of who he had been before, his eyes dull, his mouth set in a permanent line. He showed no emotion whatsoever, staring at the screen of our television, playing violent video games and letting his eyes linger dangerously over me when I came too close. Speaking was no longer in his nature save for the small requests; “stay away from me”; “I’m hungry”; “Where’s the remote?”.
Inhumanely, he cooped himself up in his room, a shadow at night, creeping around the house. If I ever came in contact with him, a weak smile on my part was on the receiving end of a menacing glare. It wasn’t that he could pose a problem if I needed to fight him. Its that fighting him would pose a problem.
My escapades with Vegeta became the norm and seldom was there a day when I didn’t feel him calling out to me, beckoning me to delve into our little secret, add to the sin and bathe in this selfish existence. I would listen to his speeches as we rested against the cool porcelain of his large Jacuzzi, nodding when he spoke about the old familiar “freedom”, human frailty, the end of the world.
His theories about Sin were about as believable as the politician’s and religious leaders of the world, but I bought them just as quickly as the frightened hordes of humans did. He would explain to me all the faults of human society, showing me how they fell short of logic, how they fell short of morality.
“You see these churches, gathering the flock of humans to them in a great embrace,” He had said, smoking a cigarette, his head laying back against the rim of the tub. “And yet, in the time of the end, no generation of humans has ever seen so many collection dishes filled to the brim; thousands of wood knitted bowls passed out during mass, as if money could save a human life from the wrath of an Armageddon.
“Notorious mobsters laying down their life’s achievement, pouring millions upon millions into the collection plate, buying the priest a pretty new car. It doesn’t matter how much you build in life. You go out alone. And certainly God isn’t impressed. Imagine a tiny ant bragging to you that he is BY FAR the most powerful of all the other ants. Well, what would you say? Who gives a shit, right? And yet, how much more stupid these humans must seem, trying to buy the price of forgiveness. Pathetic!
“And if THAT isn’t bad enough, they get the priests to pray for them. What? Does the priest have a special cell phone? A better connection? Some kind of direct connect plan with God? I think not. He whispers a few consoling words, passes them the plate and BAM! One new house and a life full of sins forgiven. What a nice little deal.
“I guess people forget that priests are human too. I think it must be quite convenient to forget the monstrosities committed by the Roman Catholic Church, namely the slaughter of millions in the name of God. Wars come and go. Believers on all sides. And both so sure that God will help them to destroy the opposing. But would God do that? I mean, if He’s so fucking loving, cherishes His people so much, why would he choose one side over the other? Both worship Him. How does He decide which one has to go? It’s absurd.
“Put your life into the hands of a priest, oh, and don’t forget all your money. Quaint little thing about priests. The beginning of the first nunnery had nothing to do with penguin-like robes and silent women. It was for the pleasure of a lonely servant of God, a tiny tidbit of history you WONT read in the school text books. Nuns, nothing more then unpaid prostitutes for the hard working priest. And do you imagine they had birth control back then? Think not. Do you know what historians found, digging up the monastery of an old Roman Catholic Cathedral? Tiny bones. Thousands of tiny, human bones.
“After birth abortion. Yet another sacrifice in the name of God.”
And I would eat up his theories and ideas, letting the words and thoughts soak into myself until I almost knew exactly what he would say next, simply because I felt the same way.
To care was to bring destruction upon myself. To be “free”, well, there was a commodity. There was a goal. No attachments. No rules. No pain. Just the knowledge that the only standard I had to live up to was my own.
Time spent with Vegeta was the only time I enjoyed, freeing myself every minute as I experienced our sex over and over again. He taught me how to REALLY wait it out, going for hours upon hours until we had timed it just right, busting out all over the place. His mansion became OUR mansion, my visitation rights unlimited, everyone recognizing me by name. Jurion had become a frequent admirer of mine, constantly by my side at the nightly parties, trying relentlessly to goad me into a little one-on-one session.
But I had grown quickly out of that stage. It wasn’t any attachment to Vegeta as a person, simply the knowledge that he gave me what I wanted and I was content in that. I had no desire to try any new partner out for I had no doubt that Vegeta excelled in every aspect. Not to mention the part where I had become the most coveted of all his pets, his only partner for all I knew and the most precious of any before that.
I never thought about the future when we were together. There would be no reason to. Days came and went. The thought of this ending or not ending never crossed my mind. I just went day by day, doing what I wanted, conscience free.
But the world and its memories rotted around me. Ethnic cleansing in parts of the world became the horrors of Americans, some becoming spiritual hermits in their houses, stocking up on food to avoid the terror of the outside world. Some went crazy, suicide rampant in numbers that reached the point where counting would be ridiculous. Murder? Thoughts of an afterlife be damned! Death and chaos rocked the world, children killing their parents, parents killing their children. Nothing surprised me anymore. Nothing could shock me. A morally decayed world, reaping what it sewed.
“Freedom!” They had cried. “Fuck censorship, fuck morals, fuck right and wrong. We want freedom.” And by God, they got it. Freedom to live, freedom to kill, freedom to lose and freedom to die.
Black against white. White against black.
Everyone against everyone and no sides either way. Police brutality no longer an issue, the darker side of man began to show. The kind hidden away by pasted on congeniality. The side that lusts for blood and pain from any other being besides ourselves. The amendments were a forgotten history, freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of religion, all gone. Cruel and unusual punishment? Who’s counting?
Every day I watched the world around me crumble. Every day I realized we were damned. Every day I realized that hell had opened its gates to Earth, releasing demons into the spirits of human beings. And every day I realized that my only means to escape this logic was to become that which I had allowed myself. In a sense, I became what I had always hated the most.
I became the man who cares for nothing.
My existence was easily lived, walking through my day on autopilot, ignoring my wife, avoiding my son and awaiting the hour in which I would feel him calling to me, the sweet song of freedom, there to take me home. And I would teach myself to love him. Oh yes. If ever there were a goal that I had strived towards with all my being it was to love him.
Like a mindless, soulless gold digger, I sought this love to blind myself, seeking it and depending on it to cover over my doubt and hatred. God so help me, I hated everything about him. The way his skin was too perfect, his face too beautiful, his clothes so tight against that powerful body. I hated his morals (or lack there of) his ideals and thoughts, his sadomasochist sexual behavior and his belief in a heartless God. I hated everything I learned about him. But so help me, I WOULD love him.
These thoughts had plagued upon my mind for hours during the day as I had walked out onto the front lawn of my house, Chi Chi still nagging in the background, like music turned down so low you couldn’t even decipher the words, or better yet, didn’t care to. The sun was hidden behind the thick, dark layer of clouds, like a dull gray blanket over the sky, as had been the norm since the destruction of our beloved New York.
It occurred to me quite suddenly that the sun had not shone through for months, the sky black as pitch at night and dull during the day time hours. So, even the sky was mourning the loss of a million human lives. Was that what raindrops were? Tears from a grieving sky?
A blast shook me from my thoughts, the sound cracking through the air as I ran to the backyard, familiar spatters of blood and flesh falling down from the sky. The tree branches above were soaked in blood, the trunk of it a gore ridden mess. Gohan stared numbly at his outstretched hand, an unusual look of confusion ruining his normally solemn face. It was as if he had no idea what his own hand was, moving the fingers this way and that to remind himself of their function.
“Gohan,” I whispered, picking up a bloodied piece of cloth from the ground. His eyes darted towards me, as if he didn’t recognize me at all, a very real fear in his eyes.
“I…..” he stuttered, staring at me with wide eyes. “I………”
I studied the drenched blue fabric, recognizing it almost immediately. It was Icaris’s collar.
“He bit me!” Gohan blurted out, shaking his head. “He tried to bite me, I swear it!”
It was as if he knew I suspected otherwise, insisting over and over again that Icaris had violently attacked him. But I didn’t argue. I merely looked with sore eyes over the tiny, inch wide remains of a beloved family pet, gentle beyond his nature, protector of my son who had brutally ended his life.
“I had to do it.” Gohan was saying over and over. “He made me do it.”
But I knew. Of course I knew. He was lying and there was virtually nothing I could do about it. I clenched the collar in my fist, feeling the blood squeezed out into my hand, draining between my fingers. Warm, hot blood, fresh from another victim I didn’t save.
And catching my eye before I flew off, was the pretty little ring clutching onto my son’s finger. The Kiss of Hell.
...................
I sat on the edge of the porch, the hard, cold wood numbing my backside, the raunchy smell of cigarette smoke floating in my face. Smoking. Another cute trick I learned from the Prince. Well why not? We were all goners anyways. Might as well watch it all burn down in the cinders.
I hadn’t even heard Chi Chi approach from behind, creeping like a little monster from a Halloween special, startling me when she snatched the cigarette out of my hand, hurling it to the ground and stomping it wildly. Very dramatic.
“Have you completely lost it Goku?!” She screeched in that nails-on-chalkboard voice. “Smoking? SMOKING FOR GOD’S SAKE?! Are you nuts? What is WRONG with you?!”
I didn’t even feign the normal “listening routine”, looking forward and snatching another out with my teeth, lighting it with a cupped hand and my precious silver lighter Vegeta had given to me. I watched the embers glow, so close to my eyes, the pieces of ash curling around the top, smoke sifting out. So thin, so beautiful. So gone.
She had snatched the other away, hurling it to the ground with the same dramatics she had used with the other, grinding it into the dirt.
“Are you COMPLETELY GONE?!” She was screaming. “Cigarettes with KILL you! You think I want a husband with lung cancer!?”
Yada yada yada. If only it worked so fucking quick. And really, why do non smokers feel the need to reiterate over and over again the same old information? Oh my God! Smoking kills?! Wow, since when?!
Please. As if we haven’t been bombarded by a thousand boring posters, portraying the same exact thing as always. As if we don’t click the channel every time we see one of those heart wrenching tales about lost family members. Well guess what folks! People DIE either way. You are going to die. You eat bad, you don’t exercise, you hang around smokers, you drink, you die. And even if you do none of that, guess what kids? Lets say it all together now! You. Die.
I vowed that she wouldn’t steal another one as I was dangerously close to the end of my pack, the pretty little white sticks smiling up at me, poison in such a quaint little package. Why did I smoke? For the same reason that I did everything else. Because I could.
“You won’t do that again.” I stated coldly.
I looked up at my wife, seeing how out of breath she was, wondering if she had any clue just how little of that speech I’d heard. That’s right, wear yourself out. I pulled one more, tapping the end on my jean clad knee, never losing eye contact with her. One handedly I lit the end, letting the gorgeous white smoke filter over my eyes, blurring her out momentarily, the beast behind a sheen of beauty.
And just like that, with super human speed, the precious thing was gone and there she stood, standing over me as if she were an intimidating presence. Only, she wasn’t.
“I don’t think you heard me,” I stood up, grabbing her arm and twisting until she cried out. “I said, you WONT do that again! Do you understand me?”
“Goku,” She was pleading, staring into my eyes as she struggled. “Goku, you’re hurting me.” “I don’t think you get it yet,” I smiled, twisting to the side until she was pinned against me, tears building up. Oh that’s right. Poor, victimized wife. Get the tears going. I’ll feel sorry for you.
“Goku please!” she was screaming. “My arm! You’re going to break it!”
“And I care,” I smirked, with a wink. “I promise I do.”
“Stop!” She was shrieking in hysterics. It was SO over done. I wasn’t even hurting her. Why did she have to make an ordeal over everything? Why was she such a little degrading, irritating, repulsive Amazon of a woman? Fucking humans! Kill her!
“Goku, I’m your WIFE!” She screamed.
I let her go, stumbling backwards, realizing what I’d just done. What I’d just thought. I raised my fingers to my lips. I had heard those words in my mind. But it wasn’t my voice. It was Vegeta’s.
I couldn’t even breath, watching her fall, watching her broken arm flop to the ground along with her body, her eyes dull as she stared at me. The bone had ripped from her skin in the fall, white poking from outside the flesh, gleaming with sticky blood. It had spurted on her face, all over her eyes, dots here and there. A chunk of hair lay over her face, but I could see the whites of her eyes shinning through it, trying to recognize me for who I once was.
Kneeling beside her, I didn’t know what to do. It was like, knowing the Heimlich maneuver and then actually being faced with the situation. You know what you’re supposed to do, but the fear gets in the way. The questions. The sudden, strange impulse that whatever you’re doing is wrong and in some way harmful. So I just stared at her back, brushing the big locks of brown to the side.
“You shouldn’t have made me mad.” I said calmly, realizing I sounded exactly like one of those abusive bastards I’ve cringed to see on TV. “I told you not to make me angry. You made me do it.”
The typical psychotic mother fucker. Throwing the blame on anyone but himself.
“I’m leaving.” She whispered, her lips touching the grass of our lawn.
“Leaving?” I said, in the voice of a child. “But Chi Chi, you cant leave me.”
I gently brushed the hair from her eyes, petting her head.
“You love me. You wont go anywhere.”
I heard her crying, bawling very softly into the ground, her shoulders shaking.
“We love each other,” I cooed, kissing her face. “And that’s why you’re not going anywhere. People that love each other stay together Chi Chi.”
“I’m going.” She whispered, closing her eyes tight. “And you’ll never stop me.”
“Oohhh…” I sighed. “But I doubt that. Where will you go without me? Who will take you in if I’m gone?”
“Somebody.” She sobbed.
“Nobody.” I breathed against her ear.
“Someone already has.” She whispered softly. “And if you come near me, he’ll stop you.”
“A human,” I smiled, sitting upright. “that’s threatening. But do you know what?”
I smirked wickedly, leaning over her and tightening my hand against the back of her neck.
“It’s a good thing I don’t believe you Chi Chi. Because if I did…..this little affair you dream you’re having,” I grabbed her throat. “just how hard do you think it’d be for me to end it?”
