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    Trunks lay on his bed. His eyes are closed, but they dart around violently. Sweat pours over his face. He turns to his left on his bed.

    Bulma watched her son with a heavy heart. She sighed, and bit down on her lips to keep the tears from falling down. The tears are falling anyway. Bulma rested her head on the table and sobbed.
    “Why Trunks? Oh God, he’s just a boy. Take me instead…” Bulma cried. Ever since her son’s battle with the Jinzouningen, she had wished the same wish over and over again. That her son, her beautiful son, would not have to endure the pain no other 17 year-old has. She wished, her son would not have to bear the world’s weight on his shoulders. But he has. The last warrior. The lone warrior.
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    Trunks had flown off in anger, swearing revenge against the Jinzouningen for killing Gohan, and destroying the world.
    Bulma found her son unconscious after a day’s search. Trunks lay between the rubble, barely alive. Bulma was extremely relieved that her son was still alive, but she was extremely worried about his present condition. “Would he survive?” The thought crossed her mind every two seconds. She realized her son was down with fever. As she put Trunks over her shoulder, it frightened her that her son was so light, she wished she had learned how to fly.
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    Trunks hands were clenched into fists. His eyes are shut tight, but the violent movements in them has not stopped, indeed, it seemed to move much more faster. His beautiful lavender hair are wildly strewn about him. He moaned.
    “Otousan…”
    “Father…”

    Bulma jerked up. Had Trunks said something? She hurried over to the bedsides, taking the towel and dampening it. She twisted it dry and wiped the sweat off Trunks’s forehead. She pushed back his lavender hair and he turned around again.

    “Gohan-san…”
    Trunks turned around, this time more violently. His arm knocked Bulma, and a startled gasp escape from her lips. He has been in a fever for five days. A word, a gesture…Bulma’s heart swelled with joy. Could Trunks possibly be…? Bulma felt like dancing in the infirmary. But the sight of Trunks quickly sobered her.

    Trunks was twisting and turning around the bed. He murmurs coherently for the next few minutes, just repeating and repeating himself.
    “Otousan…”

    Memories came flooding back to Bulma. If only Vegita was here…Vegita could see the fine young man his son turned out to be…He could comfort her and hold her…He could comfort Trunks as he lay in his fever after fighting the Jinzouningen…
    The tears are flowing freely again. Bulma’s body racked with each tortured sob she took. Her Vegita…Why had he leave her so? The learning was hard, the lesson to let go. For months she didn’t want to let go, she was afraid that the memories would lose themselves if she did. If letting go of Vegita was hard, letting go of Trunks is pure agony. Each time Trunks flew off to fight, each time he blasted into Super Saiyajin, Bulma knew she had to face a possible loss.
    Bulma was scared out of the daylights. She couldn’t…she needed…The last five days had been hell for her.

    Trunks continued to twist and turn on the bed, gesturing all over the place and murmuring the word “Otousan” all over again. Bulma tried to hold him down, but even though he had been sick for so long, Trunks easily overpowered her.

    Bulma began to cry again. The tears just falls down as she attempted to wipe the sweat of Trunks’s forehead. She could feel the tenseness in Trunks’s body, his muscles are all contracted powerfully. Finally she managed to wipe the sweat off successfully. Trunks stopped.
    “Otousan…” He relaxed his body, but he still didn’t wake up. Bulma cried again. “I’m so sorry, Trunks. Your father isn’t here…” she whispered. A tear fell down from her face and on to Trunks’s cheek as she bent her head down to cry.

    Trunks felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his body. He struggled to open his eyes, but the bright light only made him squint. He thought he saw someone…
    “Otousan…” he called. No answer. But he heard someone crying. A voice. “I’m so sorry, Trunks. Your father isn’t here…” The voice was faint, but he could recognize it. He felt a tear drop on his cheek. He finally knew who it was, and he smiled faintly.
    “Okaasan…”

    Bulma looked up hopefully. “Did Trunks really called me…?” she thought. She looked up and saw Trunks squinting to look at her. “Don’t cry…” He lifted his hand to wipe the tears of her face but Bulma held on to it for dear life.
    “Oh, Trunks…” Bulma sniffed. “I…” Bulma reach down and carefully hugged her son, making sure not to aggravate his injuries.
    Trunks smiled weakly. “I love you…” he whispered. “I love you too, Trunks.”
    “Okaasan…”

    It was the best thing Bulma had ever heard in her entire life.

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DJ Lesser (jndoris@tm.net.my)
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