Mirai no Hope (Hope of the Future)

By Marisa Price

Based on Dragonball (c) to Toriyama Akira.

This story is copyright to Marisa Price, 1999.

Poem "The One Hope" by Dante Gabriel Rosetti (1828-1882)

Song, "Voice" from Dragonball CD #14. Sung by Yuka.

"The One Hope"

By Dante Gabriel Rosetti (1828-1882)



When vain desire at last and vain regret

Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain,

What shall assuage the unforgotten pain

And teach the unforgetful to forget?

Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet--

Or may the soul at once in a green plain

Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-fountain

And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet?

Ah! when the wan soul in that golden air

Between the scriptured petals softly blown

Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown,

Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er

But only the one Hope's one name be there--

Not less nor more, but even that word alone.





Trunks gently laid the collection of wildflowers, gathered together with a strip of twine, on Gohan's grave. Fancy bouquets no longer existed in this barren world, and a humble memorial was all that Trunks could offer. Perhaps Gohan-san would have preferred it that way. The very fact that there were still flowers proved that life could survive, pushing its way up between the rocks, the old life crushed but the seeds flying to the wind to emerge again elsewhere. Flowers and people; both were beaten down again and again, but continued to exist. Trunks noticed as if for the first time the soft green grass covering the mound, and remembered when it had still been fresh, dark earth. Time passed and erased almost all traces of those who had lived in its passing. It was different for those who remained behind, for the pain passed neither as swiftly nor as completely. Three years. And the memory was still as strong, and as awful. Trunks' desire to avenge his mentor, his friend, was also still unfulfilled.

"Gohan-san...." The name ran through his thoughts, and he let the tears flow freely. Grief did not pass quickly in a world where there was little hope. It was time for him to change fate.

-You are this world's last hope, Trunks...-

"Gohan-san..."

Trunks closed his eyes and remembered the day of the funeral...

* * * *

"...Voice...Anata no..." The music faded in an out on the radio from the underground broadcast, but, despite the poor reception, neither Trunks or Bulma bothered to shut it off. It was a melancholy song, and it fit the bleakness of the dreary, dreadful day.

The morning of Gohan's funeral dawned much the same as the hour of his death. Thick clouds hung heavy on the horizon, and a gray dismal rain splattered disconsolately to the earth. The radio crackled a bit after the sound of thunder, and a streak of lightning bolted through the sky, brilliantly illuminating the two grieving people in the aircar.

"...And now the news. Nothing has been heard from the Jinzoningen for several days. The most recent murder was of a solitary man, Son Gohan. For unknown reasons he alone was brutally killed two days ago in Pepper City...."

Trunks stared hard at the radio, wanting to turn it off with only his thoughts and hatred. Before he could summon the will to move, his mother put her slightly-shaking hand on the knob snapped the radio into silence. He felt her glance at him, and Trunks dodged her gaze by turning to look blindly out the window of the aircar. Her worried, sorrowful, expression still managed to catch him, reflected back in the glare of the window. Trunks closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the glass, his warm breath steaming up the window.

Swish, swish. The windshield wipers were the only sound now, and Trunks tried to concentrate on the repetitive, meditative sound. Ich, ni. Ich, ni. The one-two monotony appeased him for a time, but before he realized it, other words replaced them.

Bulma saw her son's eyes close tightly, his lips were moving and he was saying something softly.

Sharpening her hearing, Bulma wasn't surprised to find he was saying "Damn them. Damn them. Damn them."

Her own grief moved sluggishly through her veins, Bulma wasn't in any position to comfort her son, so they both sat quietly, together, yet alone in their despair. Who had once said that 'Parents should never live to see the day that they must bury their children' ? Poor Chichi. Oh... poor poor woman. If she herself had lost Trunks. . . She was all alone now, except for her parents. But what replacement was that for a long-dead husband like Son-kun and a murdered son?

Despite the storm, they were on their way to Gohan-kun's funeral. Running late partially because of the furious storm, but primarily that the dreaded event wasn't something either looked forward to attending. Both mother and son were tense. Bulma sighed. At fourteen, Trunks shouldn't have to be dealing with this. Of course... She remembered, Son-kun had been even younger when she first met him. That's what had started it all...

The forest finally came into view, and Bulma reached over to nudge her son. "Trunks, were almost there. Trunks. Are you going to be able to do this?"

Trunks made himself shake away the immobility, and managed to shape words with his numb lips. "Hai, hai, Kassan. We have to bury him and I have to be there. For myself, for Gohan-san, for Chichi-san, for you. . ."

A tear trickled down his mother's cheek, and Trunks realized how hard this was for her. She had known Gohan since he was a young child, had known Gohan's father from her own youth. Although older than both, she had outlived them. His hand snaked out and squeezed hers, and he watched her close her eyes and struggle for composure. As if for the first time, Trunks noticed that there were tiny lines on her face, lines that reflected the agony of loss and the trials of survival. Trunks started, and suddenly grew cold at the thought that his mother could grow old, that someday in the future he might lose her too. This was a woman who had lived through the near-end of the world not once, but many times. She had lost loves, parents, friends, the father of her child. . . And yet she was still strong, in control. Trunks realized how very much she meant to him. What would he do without her? He would be alone.

"Kassan... I love you... You know that don't you?" Trunks whispered.

Bulma nodded, still keeping her eyes shut. She would NOT let herself cry any more. She saved those moments for the hours when she was alone, Trunks long gone to bed, and then she would curl herself around a pillow in her lonely bed and serve out her sorrow to the darkness. Desperate to stave off a sob, she concentrated on her son, on his presence, the most precious thing in the world to her. She stretched her palm out and laid her hand flat on his and then squeezed gently. As always she marveled at the size of his hands; Trunks had not yet finished growing, but at the moment he was still much smaller than Gohan had been at his age. The size of his feet and hands made him look somewhat like a puppy still half-grown. If he grew into them, he promised to be much larger than his father.

His father. It seemed so long ago that she had first found a touch of love with the staid warrior. Vegeta. How much different would her life have been if she hadn't lost him so soon after she found him? A world without Jinzoningen or fear. Would he have stayed with her instead of sacrificing himself in battle? But everything had gone awry, especially after the death of "Kakarotto" and Vegeta had shut away that gentle side she was allowed to share for such a brief time. And then, he was gone. The end of mankind seemed to be creeping ever closer, especially with the death of Gohan. Trunks was the last of the Saiya-jin left... the only person who had a chance against the cyborgs.

Bulma gave a tiny shudder; Trunks had to make it, he was the world's last warrior, the only hope; and now, also a Super Saiya-jin. But how would she survive if he too was killed? She had lost so much, too much. No, no. Bulma shook her head. Don't think about it. If she could only finish the design. . . then perhaps he wouldn't need to sacrifice himself. She must continue her work. . . the work on the time machine. . .

Trunks saw his mother's eyes open, blue and glassy with unshed tears, and leaned forward to touch her cheek. "Kassan, I'm sorry for being so selfish, I know this is so hard for you too."

"Un," Nodding and biting her lower lip, Bulma suddenly noticed that the approach light was flashing. They had reached their destination. Bulma returned to manual pilot and concentrated on landing in front of Son.... in front of CHI-CHI's house.

Both saw the door to the house open, warm light spilling out. Figures crowded the doorway, Chi-chi, her father, Kamesenin, Puaru, Oolong, and the Muten-Roshi, the living remnants of the past age. They made a black sweep against the light, their forms swathed in black.

"Bulma-san! Trunks-kun!" Puaru yelled, separating from the group after noticing the new arrivals, and heedless of the rain floated over to them. Bulma pulled out two hyper-static umbrellas capsules from the glovebox and she and Trunks exploded them open as they both stepped out into the misty air. The car shrunk down into a capsule and Bulma tucked it into her purse.

"Puaru," Bulma said softly, and gave the creature a hug. The cat-creature and she had been very close ever since Yamcha's death, as his loss had hit them both severely. Yamcha might not have been the man that Bulma created a child with, but she and he had been together off and on for over so many years before she had her affair with Vegeta. Bulma knew she had loved Vegeta too, in a different way, but the guilt always seeped in that she had only pursued the Saiya-jin's odd fascination with her at first in order to hurt Yamcha for his lack of fidelity. It had backfired. Oh, Yamcha knew he had ruined the relationship by always looking around and playing the field, but he had actually forgiven her for Vegeta. Instead of angry and possessive, as she expected him to be, he instead shook off the hurt and tried to be supportive and understanding. At first his reaction devastated her, had he never cared for her after all? But later Bulma realized that Yamcha loved her enough to do whatever would make her happy, and he took the blame for her change of heart. When the Jinzoningen came, he had been one of the first to throw himself into the fight, one of the first to die, and he had oh-so-cruelly whispered to her as he lay dying that he was doing it because he had nothing left to live for...

That death had been even harder to deal with after Piccolo died. With Piccolo's death, the dragonballs also died. There was no chance of resurrecting the fallen. And Bulma knew, as she watched him train, and train, and train, finally becoming a Super Saiya-jin, that Vegeta planned to attack those monstrous robots too. She had put aside her pride and begged, pleading with him to stay and live for her and their son, but it only drove him further away from her. After Gokuh died, Vegeta was never the same. He thought he could win, that's what he told her when he had returned to her one night, and she found him holding the baby. Holding him like it was the last time, even though it was the first she had ever seen him touch his son. And then he had made love to her as if... As if... As if he loved her. He had never spoken the words, but he had put all his emotion into that one night. And she had discovered that behind the warrior was a man. Then the Saiya-jin man she had chosen, her lover but never her husband, quickly followed her old companions into the afterworld.

"Damn you Vegeta. Damn you Yamcha. Damn you both. How could you go and leave me here all alone? If it weren't for Trunks," Bulma forced herself to stop the thought. She reached her hand up to adjust the umbrella to cover her hair more fully, letting the cat-creature go. Puaru just floated there beside her, a sympathetic expression on his face.

Trunks felt rather than saw the pain his mother was experiencing. She had been standing there, embracing Puaru, as if she was afraid to let go for fear that she would lose someone else. The fury burned his body, sending tingles down his spine and ending in his finger tips. It made him so angry that they always had to lose; they had lost everything. His father, Gokuh-san, Gohan-san....

They were suddenly ushered inside by everyone, Bulma wrapped in Chi-Chi's arms, Kamesenin awkwardly patting Trunks on the back and muttering meaningless words of regret.

"You're too late, Bulma-san. We already buried him... We couldnt be sure if you were coming... we were so worried!!" Chi-chi was crying. "I... I mean since those dammed monsters want to brutalize Trunks too..."

Bulma did her best to soothe the younger woman, smoothing her hair and murmuring softly to her. "Hush... Chi-Chi..." Chi-chi quieted down for a moment, shuddering. Gymmaoh reached out to stroke her back, his own face gray with pain.

"Oh Gohan-chan, my baby, you deserved so much more," Chi-Chi whispered in the sudden silence, then she seemed to panic and pushed Bulma from her.

Bulma watched impotently as Chi-Chi and ran blindly from the room. Her father's arm hung in the air for a moment, then it thudded heavily to his side and he sighed.

He called, "Chi-chi!"

Bulma added to his call and disappeared after her old friend into the back room.

Trunks realized that he was clenching his hands and he forced himself to release them. He ignored Kamesenin and crossed the room to the shrine that Chi-chi had set up.

"Mutenroshi-sama. . ." Puaru whispered, but the old man shook his head. After all, what could HE do? What could ANYONE do? There wasn't a way to bring back the dead anymore, the days of the dragonballs were long past.

There was a picture at the center of the shrine, and Trunks turned his gaze to the loving group there. The young man, about Gohan's age, his spiky black hair in disarray, held his wife and his baby boy close. The legendary Son Gokuh. Where was he when the world needed him most? The great hero had fallen to disease, not even in battle. Trunks had never known him, but he knew that he had been a profound influence to many. His mother had once said, "Son-kun wasn't brilliant, or a great leader, or a great prophet. He was a simple warrior, but he fought for goodness and his heart was so pure that to look once upon it would change you forever. When he was alive, I always felt that we could get through anything. Now that he's gone, it's has if someone had twisted Chikyuu of all its happiness."

Two gi laid on the altar in perfect squares, both orange and faded, but one with the markings of the Mutenroshi, and the other with the symbol Gohan had said his sensei, Piccolo the Namek, had favored. Trunks sighed, realizing this must have been a gi that Gohan wore when he was a boy, trained by the Nameksei-jin. In Piccolo, Gohan had another mentor, a second father, and yet Gohan had lost that also with the coming of the Jinzoningen.

Just as he had. The thought came unbidden and the word fell out. "Otosan.."

What had his OWN father been like?

What Trunks wouldn't give to change fate, to live a happy life without such sorrow, with a father and a mother.

Unable to look any longer, Trunks turned to ask Gyummaoh where the grave was located. After listening to his halting instructions, Trunks turned and opened the door to the outside, walking out into the rain without an umbrella. The door slammed shut behind him with chilling finality, and the cold rain slicked down to mix with his own tears.

Through the mist he could see the dark shadow of Gohan's grave. It was a wound in the earth, a black scar on the once unblemished grass-covered soil. Strangely, the mound appeared to move.

Gasping, Trunks thought, "Could. . .?" No, that was too horrible to contemplate. Gohan had been dead. Trunks couldn't feel his ki either. Trunks rubbed his eyes, hoping the optical illusion would disappear. It didn't. Then, among the black, Trunks saw a flash of white. . . was it skin? It wasn't a ghost, it was something... someone? on the grave.

Trunks ran through the rain, his dark dress shoes slipping on the slick grass, mud splashing up to splatter over his dark slacks. He moved himself up into the air and flew instead , the rain flattening his hair into his eyes.

"You! What are you doing?!" He yelled as he reached the grave, and then he noticed the long thick braid, soaked with the rain, and the flash of crystal-blue eyes swimming with tears and anger.

It was a woman, soaked to the skin. She was on her feet in an instant, and Trunks found himself flat on his back with a dagger at his throat.

It was the shock of her reaction, not her strength, which allowed her to tackle him. Trunks looked up into her fiery eyes and muttered, "It tai..."

"As if that hurt.... Saiya-jin," she grunted, pushing away from him.

Trunks blinked, surprised. "A....?"

"Ano, onna-san?" he said soothingly, "Ano.. You knew Gohan-san? I..."

"You!" She spat, pointing her finger accusingly, "You're Trunks!"

Instinctively, Trunks too a step back and held his hands out pal forward. "I.. yes... Im Trunks. . . What did I...?"

"It's YOUR fault!" She was growling, "Your fault that he's dead. .. my Gohan.. . ."

Stunned, Trunks whispered, "My fault? YOUR Gohan?"

"I just wish you weren't so strong, so that I could hurt you....!" A brief flash of lightning concealed both the feel and the light of her energy, and Trunks missed the initial glow as she gathered her ki. As soon as he saw it, he dodged, but he still felt the sting burn his neck and he slammed through a tree, her "Masenkyo!" cry still ringing in his head.

"I... How did you know how to do that?!" Trunks tried again, shocked. "I don't understand! Why is his death my fault?! Who are you! The Jinzoningen are the ones who killed him. Those dammed cyborgs!!"

She seemed to grow even more furious at that, but Trunks wasnt sure if her fury was directed at him or at the Jinzoningen. "But you could have defended him! He believed in you and you failed! He shouldn't have had to fight them, he was still too injured!"

She advanced on him again as he fumbled to stand up, more confused and bewildered than hurt. Once on his feet, Trunks yelled back, face red with anger. "I don't know WHO you are or WHAT you want, but how DARE you accuse me of such things? Gohan-san was my FRIEND! I tried to fight with him, but he knocked me out HIMSELF before going to fight that battle. I wanted to fight alongside him! I wanted to!!"

Trunks bent his knees, crouching next to the grave. He put his hands over his eyes and shuddered as great sobs wrenched from his lungs fogging the chill air.

He could feel her gaze on him, and felt ridiculous, crying like an infant.

"I... I see," she stammered. "You are still a boy, aren't you Trunks?"

"I'm not.... I... I.."

She suddenly was there in front of him, pulling his head down into her lap. She embraced him tightly and hushed, "It's okay, it's okay. I'm sorry, I had no right to accuse you."

Her voice was raspy from all of her own tears, and then she took a deep breath to steady herself. Trunks felt her slight form tremble, and somehow forced himself to sit up and look at her, choking back the tears.

The rain had slowed down to a fine drizzle, but it didn't make much of a difference as they were both already soaked. Her hair was thick and dark, the wet locks curled slightly against her face where it had fallen out of the braid he had noticed earlier., concealing her eyes. A black dress and leggings enveloped her form,. which was why he hadn't seen her until he came up next to the grave. She had knives on either side of her hips, and a sword strapped on her back. What was up with all that weaponry? She didn't look very old

"Who are you?'

"Me?" The woman choked on a laugh, looking for a moment at the house in the distance. "I'm no one... No one at all."

Trunks sat up, pulling himself away from the stranger's arms. "Tell me how you know Gohan-san!"

The woman sneezed and began to shiver.

"You're soaked," Trunks noted.

The woman managed a slight grin, "So are you, if you hadn't noticed."

Ignoring that, Trunks stood up. "I want to talk to you... Would you come over to the house and talk to me for awhile like normal people? Okasan and Chi-chi-san would..."

But she was standing too, shaking her head. "No. no. I don't want to go in there. Chi-chi-san and I... well.. we don't really get along."

A million questions burned in Trunks' mind, but he only asked, "Wont you even tell me who you are?"

"Gohan should have told you," she said quietly, and turned away. "Maybe he did. You will find me one day again, if that's what he wanted."

Trunks was speechless. What was she talking about??? He watched her as she bent down and kissed Gohan's gravestone. Then, a white aura enveloped her and she rose off the ground.

"You... You... You know the Bukuujutsu...!" he breathed. "Kuso. Who ARE you?!! Are you Saiya-jin?!"

Her laugh was musical, sweet and sad. "No, no. I'm not a Saiya-jin, Trunks."

She reached her hand up and flipped her hair out of her face, and it was then that Trunks saw what she was. A pair of entirely too familiar blue-gray eyes looked back at him.

Trunks hissed, "Jinzoningen!"

The woman laughed. "Clever, arent you? But dont worry, Im not a threat to you or those you love. Look to Juhachigou and Junanagou for that. Me, well, I'm really little more just a woman... A useless human who was also Son Gohan's wife."

Trunks had been focusing his ki, preparing to go Super Saiya-jin, when her words burned into his anger and fear.

"Wife?" he whispered. He looked up in the air to stare at her in shock.

But she was gone.

For a moment, Trunks considered following her... but, as with the Jinzoningen, there was no ki to follow.

Trunks emotions were in turmoil, her words still in his mind. "Gohan should have told you...."

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