Welcome to Boxer & Rice

I don't know how long it's been.

No. Wait. That's a lie.

I know exactly how long it's been. In years, I mean. Months I couldn't tell you. Weeks I couldn't tell you. Days I couldn't tell you. Hours? Minutes? The same.

It's been fifty three years. Fifty three years since I last dared a look upon anyone I'd call family. Anyone I'd call friends. But like the coward I really am, I turned and ran. I ran away.

Me. Run.

Sometimes I still can't believe. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night. Or the middle of the day. Sometimes I wake up and for one blissful second I panic.

Where am I?

How'd I get here?

What's happened?

And then you remember. And then your blissful moment is gone. And then, you go back to sleep. Because sleeping is the only thing you can think of doing now. Because when you're asleep you leave reality behind and your dreams make you forget. Whenever you're asleep, you're in Heaven.

He's asleep too.

I hate to think about it.

I can't stop.

It's been over fifty three years, and I can't stop thinking about it. There isn't a day that goes by that I sit down and think about it all. All of it.

Sometimes I have nightmares. Nightmares where I'm killing people. Those I called family. Those I called friends. Choking, bleeding, screaming for me to stop. I wake up and feel more tired than I did when I went to sleep. Not that it makes a bit of difference. After fifty three years I still look the same. After fifty three years I'm still youthful and strong.

After fifty three years, eventually everyone you know, dies.

Even if you didn't really care about them, they die, and you feel this gnawing at your soul because it's like you've done them wrong.

Cheated them.

By living.

I'm supposed to be dead.

Especially by now.

I'm one hundred and thirty five. I'm one hundred and thirty five and I don't look a day older than fourty at tops. Not a strand of grey hair is on my head. Not a wrinkle anywhere on my brow. Nothing. It's like I'm fourty. Perfect. Youthful. Strong. Happy?

No.

I don't think I can be happy anymore. Not with this.

Not because of this.

I'm ashamed for more things that I can't apologize for. I'm ashamed for things I've done but can't remember.

This is the sort of shit I think about every day.

Because I have nothing else better to do than sleep, and even then, your body needs to be worn down before it can be regenerated. Repaired. If only I could find something that'd smash it apart so completely there'd be no hope. None. It'd be over. That's it. Gone.

They're all gone.

I'm alone.

I can't stop thinking.

Everyone's gone.

Everyone but him.

He's as good as gone.

I hate being alone.

I hate thinking.

But there's nothing to stop me.

Nothing.

I go flying. I don't know why. An attempt to wear myself out? An attempt to clear my mind? There's so much clutter even I don't think I could ever sort it out.

After fifty three years I still don't understand why I did the things I did.

After fifty three years I still don't understand why I'm still walking, breathing, living.

If you call this living.

And then, something happens that makes me freeze. Something unexpected.

Someone calls my name.

I stop. I turn. I look.

It's the Namek. It's Piccolo. But even Nameks grown old. I see the signs of age on him already.

He stutters for something to say, "Aren't you dead?"

I hold my spot, and stare straight at him, "No. I faked it."

Yes, the horrible truth that no one knows about.

I faked my own death.

Me. Fake.

Yes.

I did it because I knew what was happening to me. I knew it wasn't right. Something was off. Was it my blood that caused everything to turn out this way? The fact that I'm a warrior? As I said, after fifty three years, I still don't know. All I knew was that while everyone around me was growing older and dying, I still looked the same.

I didn't want trouble.

I wanted to run away.

Me. Run.

Ha.

I faked it. My death, I mean. Made everyone believe I passed on. The coward that I am stayed behind to watch everyone die. Doing the exact opposite of what everyone thought happened to me.

Maybe I did die that day.

Maybe I did pass on.

Maybe I just didn't want to move on. So I'm still here.

I don't want to move on.

I don't want to stay here either.

I don't think there's any place that I want to be.

Piccolo and I, we're just staring at each other. I finally turn my gaze away and look up at the sky. At the sun dropping below the horizon. Looking at the stars that are already visable in the sky.

"He's out there," I whisper. Piccolo's attention is completely on me. I sense him silently nod.

He knows exactly who I'm talking about.

He, too, will pass on soon. Piccolo, I mean.

Better not get attatched.

I feel an ache like I've never felt before.

It's inside of my chest. It makes my stomach quiver. Sends shivers down my spine. Causes my body to tremble.

And it aches incredibly bad when I think of him.

All the good times we had.

To know there won't be another fight.

To know I won't see his stupid smile anymore.

To know we won't ever finish what we started.

To know that there's no end.

To know he's out there while I'm here.

Alone.

Piccolo's next to me. He reeks of wisdom. As far as I recall he's three people in one. Piccolo. Nail. Kami. No wonder he's so damn smart. I just wish I had been as smart as him. Then I might of been happy.

I've never been happy.

I've never been smart.

Just the illusion of smart.

Just the illusion of happy.

I've really been the idiot all along.

I've really been the depressed little coward all along.

I wonder if the gods are laughing at me.

But then I remember they're probably too busy doing other things at the moment that they can't spare time to waste on me.

Good.

The ache builds inside of me. My lungs feel tight and hot. My throat is sore. My eyes start to burn.

And he's out there.

Somewhere.

And I turn around. And I face Piccolo.

And then my face is against his chest, my hand fisting into his outfit. My eyes spilling pathetic tears that sting. They feel hot against my skin and Piccolo's clothes absorb this physical expression of inner pain.

This is how bad the ache feels.

The ache is everything and everything in my whole life. The whole tragedy thing. The whole pity me thing. The whole weakness thing. The ache is the loss of everything I ever held onto. Anything I remotely cared about. Gone. And everything's gone except for him.

But he's gone.

But he's not.

I hate it.

I hate myself.

And then I apologize to Piccolo. He has his hand on my shoulder. He's trying to comfort me.

That's like trying to stop a bullet with a piece of paper.

It's just not going to work.

Nothing can stop this.

Nothing.

Even if I die. Even if I pass on. I know what's waiting for me. It's not a big mystery. It's not magical and a fun-learning experience.

Even the finest Heaven would be Hell for me.

Being stuck here is better than being stuck there.

Either way, I'm stuck and I want out.

But there's no exit.

It's like a round room. You can't even hide in a corner.

I don't need life. I don't need death. I need something beyond. I need to be left alone.

I need someone.

I pull away from Piccolo, apologizing over and over again for being weak.

Me. Cry.

Piccolo gives me a sympathetic look. I tell him, "It was nice to see you again."

He gives me a nod as I fly off to find a place to sleep. Some place to forget.

I fly by his house. What used to be his house. I curse to myself. Torture isn't the best outlet. It does, however, make you think of things you'd never consider.

Like what I'm thinking right now.

Like what I'm planning in my head.

Something bigger than life. Something bigger than death.

Something that if I told someone what I wanted to do – they'd think I'm crazy.

Maybe I am.

So?

I want to stop living.

I don't want to die though.

I want something that'll give me meaning.

I don't want to let go of what I have though.

The only way you can get what you want is by giving up what you need.

Once you hit rock bottom you can start to climb up.

But I don't want rock bottom. I've already hit that.

I don't want the top, either. I've been there too.

Been there. Done that. No repeat, thanks.

What I want...

What I want is to dig a hole. I want to hit rock bottom and keep going down. I want to go beyond the "as bad as it's going to get". And I would say "even if it kills me" but that's already part of the plan.

I'm going to do something that no one's ever done before.

I'm going to do something that no one would want me to do.

I'm going to do something that no one would ever want to do.

I'm going to do something so horrendously stupid no one will believe it.

I'm going to do something that's going to surprise even the gods.

So I hope they're watching, because I'll only be able to do it once.

First things first. I want to take a nap.

And so I do. And it's a bad idea. I have a nightmare.

This time, I'm killing him.

That's always been my dream, hasn't it? What I wanted to aspire to and do, right? That's been my life goal, so why does it completely freak me out when I think about it? Why do the hairs on the back of my neck spike moreso when I think about it? Why does my skin crawl?

For fifty three years I haven't been able to figure anything out. Why do I suddenly think this will be any different?

Forget it. It doesn't matter. At least, it won't.

Not when I do this. Not when I do this huge shocker thing.

And it's not for attention.

And it's not to make a statement.

It's just what I want. Really.

This is what I want, and this is what I'm going to do, and nobody's going to stop me.

I'm the most powerful being in the universe.

Excluding him.

The technicality.

The irony.

The shame.

The...everything...

Sigh.

I want to do this now more than ever.

I'm hitting rock bottom.

The first step in getting what you want is letting go of what you need.

They say some things are involuntary. Out of your control.

That's bullshit. Watch me control my breathing. Watch me control my heart beat.

I don't need to breathe. I don't need the blood.

What I do not need is this ki energy mass I hold in my hand. What I do not need is this energy mass being blasted through my chest to leave a hole big enough for someone to kick a soccer ball through.

I never understood those stupid Earthling games.

Look. I gave up everything I needed. I gave up life.

Just like me. To take the cowards way out, I mean. I didn't die in battle. I died from necessity.

Me. Die.

Peh.

Now, I just got to get rid of my other needs.

Then I can finally get what I want.

I'll finally be alone.

I'll finally forget.

Forget everything and anything.

If someone knew what I wanted, they'd find a way to stop me.

If someone knew, they'd run for help immediately.

This is why I defiantly don't want anyone to know.

This is also why I commited suicide.

Suicides go to Hell.

Selfish suicides, that is.

And if I go to Hell, and everyone I know is in Heaven, then there's no questions asked. Nothing to worry about. No second thoughts. No doubts. No nothing.

Exactly how I want it.

Just me.

Left alone.

This next part is tricky. This is the part where if I screw up there's no turning back. I'll spend an eternity in counseling or some bullshit like that.

Counseling is for people who have problems that can be fixed.

This problem I have, yeah, it's irreversible.

It's in impossibility.

It's total fuckin' madness.

Just like me. Just like my plan.

My body hits the ground and I have about five seconds before my body decides to stop functioning. It'll take about roughly five seconds for my body to realize I no longer have a heart. It'll be in about five seconds before they'll send my soul up to be put in Heaven or Hell.

I pray for Hell.

Eternal suffering, here I come.

Dig into that hole for me. Burn me forver. Just keep digging.

But I hope to get out of there before it's too late.

It's like digging in a mine. You dig in the wrong spot, and the tunnel will cave in on you, and you're stuck.

I have no intention to get stuck.

I have every intention to make myself alone.

Five...

Everyone I've known or cared about is there.

Four...

Everyone I've hated or disliked is there.

Three...

Everyone I've killed is there.

Two...

Everyone I've considered family or friends is there.

One...

He is not there. And he will never be there.

Zero.

The soul is stripped from the body, the soul goes to be judged. If the gods like you, you get to keep your body. If you have good enough deeds on your record, you get to keep your body.

I arrive with my body intact.

This is a good thing.

If I hadn't been allowed to keep my body – things would've gotten tricky.

Here comes the part I can't mess up on.

Here comes the part we've all been waiting for.

I'm the most powerful being in the universe, minus these gods.

And him, of course.

I turn and do what I'm so good at.

I turn and run.

An alarm or something of the sort sounds. People are after me.

I'm one hundred and thirty five. Send me to Hell, but only if I fail this. Only if I can't dig my hole deep enough. Only if I can't give up on everything I need. And then I think, "Do I need this?"

If I mixed up a need and a want..what do I get?

Fifty three years, and still no answers.

They're right behind me and I keep running. Everyone stares like I'm a maniac.

I am.

If they only knew.

I am.

So completely.

So thoroughly.

At least I'm a psycho that knows it.

I'm not like those wanna be psychos. You know, the people who say they're crazy but never do really crazy things. I mean, sure, they're weird, but they're not that fuckin' looney. They're not off base so much that they'll hear voices. And I'm serious about that. All those stupid Earthlings talking about the voices in their heads. Liars. Fakers. Like me. But at least I'm not faking something stupid. I'm faking my death. That's something with significance.

At least when I lie, I know exactly why I'm doing it.

At least when I say I'm psycho, I know exactly why I think I'm psycho.

Because I'm running straight for the pearly gates. Straight for the golden gates. Straight for the gates that lead you to get judged. I'm running the opposite way that you should. I'm running away from Heaven. Or Hell if you'd like think of it that way. Hell would be better than Heaven. That doesn't mean I like Hell.

I think I just contradicted myself.

This sort of thing is okay when you're insane, so no worries.

I'm out the gates. They're still running. The universe is all around me. I got back to the only place I can think of. I go back to Earth. I go back to his house. Where his scent still lingers, driving he insane. More than I already am? I suppose.

I'll never see him again.

I'll never speak to him again.

I'll never fight him again.

I feel an ache. I feel pain.

The truth always hurt for me. Was always more than I could stand.

Well. I'm weak. There. I admit that. Does that hurt? No.

But it hurts to think about him.

All the things I'll never do again.

With him.

And even if I saw him again. I don't think I'd know what to say. Or what to do. I think it's better this way. It's better that I've finally flipped and I'm going to do something I really shouldn't be doing. I think it's better that I'm going to go out like this.

And I'll finally be alone.

I can't believe those fools let me keep my body.

Big mistake.

Big no-no.

They'd kick themselves if they knew what I was going to do. I run out into the forest. It won't be too long before they find me. I have to do this quick. I have to make this work otherwise I'm stuck. And I don't want to be stuck there – in the afterlife. I don't want Heaven. I don't want Hell.

I let my energy inside of me build. They're doing process of elimination.

Five...

They know I'm on Earth.

Four...

They knew which hemisphere.

Three...

They're zooming in.

Two...

Pinpoint location.

My energy is too much for my body to stand. This is something you don't want to do. This is called Self Destruct.

This is called death.

One...

My energy destroys my body. When they find me they'll find an empty shell of my body, and that's all.

This is what we call death for the dead.

This is what we call being erased.

This means, you're wiped out.

This means, you don't exist.

The trouble is, no one's done it.

No one dead has ever died before.

They've all had a need. They've all had a desire.

I just wanted to be alone.

So I killed myself twice over. I really screwed over the gods.

I'm the first person to do it. Erased. Gone. No more. No body. No soul.

When you die when you're dead. Everything becomes clear.

This is everything everybody wants to see themselves.

This is everything everybody wants no one else to see.

Everything. The big picture.

Heaven. Hell.

Don't make me laugh.

When you die when you're dead you lose it all, but gain everything.

Everything but nothing.

Nothing and nothing equals something.

Nothing applies here.

No rules. No laws. No principles.

There is no such thing as gravity. There is no such thing as color. There is no such thing as hot and cold.

At the same time you're feeling all these things.

Death for the dead is the ultimate gift. The ultimate power.

I'm a god, but I don't even exist.

I see the whole universe. I see everything as it is.

Everything.

And I see nothing.

Death for the dead is like sleeping but you're wide awake.

Everything is nothing. Contradictions.

Everything contradicts something else.

And you feel it all at the same time. You feel everything.

But you feel nothing. You're numb.

You're confused but it makes so much sense.

A loop.

That's what the universe is. A loop.

Here, where I'm at. Beyond Heaven and Hell and eternity. This is where I lay.

Here, where everything people thought was fake – is real.

And everything real is a mask, a show, a facade.

Anything that was made up, anything that was intangible, is touchable here.

I've had a drink with Sadness. I've shaken hands with Death. I even had a chit-chat with Love.

Everything you love, you suddenly hate.

And everything you hate, suddenly, you love.

And it's all one big loop.

And I'm seeing everything. Everything.

And nothing.

And then, I see him.

I freeze. I stop. I can't move or speak.

What's happening to me?

I was alone. I was at rest. I became everything I wanted to and more. And less.

Now suddenly...

There is an ache. It radiates from someplace unknown. Imbedded in whatever is of me.

I have no body. I have no soul.

How do I think?

How do I feel?

There are no laws here. There are no rules.

The correct answers are:

You don't need a mind to think.

You don't need a body to feel.

I guess then, you do not need a soul to exist.

I'm suddenly above him. I watch him sleep. In the open vastness of space he is able to sleep. This is how powerful he is. He looks so calm. So peaceful. So content.

No more fights.

No more training.

No more smiles and smirks.

No more anything.

If I had eyes, they'd feel hot.

If I had a hand, it'd be caressing the side of his face, running through his bangs. If I had a heart, it'd be thumping loudly in my chest. If I had cheeks, they'd feel the tears streaking down them as the ache increases.

He's so beautiful.

He's so innocent.

I'm jealous.

I'm envious.

The ache increases.

If I had a nose, it'd nuzzle against his neck softly. If I had a voice, I'd whisper untold truths to him.

No, Kakkarot, I do not hate you.

No, Kakkarot, I never really did.

Yes, Kakkarot, it was a stupid rivalry jealousy thing.

I'm sorry, Kakkarot.

Forgive me, Kakkarot.

I suddenly want to die all over again.

The ache is tearing me apart even though there is no me to tear apart.

If I had lips, they'd be brushing against his.

Fifty three years I haven't been able to figure anything out because it had been close to seventy three when he first left. And for seventy three years I hadn't been able to figure out why it hurt so bad. And when Bulma died fifty three years ago, that only confused me more.

Because the truth is, you can only love one person.

And when he left, I had mixed emotions. I got confused.

When Bulma died. Then I had nothing to rely upon.

Which one did I love? Bulma or Kakkarot?

If I had lips, they'd be pressed fully against his.

This is why I had to hit bottom.

This is why I had to dig.

So I could learn the truth.

So I'd know how I felt.

This doesn't make any sense. The age differences. The dying. Everything.

But it's all so perfectly clear.

If I had vocal cords, I'd be saying his name.

I'd be saying everything. Confessing.

Yes, I've loved you.

Yes, I'm sorry.

Yes, it's all my fault.

Is there death for the dead who've already died?

I say, I wish Kakkarot was happy.

I wish he wasn't stuck doing this shit job for eternity.

Kakkarot, the nice guy he is, doesn't mind doing it.

He doesn't deserve it.

Someone like me. Who needs everything taken away from them deserves it.

I say, I wish Kakkarot was free. I wish he was free from what he doesn't even realize he's imprisoned in.

Kakkarot's eyes open and if I was able to, I'd gasp.

His eyes are so beautiful. Deep. Black. Saijin.

The ache hurts more.

His body glows and he seems confused. The eternal dragon, Shelong, appears.

Kakkarot is confused, "Shelong? What's going on?"

What is going on...?

The dragon looks at Kakkarot with his glowing red eyes before he says, "A wish has been made."

It isn't possible for me to interact this the living, is it!? I'm dead twice over!

Kakkarot points this out, "I don't sense any ki, Shelong. And I don't see anyone..."

The dragon is smart though, "It is not a person, Goku. It is a presence."

He looks around and then straight at me. How do I see with no eyes?

"I feel it too," he whispers, staring directly at me.

"There is no body," Shelong informs, "And there is no soul."

No body. No soul. What am I?

I am a god. I am a god, and I am nothing.

The ache is fading.

"No! Wait!" Kakkarot shouts in my general direction, "I'm going to grant the wish!"

Shelong seems surprised, "No, Goku. You must not."

If I had a voice, I'd be screaming for him to do it.

I'd be screaming, do it Kakkarot! Be free, Kakkarot! Rewrite existance! Do it! Save yourself! Save me!

The ache is returning.

Shelong begs him not to but Kakkarot wants to do it.

If he wishes for himself free. That rewrites time.

I met Time. Time always sleeps. Nothing wakes Time up.

This would wake Time up.

Rewriting time rewrites the universe. I have seen this universe and I do not like it.

I have seen nothing, and I like it.

The ache is fading.

Kakkarot's body is glowing brighter.

This existance doesn't deserve itself.

If I could, I'd tell Kakkarot to make everything okay. Redo it all. Just free yourself and you free all the other unknowing slaves.

He looks beautiful.

And Kakkarot, the noble creature, grants the wish.

The next thing I know, everything's going in reverse.

The universe is unmaking itself only to remake itself at the same time. Time wakes up.

Everything is everything.

Nothing is nothing.

And right before everything's gone.

Right before it's all going be redone.

I know that when I wake up, I won't remember any of this.

But everything will be exactly as it should be.

It won't be perfect.

But that's exactly what perfection is.