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The Namekian who held everything I wanted, the forgiveness I now enamoured; he delighted to ignore me. I suppose I deserve it. Being a monster means many things but the least pleasant of all is the atrocity that comes with it; to kill things, people, for no reason and with no remorse. How could I possibly undo what is so very permanently done? There is no way to change an unchangeable heart, yet here I am, with antennae drawn down.
Before a man half my size yet emboldened with power, like a priest, as if he had all seven balls at his feet. The one that calls himself Piccolo, another world indeed.
I feel as if I am a pilgrim that has come to his precious home in the holy land, deep in the stars with nothing to give. There is nothing I can say, he hears nothing even though I know he hears everything. He doesn’t see me in the dark, night after night, and he ignores me during the day. I’ll wait for as long as it takes. I know he’s had redemption himself but now he is greedy, gatekeeping the gift that should be there for us all. He is not a mighty man, no longer a God, he’s just a Namekian on a big green island banked by blue sea.
How do I make him realise that we are not just strangers in this land?
I’m sorry I tried to kill you and your friend. It doesn’t sound very legitimate or even eloquent, but it’s true. It’s a great deal more true than the thing I’m trying to portray, that I’m sorry for it all, because I’m not. Maybe it will come, maybe it won’t. All I know at this present moment is that I want his forgiveness above all and I don’t know the reason. Maybe It’s because we both blend into the leaves, because we both yearn for the sun. I’m trapped here like all things killed here, so I guess there is that too.
He carries on with his day in ignorance, as if he doesn’t perceive me. I’ve started to think that maybe he doesn’t but I know better, those graceful antennae aren’t there for the aesthetic. They can feel all sorts of things and right now, I’m one of them. He knows I’m here, lingering on his property like one of the flowers just bedding down for spring. That’s what he calls the upcoming season. The birth of life or something, a time for beings to shed the darkness and the cold and be born again, so why not me?
Listen to me.
I want to be rid of it, Piccolo. Of the blood, of the absent faces, of the sin. I know you can, you have it within you, otherwise I wouldn’t be here as a spectre on your fucking lawn. Is it that you truly don’t know it? That you are a son of dragons and greater things? You would have been given a crown in days gone by you know and how I resent it. You’re far too smart and far too beautiful, even with that frown that sits upon your face like you were born a scowling thing. A lot like me, I suppose, cast out for being too powerful, for being made of things the others didn’t understand. Do you have a father at home wondering what became of you? I wonder about my own, or I do now, I never did when I was on my throne.
The one you tore away from me when you left me invisible to all of mankind.
Am I to be in this hell of my own by this still lake for the rest of time? Looking at this lovely Namekian, the kind of which I had only dreamed, who held my redemption in the palm of his hand? What a fate. If I’d have known, I might have tempered myself a bit. How long will it take, I wonder, for him to notice me, to realise I’d been here all along? A lifetime, perhaps. I’d know him inside out by then, his every move and word and thought would be realised, yet I’d be a stranger. Just a Namekian that he barely remembered, a snippet of a fight long past. Just a pale green ghost, malingering on his land.
CC.