I'm on a serious writer's block for all my stories. Sorry! It has been so hectic around here. Here I mean at Huntingdon College. I started almost four weeks ago and I just passed my first quiz. 73. In math too. I think that I deserve a pat on the back. I seriously thought I failed that damn thing.

I have a HUGE test on Friday for Western Civilization. 10 multiple choice, 10 true/false, 15 fill in the blank without a word bank, and 8 identification questions. That is going to kill me.

Anyways, I started writing this on notebook paper about a week ago, so I decided to finish it, type it, and then post it.

/Writing in a journal/


Disclaimer: I have to pay $281 a month just to go here. I'm trying to find a job. After I pay the money for this month, then I will have about five dollars left to buy new clothes if I get a new job. Then I'll have to call home and tell them to send me money. How in the world do you get that I own Dragon Ball Z?


/It's cold in my room right now. Seeing the small goose bumps on my upper arms made me come to that conclusion. Mom has been complaining to dad about the heater not working, but I guess he didn't pay any attention to her. I'm surprised it's even cold this time of the year. Last year, it was burning hot. Now, in the middle of November, it's freezing cold. Anyways, the heat or cold never affected me because of the Saiyan half of my blood./

Gohan stopped writing at the sound of his brother's crying. He heard the heavy footsteps' going towards the two month old's room. When his father started singing a lullaby, the eleven-year-old resumed his task.

/I'm pretty sure dad will be in here next. I forgot to turn off my light before he could walk by. I remember the times I woke up in the middle of the night and dad always came running in, making sure nothing was wrong. He doesn't do it anymore. He used to come in before the fight with Cell. I think he finally realized that I was forced to grow up too fast. Either that or he's scared of me. I can still see the look on his face when I told him that Cell deserved to be punished. His eyes widened at my statement and emotions flashed through them; happiness that I would win, awe at my abilities, and the fear he would show if I ever turned on him./

The boy stopped writing again and hurriedly closed the notebook before depositing it in his upper right drawer in the desk he was working at. He could sense his father coming near his room. Gohan rested his elbows on the top of the desk and stared out the window, waiting for the older man to come in.

He didn't have to wait for long. Light poured into his room as his father opened the door and leaned against the door frame, staring at his eldest son. "What are you doing up?" Goku asked, eyes moving to glance at the clock near his son's bed. 2:47 A.M. "It's too early to be staying up late, Gohan."

Gohan shrugged, not wanting to talk and wishing in his head that his father would leave to go back to bed.

Goku frowned. His son had changed since his fight with Cell. He wasn't the bouncy, care-free kid Goku remembered, but a dark depressing preemie. His wife had said that all kids are like that when they're about to hit teenage years. Gohan was only eleven, not thirteen like the emotions and hormones usually came. "Is there something you want to talk about, son?"

Oh, yeah. How about whenever you look at me you think I'm going to kill you. Or when I start to say something you think it's going to be bad. The boy rolled his eyes at his thoughts. "No."

"Gohan, you can talk to me about anything. You know that, don't you?" Goku could sense something was bothering the boy, but he wasn't about to pry it out of him. That would make Gohan not want to talk about his feelings when he obviously needed to. The man didn't like not receiving an answer back and walked over to his son. The minute his hand touched his son's shoulder, Gohan jumped up and tackled the man to the ground. Goku was afraid that the boy might want to fight, but he was highly surprised when Gohan started shaking. Goku sat up, pulled himself over to the wall to lean against it, and held his son as he cried. "It's all right. Just let it out, little man."

Gohan froze at the phrase. Little man. His father hasn't called him that since before the Cell games. He pulled away from his father's grip and stood by the window, staring at all the twinkling stars.

His father stared at the boy, wondering what was wrong with him. Goku stood, wiped the imaginary dirt off his pants and spoke, "What's the matt…."

The eleven-year-old interrupted his father's sentence. "Get out," said fiercely, hoping that the man would do just that.

"But? What?"

Gohan turned to face the man he knew as his father. "Do me a favor and get the hell out!"

Goku was shocked beyond words. His son never cursed. Gohan had told him many years ago that he thought cussing was a bad thing to do; that it showed you had no happiness inside you. "I'll leave, son. Just remember that you can come and talk to me whenever you need to, okay?" He didn't expect his son to say anything, so he turned around and walked out the bedroom door, shutting it behind him.

Gohan's body started to shake as the liquid poured out of his eyes. He let himself fall to the ground on his legs and softly pounded his fists on the floor. No more, he thought, No fucking more!


TA-DA! And that's the end.