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He sat in the small room all alone. The darkness of the room was almost unbearable. The walls seemed to be closing in on him. Outside he could hear the cries of the people on the street.

The small fire in the fireplace was the only warmth the room had to offer. Bitter cold wind rushed in through the broken window. The blanket wrapped around his shoulders did not brake the winds effect in the least. Snow covered the floor. The shattered windows and the broken roof added to the cold.

This had once been his room. When he was younger, he would run here to get away from everything that tormented him. He came here to get away from the distractions. This had been his only refuge from the pain and suffering that was present everywhere else.

Now it was only rubble. It had almost been destroyed in the battle against the cyborgs. Everything that remained in the room, the bed and other furniture, had been destroyed by the elements. The bricks that made up the fireplace were broken and falling off. The chair that he sat in was barely standing under his weight.

He still came here to think and to be alone. He knew the ceiling could cave in at any moment. He didn’t care. He enjoyed gazing up at the stars through the hole in the ceiling. He loved the feeling of the cold night air on his skin. This is and always will be his room.

He watched the fire flicker in the cold wind. Always threatening to go out, but never succeeding. The flames danced in cold night air, mesmerizing him. He could not take his eyes off of the slow dance they performed.

The fire was hypnotic. He could feel his eyelids growing heave with each movement. He watched silently, almost without thought. His mind was overworked and needed a rest like this. He watched the flames dance until he fell asleep.

He sat there asleep for a long time. Dreams of peace and happiness danced through his head. Beautiful visions played in his mind. He felt no anger, fear, or pain. For the first time in years, he was happy.

He stirred in his sleep, barely waking. He noticed that the room was no longer cold. For the first time in months the room was hot. It was almost too hot.

He opened his eyes and immediately had to close them again. Smoke filled his lungs and eyes. He wanted to know what happened. He opened his eyes to look around. The room was gone. He could see no floor. The only walls were the walls of fire. The only place the fire did not touch was a small circle around him.

He could hear screams. He could smell burning flesh. It took him a minuet to realize that it was his mother who was screaming and it was her flesh that was burning.

He tried to move but he couldn’t. Something was holding him down. A wave of panic ran over him. His mother was diying and he could do nothing to save her.

“How does it feel to know she is diying and you can do nothing to help?” a voice asked from behind. He turned to face the voice and........

Trunks sat up straight in a wave of panic. Sweat poured down his face. He looked around and found that he was in his room. He was siting in his bed and his alarm clock was going off. It was only a dream. He slammed his fist down on the clock, smashing it.

Trunks dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom. He walked over to the sink and looked in the mirror. Dark circles surrounded his eyes and his stringy, dirty hair covered his face.

He splashed some cold water on his face in an attempt to wake himself. It did little good. He decided it was time for a shower. He took off all his clothes and walked into the shower. He turned the water on as hot as it would go. He leaned against the shower wall and tried to wash the dram from his mind.

He stayed in the shower a long time, allowing the hot water to dance over his skin. He got out when he could no longer take the heat.

When he walked out of the shower and again walked over to the merrier. He wiped the steam from it and just stared into his reflection.

He used to look so young. Back when he had fought the cyborgs. True, he had been forced to grow up too fast, but he stilled looked young.

Now, he had dark circles under his eyes from nights when his terrible dreams plagued his sleep. Dreams of what the cyborgs and Cell had done, dreams of his trip to the past, dreams of what terrors might come. He looked so old but was still so young.

He looked at his reflection a little longer then stepped out of the bathroom.

It was much cooler in his room. He walked over to the closet to get ready for work. He tossed the towel he had been wearing into the hamper. He was ready within minuets and on his way downstairs.

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