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This page, Sixth, is property of Brady Patrick.

Hi this is another story by me, Brady Patrick. This one is a little short one-shot about Krillin before he meets Goku. I hope everyone likes it!

A single line of red ran down and dripped from the face of the young monk. This was Orin Temple, the famed temple, balanced in enlightenment and strength. Many had come here, through their lives to seek the master’s teachings and gain whatever knowledge they could. The young monk standing before this was one such student. As a younger boy, he had journeyed far and wide to reach this place; now that he was here, he had poured all his heart into his studies and trainings.

Now he was standing, feebly in the center of a stage, matched with another of his fellow monks in a friendly battle. The fighter raised his fists to his opponent, who towered over him with grins and laughter. Clearly, evidently, this other one did not have any fear of our small hero. Try as he might with punches and kicks, the small monk had not even half a chance against this towering brute. His technique was actually far superior to his opponent’s, but his endurance and strength were not up to par. And so the taller monk easily hit him with a single punch, and defeated him.

“Why do ya even bother, runt?” laughed the tall monk, lazily laying his foot on his defeated’s chest.

“I-I-I w-wanna get strong so I can t-train with Master R-r-roshi!” the child replied, coughing and pushing out breaths.

“Master Roshi? Ha ha ha. Don’t make me laugh,” replied the taller monk, “Master Roshi doesn’t take any students any more! You’re too weak to even be worthy of a master like him!”

The man pushed his younger monk up against the wall, face first into it. The younger monk let out a pained sigh, but he was not heard by the chanting of the other monks behind. Because at this time a large group had surrounded the two, to cheer on the taller one.

“So Krillin, looks like ya lost again. It’s a shame you’re so weak! You disgrace all of us here at Orin Temple! You should just leave and get it over with. You aren‘t ever gonna become a strong warrior like any of us! Just give up!” the tall monk spat out.

Krillin whimpered but did not move. The group around him jeered and cried out in satisfaction at this; and their leader, the tall monk took his foot and stretched it to the air around Krillin’s head. With a little click, he kicked forward, and shot Krillin into the wall. There was a large crack and a muffled scream before Krillin fell onto the ground. His face was covered in blood, for his nose was broken. And the group left him to gurgle and cry out all alone. He was all alone.

The young monk woke up, face down in a puddle of mud and rain. He did not remember where he was, but it could not be for the better, he thought. Krillin sighed and sat up, looking to the sky above him; trying to wash his face and troubles away. But just at this time, someone opened a door to the temple in front of him. Krillin recognized this man as one of the group who constantly beat and teased him. So that as the man approached, Krillin recoiled in fear. But this monk was not here to beat up Krillin; he had instead in his hand a bag of trash, which he so clumsily broke open over the younger’s head, letting the filth and grime pour out over the ground.

Krillin let it all fall on him and he fell back himself, as his eyes looked defeated and empty. The man was not done however and he continued his tirade of indecency with a quick zip down and undoing. And Krillin just lay there, because there was nothing he could do.

He just wasn’t good enough, he thought. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many extra pushups he did… Krillin had not been able to get stronger than these other men. He would stay up late, and quietly try to mimic what the other monks did in the day, for hours and hours sparring with the mirror; for he was too embarrassed to do this around them while they were awake. And then he would get two or three hours of sleep, just to wake up in the morning again to be beaten and picked on by those bullies.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right that they got a free pass, while he worked and toiled all for nothing. He was a failure, he thought; useless, no good. He had tried his best, and his best was not good enough. And at that Krillin once again fell back to sleep.

When he woke up, Krillin was surrounded by the night. No one had bothered to help him, or clean him, or even notice him. He was just garbage to them. How then could he go and train with Master Roshi? They were right, the other monks had always been right about him. He wasn’t worthy of even attempting to try to find Master Roshi.

But then, picking the garbage and whatnot out of his hair, Krillin saw something. It was just a wrapper, of probably gum or candy or something similar, but on it was the image of a woman. She was beautiful, barely dressed, and she made Krillin forget where he was. He just sat there, staring and pondering; because just then, a thought had come to him for how to find Master Roshi. It was common knowledge that Roshi was a pervert and that he was obsessed with younger women. Maybe, just maybe Krillin could persuade the master to train him, with some visual stimuli.

Krillin got up, not bothering to clean himself up any more; he was garbage anyways to them. He knew the master of Orin Temple had a personal stash of “special” magazines. Of course, everybody always talked and laughed about it, but this was not a joke to him. Krillin needed them so he could get strong. That, and he wanted a peek. Well, just a little one. Maybe it would lessen his depression.

Krillin crept into the sleeping chambers of the temple master. Training alone all the nights, he had learned to be quiet and soft as a cat. It was almost with pride that he remembered that not once had he been caught on his midnight escapade. But then he remembered that his nose was still broken. And that he had still not won a single match. What use had it really been?

He jolted from his thoughts as he reached his master’s bed. Krillin did not care for this man; for he rarely helped in any of the training. Upon seeing that the man was sleeping heavily, Krillin carefully lifted and nudged his pillow to reach in and grab one of the magazines. He pulled, and a stack of them fell out, like a waterfall jetting forth with new life. Krillin quickly and quietly snatched them up and tip-toed back out. This many would surely do.

The young monk packed his things silently to the snores of the one who beat him up earlier. They did not care about him, so leaving would mean nothing. They probably would not even notice he had left, Krillin thought. He was just a disgrace to their temple. He was; he had to be.

Again, he left them and walked outside just as the sun began to rise in the distance, breaking through the dark clouds. He looked back to the temple and knew that he would not get any more training it. That’s why he needed Roshi, it was the only way to get strong and confident. It was the right thing to do, to leave.

Krillin drew himself up, with all his possessions, precious magazines among them on his back and walked into the jungle… and beyond.


  • 2011 ExtremeSSJ4 Awards - Best Short Story:
Trophye This story, Sixth, was one of the recipients of the 2011 Extreme Award for Best Short Story. Wicked!

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