Days fall, nights arise. The white, yet stained snow falls. In a world as such, there is one certainty. There, in a snow driven forest, lies a single ball. A ball with 4, almost magical stars. A pole, stained red next to it. The balls magical glows fade, and warming comfort shatters. The pole, shrinks for the last time. The head of a grave, still comforting his creations. There lies, a man I'll never forget.

A tomb, a grave, and many other descriptive yet painful words paint a picture I never believed I'd see. The title, of such reads "Akira Toriyama." Through sad, dark times death shows nothing less than pain.