Eh, I'm up in the air with this story. I'm not quite sure what to make of it. Regardless reviews are always welcome and please enjoy! I own nothing.
He was less than a slave. There was nothing for him. He held no real memories of his own and even his body felt like a false mask that he had no choice but to wear.
"As you wish", he said like the obedient captive he was. The apprentice, rose from his knee, walking across the platform passing the dead rebel soldiers that littered the ground. He felt nothing for them but in some sick way he pitied them. He stopped suddenly glancing down at the body of a young blonde woman. Her eyes were wide open with passing shock and her hair was plastered against her face from pouring rain. He closed his eyes.
She was smiling at him while brushing a stray strand of gold behind her ear. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him but instead asked her how much longer it would be until they reached their destination.
The apprentice opened his eyes wide then bunched up his face trying to push back those memories that weren't his. Who was he really? Even though his master had labeled him the perfect apprentice he still dealt with the internal struggle of identity in his mind.
After the months of grueling physical and mental tests he had finally been able to free himself from a vulnerable man's weaknesses but he still questioned his existence. There was nothing to be extracted from these foreign memories to suggest that any kind of joy would be in his future. He saw only pain, heartache, and failure. That's when he supposed he had become the ultimate weapon. What could be more perfect than that of a man who clung onto his master's every word because it was something to hold too.
He was secretly envious of the imperfect clone he had slain. That clone was now dead and no longer needed to feel exposed to the ghosts of a dead man. The apprentice tried to bury any emotions because he was able to see what emotional weakness could lead to. So why, when the imperfect clone spent his last moment looking a woman he had never really known, did it cause his chest to ache for a small moment? He scolded himself for feeling anything. Such imperfection. The apprentice wondered why had he had been able to unburden himself with these emotional imprints when all the others had failed previously. Maybe his master was wrong, maybe it was him who was the imperfect clone. The apprentice, was unable to feel anything except pride for rising above the weakness gained by living and feeling.
He tried to concentrate his mind on his current objective, to please his master, but found himself peering down at the woman again. The apprentice took a last brief moment to look at her. He found it strange that although they had never met he knew, her name, the habit she had of tapping her fingers on the dash when she was nervous or the way she bit her lip when she worried about the now dead man. Yet, with all these memories he felt nothing for her. He finally broke his stare and refocused his mind. He lifted his hood, so that it might shield his head from the thunderous storm. He began to walk towards the ship he had never flown, but nonetheless knew all of its' secrets.
He felt trapped by a past that haunted him and a future that could never hold any other promise than that of death from the master he desperately wanted to appease. But being that perfect slave he would obey his master's every whim without fail.
