A Dark Room
By Blodeuedd
Sans
teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
-Act II,
Scene vii, lines 142-169 of Shakespeare's As You Like It
I'm still getting reacquainted with the practice of sleeping.
As a rule, a bodiless spirit cooped up in the machinery of the first Imperial superweapon doesn't need much sleep. I missed sleeping, yes, and craved it as I craved all other corporeal things—laughing, talking, touching, breathing—but I managed to do without it.
Now, the sleep I get is light and infrequent. Most nights, I just lie awake and remember everything. Chad, Geith, Master Altis, Yavin IV, the Eye, Luke.
Memories seen through two different pairs of eyes, felt by two different hearts. But all of them, somehow, my own.
The thought of such things is painful. But it is nothing, nothing compared to the emptiness I feel in my very core. Where the electric, beautiful font of the Force used to reside in me. The place I could touch even in my dreams is merely a dark room now. I can blindly fumble about all I want, but I know I will never find anything. Now, it is only a source of misery.
Crying is another familiar process which has been made foreign to me during the transfer from body to spirit to body.
But, unlike sleeping, it is not entirely inaccessible.
Author's Note:
Hope you enjoyed. Distressingly petite one-shots are about all I can manage at this point in the summer. However, your thoughts are (as ever) welcome.
Love,
Blodeuedd