Disclaimer: Star Wars isn't mine. Or I would be lying on a giant pile of fresh money from ROTS.
Downfall
I hate you, Father. You know this, of course – that can be left unsaid. You want me to hate you, though it is not the way things are supposed to be. I know this now, just as I know the truth that now lies burned into my mind. I can no longer deny either, but the truth rests unshaken. I hate you beyond words. I feel ill at the mere thought of you. I flinch at the sound of each labored breath you take. The sight of you makes me want nothing more than to disappear, vanish into thin air, to simply cease to exist. You, my nemesis. You, my living nightmare. You, my destroyer. You, who in the space of mere seconds shattered my world. I don't think you understand, Father. You killed me. And if only for that I loathe you. Never mind the millions you've slaughtered without so much as a second thought. Never mind all the lives you've destroyed, all the hopes and dreams you've crushed. For that, you deserve nothing less than death. How I wish you were dead, Father. I wish we both were. If I could take your life then follow with my own, I would not hesitate. But I can't. So I hate. I hate you more than I hate myself.
I don't know what possessed me to take this mission. It could be that nothing did. That must be the issue – nothing. It is suicide in all but name – virtually no chance of survival, but I find myself not caring about the outcome. It is a state of perpetual numbness. I let everything slowly unravel and fall apart. The mission is simple – we were to infiltrate an imperial facility containing biological weapons in various stages of development - all of them deadly. We could not afford to let them get out, therefore we'd been sent to destroy it. The catch was that the facility is heavily guarded and, even worse, underground. If one is to detonate the place, they have to place the explosives deep within. Chances of getting out alive are slim to none.
I knew this beforehand, of course – I had been briefed. The truth is that very little matters now. It is so relative, whether I die now or later – it's all the same when you have long since deceased inside. Leia doesn't know. I didn't tell her, because I knew she would try to deter me. Still, the thought of Leia's grief-stricken face as she learns of my fate lurks in the back of my mind, leaving no room for peace.
My strike team – they're all dead. Gunned down one by one. We were taken aback by their heavy defenses – that, we did not expect. It was as if they had been expecting us. That, of course, is absurd. Or so I tell myself. Still, the men I came with are gone. I tried to protect them. Tried. Strange how trying leads to failure. It is yet another one to add to the ever-growing list. As I sprint down a strangely deserted corridor, I wonder how it is that I got this far. I can barely wield the newly-constructed 'saber at my hip. It seems too easy, almost to the point of incoherence. Something is wrong here. I should have died with them.
Something freezes me, wiring me to the ground. I have stopped, but my mind keeps running. My pulse quickens as I tell myself to move, but still I remain paralyzed. The Force grows cold. My blood runs black. I feel it. I feel you. I drop my gaze, as if hoping you will disappear if I don't look up. I can hear your breathing. I need not look up to know you're there. Yet I do and meet the familiar sight of the dark machine you are.
We exchange no words. There is nothing left to say. All has been said long ago. I already know why you are here. You ignite the blood-red blade, and I already know the outcome. Resignedly, I light my own. I know this is a losing battle, my fate already set. I know I can't win, Father. And still I fight.
I want to hate you. It's so easy, so natural. It's so much easier than to accept each dagger life throws at you. I should hate you. It is the sanest thing to do. Perhaps I begin to lose my grip on sanity. I cling to it as I would to a ledge above a vacuum. Only now I am not so sure I would hold on. Your pain, it bleeds through the hairline fractures in your indestructible shields. It is almost intoxicating. Your anguish – I feel it like my own. Maybe it is my own. I wonder if you can feel mine.
Don't make me destroy you. Those words, spoken seemingly ages ago, echo in my mind. I know now that nothing can change your mind. It saddens me that things should end this way, but a part of me, the other side of me that I curse each day, that I strive to vanquish, that I bury deep down in a tomb of darkness, foolishly admires your defiance. I don't know why I have a conscience, why I hesitate. I don't want to do this to you. But I must. It is my duty. It ends here.
So I draw my blade. You ignite your own, emerald green this time. The weakness in me cannot help but feel the ghost of an emotion, pride if I am not mistaken. I crush it, smothering it under layers of the dark that lives in me. As we face off I am caught off guard, unprepared for the flurry of blows. You have grown strong in the Force since our last meeting. Strong, but not strong enough. Do what must be done, Lord Vader. Do not hesitate. Show no mercy.
I fight half-heartedly, in the vain hope that somehow you could be the victor. Yet you do not seem to lash out at me, your efforts mirroring mine. Finally, you begin to drive me backwards, and I can stall no longer. I have to do this, but I find myself faltering for the umpteenth time. Do it…This will soon be over, just do it! And once again I submit myself to the evil within.
My mind dark and empty, I am a spectator in my own body as I watch it happen. It happens every time I destroy, every time I kill. As the feral beast inside of me takes control, I am, like countless times before, completely and utterly powerless. The irony…He lied. He promised me power. Instead, I receive slavery. I suppose I should be used to this after all these years. I feel it every day. But I am not.
A part of me dies as the blade enters you, as azure eyes widen and the blood drains from your face, as you silently fall to the ground. A part of me that I never knew I had. It is too late now – it is gone, never to come back. Because try as you may, you cannot defeat death. You cannot retrace your steps. You cannot fix the past. You cannot wash the blood off your skin. You cannot heal the wounds. You cannot erase the pain.
So I stand over you as you bleed. And Force, I can't watch. My weapon clatters to the floor. I make no move to pick it up. I can endure it no more. I flee. Then stop once more, throwing you a final glance. And then I am gone.
It doesn't feel like fire. Fire is passionate. This is cold venom to bring about my end. I see dark blood seeping from the wound. I see you hovering above me like corporeal demise. I can't see your eyes through the mask. But I see through them. I see you. I know who you are. And I wonder if you see through mine.
You turn away, as if in revulsion. You do not notice your lightsaber fall from your grip. You turn to leave, then look back, remorseful, perhaps? Stay, Father. Stay with me. I try to send the thought, but there is nothing left in me. I feel the life drain from me. Then you turn your back on me and leave. Without so much as an adieu, you leave me to face death alone.
There is no death; there is the Force.
I can't hate you, Father. And I should not. A Jedi is not supposed to hate. A Jedi is not supposed to feel. But I do. I should despise you. I should feel betrayed by what you've done. You make my life a living hell; you are a living, breathing hell. You are the reason I don't sleep at night, for fear of being haunted by you. You are my downfall. You are the blade that delivers the fatal blow. You are the last nail in my coffin. You suck the very life out of me.
Impossibly, I love you all the same.