Please vote and comment everyone! I am eager to see how this one goes!
In my dreams, I am still just a child. Only a child. I'm wearing a silky pink dress and out of the corner of my eye, I can see my wispy curls blowing in the warm summer wind. It's pleasant, not too cold, and not too hot and as far as the eye can see . . . the grass. Tall and flowing, gliding like the river mouth into the distance. I am not in pain here. I am not anything. I am not anyone. I am just a girl, and this is my playground. This is where dreams come alive. But then, an icy blast slams into my back. And I gasp. And I remember that dreams are only for sleeping. And when we sleep, soon, all must wake.
"Nightmares can be very unpleasant . . ."
That voice. The shadows part thankfully. I can see. The glowing golden lights on the ceiling, the rich wave of herby scents, the silence of the dessert. Jakku Village. In the middle of nowhere – just how I like it. Here no one asks questions. How can they when the answers lie so many miles away?
The woman is crouching at the corner of the tent. She is old, this woman. In fact, she looks older than any one I have ever seen. The emotion cannot be mistaken, the wisdom in her eyes, it speaks of a soul within that has seen too much, that has forgotten hope but is not quite ready to let it go. It draws me. It has been too long since I have seen this sort of power. The power of a dream that has stood the greatest test of all, that of time.
"It's over now," I respond calmly. I keep my tone level and my eyes fixed on hers. Because I know if one tear falls, the rest will follow without delay and I can't cry about this. I won't.
Her big grey eyes soften and she rises. She has aged wisps of silky hair tumbling down her shoulders and she is dressed in simple brown robes that hang off her body. Which prompts me to the question, where am I? As if already knowing my thoughts, the woman speaks.
"My name is Secele Mont Kare," she smiles. "You stumbled in to our village half crazed in the early hours of this day. You are on Jakku and here is where you shall remain, until your wounds heal."
I raise an eyebrow. This does not sound familiar. "Wounds?"
She sighs and gently lifts something off my chest. A clean bandage, but as the cold air hits my skin, I wince as a sharp spasm of pain cuts across my stomach. As I look down, I almost feel like crying. Barely any of my flesh can be seen. Red. There's so much red, and brown, and purple. So much bruising, and raging purple lines are easily visible on the surface of the skin. Something . . . a memory . . . those words . . . I will always find you. . . NO!
There's a piercing sound cutting through the air, a loud ringing. The old woman is grabbing my arms, shaking me wildly, tears tumbling down her wrinkled cheeks. My throat is raw as I shriek again and again and again and again. It is as if the sound is not even coming from me. It is horror, it is panic and I have to let it out. My soul must release all this pain before it explodes. He will find me. He will find me. There is no crevice in all the galaxy where he could not.
Before long I am drained. I am no longer so panicked, so wrapped up. I am only . . . tired. So so tired. And I must rest, even if I am standing . . I must lie down, I must surrender. And I do. My brain turns off, and my legs give out and my heart becomes deathly silent. And then there is darkness.