What is Left
By LuvEwan
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The sun bled through the thin white drapes and cast a warming light on his face. He frowned, rolling on to his side.
The ceiling fan turned slowly. The breeze rippled the sheet and silk material slid from his arm to his waist. Shadow pooled in the curve of his side.
A shrill cry elicited from a bird perched on the window sill. Not a harmonious call of morning, that gently filled the ears and roused the resting. It was akin to an angry shriek.
His thick lashes fluttered and he moaned. A restless hand collected ginger hair in a fist. His body twisted beneath the blanket. The sweet oblivion of unconsciousness soothed him with its numbing touch…. It was good not to feel. He wished he could sleep forever.
But then another cold gush of circulated air chilled his bare skin. He rubbed at his eyes with a weary, muffled grunt.
He sat up and released a long sigh. He had dreamed of home.
Walking through the sleek, silvery corridors. Opening the door. The fresh and familiar scents of mild spice, crushed flowers. Worn, but well-loved furniture. Little knick knacks scattered throughout the amber-lit room. Holos, a bit dusty, recalling contentment and certainty. Innocence in the cerulean gaze so often fixated upon the master. Always wide smiles.
Now, he scanned the space assigned to him by the planet officials. In his life, he was accustomed to government-provided housing. White was predominant, as the bedclothes, curtains and slick floor were all of that bland, unfeeling shade. He searched for perhaps a small shred of personalization, and found nothing.
His shoulders slumped slightly. The room was a blank canvas. No one would ever take their vibrant brush to it.
He could relate.
The winged creature cried out again. He turned to watch the feathery thing, eyes bulging and beak sharp. It's neck darted forward and another acidic chirp was heard.
He looked beyond, and saw a pure blue landscape. Cloudless sky above a glittering ocean.
A small smile touched his lips. He stood, clad in snow colored sleep pants. His feet settled onto the icy tile and the temperature shot up to the rest of him.
He shivered, but did not move to retrieve his cloak.
He traveled through the hallway and into the main room. Stylish pieces, with hard cushions and an uninviting air decorated the area.
He passed them. The door slid back when he approached.
Heat radiated from the natural atmosphere. An orange glow accented smooth, golden skin. He stepped off the wooden porch.
His toes sank into the coarse sand.
At once he was taken back to that place. Standing at a round window, desolate eyes waiting for the return.
His chest tightened. Seeing the dusty boy running up the ramp.
Knowing, somewhere in the wounded depths of his soul, that things would be different.
Terrible visions from the future roiling in his belly.
Accepting fate with a steady expression. Vows he had rasped without deliberation, tears streaming down his sweaty cheeks.
He journeyed forth, until he was at the edge of the shore. The waves crashed in a pleasant rhythm. A tropical aroma swirled around his nose.
He thought of standing, hands shackled, head bent to discover the drop he would surely take, into salty waters. He had been twelve. He had nearly died.
And now, roaming his existence as a stranger, he ached for the end.
It was a sin to even consider such a possibility. Life was a gift bestowed, to be treasured, and relished until the Force sought your presence.
Besides, the whispers he overheard spoke of potential and destiny. Awe-softened voices. He was the elite. He would teach the One. The One who shall bring glorious balance.
He sank to the grainy, tan ground. A cool mist left its fine droplets on his face. The tears mingled with them, and were undetectable.
Maybe none of those fools were aware.
He was young. Tender emotions killed while the center of his very world burned on a pier, on an alien world. The boy at his shoulder. Tendrils curled around his mind then, foggy and intangible, warning of the dangers ahead.
But he was fated to meet them.
And he knew that in the end, he would meet them alone.
His dearest companion had entrusted the universe to his capabilities. Placed countless lives in his quaking hands.
He would fail.
The foreseen results haunted his days and terrorized his nights.
In the span of a heartbeat, his shelter had been torn away, leaving him vulnerable and solitary. He had not been a child, though the plaited, beaded strand behind his ear had always told him the opposite. He confronted every trouble with support, the promise of knighthood in the distance.
He had reached that horizon. And found the boy instead.
He was not supposed to despair. He should not desire death.
The wind swept his short mane back from his face.
He should not grieve for petty losses.
After all, his life was very insignificant in comparison to the boy's.
He was the sacrifice for his apprentice's greatness.
His master would be proud.
More bitter moisture trickled from shadowed orbs. Another crash in the clean, clear surf.
Would he?
Sometimes, he could hardly bear the ominous questions that were constantly murmured in his mind. He wanted quiet.
His focus returned to the ocean.
He wondered how it would feel to let it fill him, and drown out the pain, until he was free.
And could be with his master. For eternity.
The notion hurt him more than he had expected. He realized how empty his life was.
His master had blindly depleted it.
He turned when he sensed Anakin scampering toward him.
In a barren existence,
What is left---
Is what he never wanted.