Emotions

by Felixmcallan

Anger. Sorrow. Pain. Pride. Clone troopers were supposed to resist emotions. Suppost to resist battlefield stress. Sometimes even the strongest walls crack. Tears that stream from helmets form a river of passion, quenching the fire of rage, steaming up with pride. Quick moments of individuality in an army of the same man. Moments of sadness, fury, and excitement.

Chapter One: Sorrow

The sounds of blaster fire faded. The last of the traitorous jedi was executed. Peace had been restored to the galaxy, and a new Empire was being built that would last forever. White and blue suits of armor stood around the Jedi temple, unmoving, unwavering. The slow, soft patter of rain outside had no effect on the husks that stood guard, contemplating what had just happened.

One trooper moved, his blaster clattering to the floor. He fell to his knees, retching at the stink of plasma burns and death. Surrounded by the dead remnants of his brothers, former allies, and new enemies, tears came to his eyes. He began to sob, clutching onto the cold, dead, gloved hand of his fallen brother.

Blood pooled around the mourning trooper, the deep red battling the elegant white and blue colors of the 501'st. He brought his head back, and let out a long, grief stricken and anguished scream. The horrors of the previous hours flashed back to him, swamping him with emotions. His ears began to ring with the screams of pain and fear, the deafening blaster fire, and the blood, so much blood, that carpeted the floor of Jedi temple.

His bloody helmet cried tears of crimson liquid, pattering slowly onto the floor, mixing with the clear flows of sorrow that spilled from underneath his head protection. The war seemed to catch up with the hunched over clone, the years of endless fighting, death and destruction flashing through his eyes. Families, torn apart, the cries of children, women, and men. His brothers, full of excitement and eagerness, soon falling by the masses to the enemy fire.

His heart began to pound faster and faster, and the outside world quickly turning to black. His rage, sorrow, and pain slowly funneled into a small, strong ball of his fist. The tears stopped falling. He slowly stood up, the world returning to color. He reached down, picking up his blaster, and returned to the stoic guarding pose, rain washing the blood, memories and sorrow from him, for he was a Clone Trooper, another faceless, emotionless husk, ready to be thrown into battle at the Empire's will.