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A DIFFERENT PATH
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Darkness is like a shroud that falls on all else; it consumes its surroundings with a grace that betrays its deadliness. Only those powerful enough to wield it even dare to hold its essence in their grasp—even then, there is not one who has tasted its bittersweet fire and has not succumbed to its malignant prison.
I know this for a fact; perhaps, I know it too well. There was once a time and place, in years gone old, when a younger man of myself existed, an impetuous and rather brash youth. Should I look upon the matter now, I see nothing but foolishness; back in that time, I saw the entire galaxy within my control.
Yes, my vision came true, that much is certain—but at such great a price. Perhaps I have no right to regret it, for years of training in the Dark Arts makes no room for such petty emotions. Though I cannot help but imagine what might have become of me, if I had chosen a different path, a different destiny. If instead of hatred and deceit, I had chosen compassion and truth; if instead of this mechanical prison I bear, I had chosen the arms of my wife and children.
Countless times I have weighed the circumstances—countless times I have been left unanswered. Though in all honesty I know without a trace of doubt that this dark power I wield has become my murderer, and someday I will die because of it, perhaps even the rest of the known galaxy along with me.
But I am slave to its immense might.
I cannot simply escape its clutches; how I wish it were as simple as that. Though I can see that redemption is far from my grasp, in a secret part of me, in a corner of my soul that the dark has not touched, I yearn for it, for salvation. For freedom—freedom from the past that is weighed on my shoulders, and freedom from this tomb of black.
Perhaps, in a way, I am still as foolish as I was in my youth, that I still desire the light even if I know I am immune to it. Though is that not how a dream is spawned—a hope, a wish, even at times something so blatantly impossible that it seems pointless to even imagine it.
Yet, from dreams, come realities.
I consider the young man that I once was to be dead, yes, but even with this mask I am forced to wear, and this voice I am forced to possess, I still find that man's dreams tucked away in some concealed fold or strand, and I am left to wonder if I am simply lost in this sea of darkness, or if, beyond any desperate plea, I have truly drowned in it.
--
"You're growing up to be a fine young lady, Leia," I said to my daughter, and as much I would have loved to deny it, the nineteen-year-old girl before me was no longer the curious toddler she had been only so many years earlier.
"Uh, dad, I'm not fourteen anymore," Leia replied in a rather impatient drawl, and I had to fight the urge to laugh out loud. "Anyway, I'm going to the dinner with Delin tomorrow tonight. Would you mind?"
I rolled my eyes sarcastically, in an obvious attempt to annoy her. "Well of course I mind! Delin is what, four years older than you?" I watched her face contort into something that I could clearly read as aggravation.
She sighed and huffed in a manner that her mother would consider most unladylike. "But dad… Mom is five years older than you, remember?"
Now, around others, Leia is quite the diplomat—much like her mother, I'm proud to say. Around me, she doesn't even bother with such things. Both my children have learned, by thorough experience, that I can read minds very well.
At that moment some realization dawned upon me that my little girl was nineteen.
Sometimes, I reasoned the galaxy wasn't fair—well, I used to, at least. Today that truth has somehow been magnified, that I looked at Leia, an almost mirror-image of her mother, even when it came down to her rather feisty personality, not to mention her lifestyle, including her love of politics—thus taking time away from her Jedi studies, much to her Master Siri's annoyance—and taste of men, especially considering one particular Han Solo she had seemed to grow a liking of.
But she was growing up. It wasn't like I could use my Force powers to stop it. At this thought, I feigned a look of mock anger and had already opened my mouth to say something when a familiar voice came from the hall. I couldn't exactly say I was surprised.
"Oh, come on, now, Ani, it's just for the dinner. In any case, we're both going to have to go—Chancellor Organa invited all of us, remember?"
I lowered my head, shut my eyes, and grinned. Of course I remembered—I simply wasn't interested in going at all.
"But, love," I reasoned, looking up to the approaching Padmé, "Delin is Mon Mothma's nephew! Just think of all the political hype they'll stir up when he and Leia get married—"
"DAD!" I had to laugh when Leia threw her hands up in surrender. "It's just a dinner!"
Padmé was grinning, widely. Her next words seemed to have been plucked right out of my mind. "He is more dignified that that Han character we met last week. You must admit that much."
Leia shook her head in concession and left, leaving me alone on the dejarik board and Padmé staring after her with a smirk.
"You're spoiling her," I remarked teasingly as my wife slid onto my lap. "No wonder she's so much like you."
"And you're ruining her love life," Padmé shot back.
"What? I'm just being protective. I don't want her marrying some half-life scoundrel who spends all his time gallivanting around the galaxy."
"She's not exactly thirteen. I still think she doesn't need to tell you each and every time she goes out with a young man."
"Or else she'll end up with someone like me?" I tried, grinning at her.
"Exactly."
I ended that thought with a kiss. At that very moment my son decided to rush in the door, hair unruly, as it has always been, dressed in his usual attire of flight suit and jacket.
"Mom! Dad! Have you seen my credit chip? I'm going out with Mara tonight, and I can't find it! I've been looking everywhere!"
In a frantic display of desperation, Luke sped past us up the staircase, along the way rummaging through countless items and not finding his prize. I shrugged at Padmé and shook my head.
"This, what you're looking for, son?" I called, and by the time he came down the stairs he found the chip floating in mid-air in front of him. He broke into a relieved grin.
"Thanks, dad," he muttered, and was out the door again.
"You and I have lightsaber practice in five hours!" I yelled, just as he reached the outside. I heard him shout back an acknowledgement, something I knew it be Yeah dad, I won't forget.
I lowered my hand and smirked, and we, the parents, we again left alone. Luke was almost the entire opposite of his sister, preferring ships and space over a political life. He would be most like me, I would suppose.
Now that I thought about it, perhaps he was a lot like me, maybe a little too much.
Though, now that he was nineteen as well, I could only hope he didn't inherit my brash nature, my impatience. It was slowly looking to turn out that way. He was, after all, my Padawan, and my responsibility—
"He's spending an awful lot of time with Mara," Padmé said suddenly, a trace of amusement in her voice. "Seems that Luke's going to be the one who ends up marrying someone like you."
I pursed my lips as I looked up at her. "Oh, really? Mara? Like me? You must be kidding." I motioned with my hands. Mara Jade was Obi-Wan's new apprentice, and from what I heard, he wasn't having a very much easier time than he had with me. Which I thought sort of funny, of course. "She's nothing like me. From what I can tell, Luke is the one all smitten over her. For the first two years of their relationship she ignored him. Sounds familiar, doesn't it, M'lady?"
She laughed and I planted a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck. "Come on, Master Jedi, we have to get going." At that she stood and turned, looking at me as she crossed her arms. "You promised to babysit the kids at the Academy today."
I groaned and glanced at the chronometer on my wrist.
"You mean I promised to tutor the kids at the Academy today. Those are two different things." I held up my hand, unnecessarily reiterating the figure.
"In the end, it means the same," she reasoned.
I looked at her and smiled, sensing the truth in her words.
--
I wake up, from my fever-dream, the images in my mind still vivid and clear. I remember a beautiful woman—my wife—and two teenagers—my children.—and, even if I cannot comprehend it, I wonder if this were a vision of what might have been, what could've been—or if it were simply false hope.
It is futile to even dwell on such things; redemption is far from me.
Or perhaps, I still have a chance, and these disappearing wishes of salvation are not beyond me.
Though what is this life worth, if I have truly seen the what-might-have-been? Will it ever be the same?
Perhaps. Perhaps not. Only time can tell.
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"Father, I've got to save you."
"You already have, Luke."
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In the end, it means the same.
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