Summary: Shameless, downright, out and out, through and through Obi-
Torture/angst. When Obi-Wan returns home after being tortured, he
rediscovers the deceivingly great distance between he and his master.
Without the help of a strong training bond, can he survive the aftermath of
his ordeal alone?
Torture, angst, mush.
Age: 15
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to George Lucas.
Is this ooc? Probably. But I needed a break from my big story. This will be comparatively short. I haven't thought it through in the least, but was in dire need of angst and mush. :oP
Stone Appeal
loryn wilde
A room so black he could not see his hand an inch from his own face.
At fifteen, Obi-Wan Kenobi had relatively little experience with death, but this place reeked of it. He pressed himself against the wall, wishing he could just slip through its many cracks and hide there. *They* had left the door unlocked.
He shivered and a soft whimper interrupted the blackness.
*They* had also left a body outside.
Stabbed to death in at least nine different places. He had heard the impact of each of the blows, the forthcoming cry, the quiet gurgling sound of the dagger being pulled out, and then the soft hiss as it was re-sheathed in a new place.
Eyes open.
Mouth twisted into some terrible mockery of a real scream.
Blood gathering and cooling in stagnant pools on the crumbling dull gray permacrete. Its stench wafted and creeped into his dark room, a curling, sickening odor.
He had caught a glimpse of the body when one of his captors had opened the door to come into his room and check his Force-suppressing collar.
A sudden and sharp rap sounded on the door. Obi-Wan jerked, violently startled, and could not help the terrified shriek that rushed out of his bruised throat. Laughter outside, then a dull thump. The young Padawan imagined the corpse being kicked. He lowered his forehead to rest on his drawn-up knees.
"I don't think your friend is going to make it!" Grated cackling floated in the air, already thick and heavy with suffering, then faded along with the sound of footfall.
Never mind that the man had not been Obi-Wan's friend – he was – or at least had been – a living being. Had lived a life. Had his own unique presence in the Force, as all beings did. The apprentice had never known the man but felt sure that no crime warranted such a gruesome death.
The youth's wide eyes remained locked in front of him – where he knew the door to be.
The door. Unlocked.
Obi-Wan's heart slammed up against his ribs, the loud roar of rushing blood filled his ears. He was sick with himself. If only there was another way…
Shakily he forced himself to his feet, swallowing the sheer terror that threatened to engulf him. Alarm tingled in his every nerve and he shuffled forward, hands out in front of him to feel for the door. His injuries begged for treatment and he did his best to ignore them. Cold metal touched his fingertips and he recoiled, sobbing out loud.
The body! The wetness felt icy on his cheeks. He made no effort to stop the tears. His teeth chattered noisily and he groped the wall for the switch. Dread seized his heart in such an unrelenting manner that he thought it might stop entirely. He wept aloud now, and depressed the small lever. The door swished open and Obi-Wan's eyes were assaulted with the bright light of the corridor. He stumbled backward a bit, blinking rapidly.
Oh, Force!
With the support of the door gone the body had rolled onto its back and one arm was flung out, reaching for Obi-Wan. He stared in paralyzed horror at the clouded, murky eyes.
A thick handle protruded from the neck. The boy noted its deep green hue, its custom grip, the flecks of blood drying to a rugged rust color, and placed its image in his mind with that of its owner.
Obi-Wan's arms snaked around his sides and he hugged himself tightly. Unable to tear his gaze from the dagger so viciously stabbed into the side of the corpse's neck he slowly backed away, limbs trembling with sickening fear. His knees suddenly gave out and he crashed down to the ground, dry heaving for a few moments before he was able to crawl back to the tentative safety of the wall furthest from the door – furthest from the body.
He curled up against the cool stone and squeezed his eyes shut. He imagined that he was a brave knight and not just a stupid boy who was hurt and afraid.
He imagined the glorious peaks of the temple towers.
He imagined his friends, his teachers –
His master.
The last thought elicited a sharp moan. His cheeks flushed at the very idea of Qui-Gon seeing him like this. His master would be so ashamed.
One eye cracked open, a sliver of dusky blue in the dim light, and spotted the mauled corpse. Obi-Wan made his body as compact and small looking as he could, hiding his face behind one arm.
Through tears he rocked himself and prayed someone would find him soon. "There is no death, only the Force. There is no death, only the Force. There is no death…"
Torture, angst, mush.
Age: 15
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to George Lucas.
Is this ooc? Probably. But I needed a break from my big story. This will be comparatively short. I haven't thought it through in the least, but was in dire need of angst and mush. :oP
Stone Appeal
loryn wilde
A room so black he could not see his hand an inch from his own face.
At fifteen, Obi-Wan Kenobi had relatively little experience with death, but this place reeked of it. He pressed himself against the wall, wishing he could just slip through its many cracks and hide there. *They* had left the door unlocked.
He shivered and a soft whimper interrupted the blackness.
*They* had also left a body outside.
Stabbed to death in at least nine different places. He had heard the impact of each of the blows, the forthcoming cry, the quiet gurgling sound of the dagger being pulled out, and then the soft hiss as it was re-sheathed in a new place.
Eyes open.
Mouth twisted into some terrible mockery of a real scream.
Blood gathering and cooling in stagnant pools on the crumbling dull gray permacrete. Its stench wafted and creeped into his dark room, a curling, sickening odor.
He had caught a glimpse of the body when one of his captors had opened the door to come into his room and check his Force-suppressing collar.
A sudden and sharp rap sounded on the door. Obi-Wan jerked, violently startled, and could not help the terrified shriek that rushed out of his bruised throat. Laughter outside, then a dull thump. The young Padawan imagined the corpse being kicked. He lowered his forehead to rest on his drawn-up knees.
"I don't think your friend is going to make it!" Grated cackling floated in the air, already thick and heavy with suffering, then faded along with the sound of footfall.
Never mind that the man had not been Obi-Wan's friend – he was – or at least had been – a living being. Had lived a life. Had his own unique presence in the Force, as all beings did. The apprentice had never known the man but felt sure that no crime warranted such a gruesome death.
The youth's wide eyes remained locked in front of him – where he knew the door to be.
The door. Unlocked.
Obi-Wan's heart slammed up against his ribs, the loud roar of rushing blood filled his ears. He was sick with himself. If only there was another way…
Shakily he forced himself to his feet, swallowing the sheer terror that threatened to engulf him. Alarm tingled in his every nerve and he shuffled forward, hands out in front of him to feel for the door. His injuries begged for treatment and he did his best to ignore them. Cold metal touched his fingertips and he recoiled, sobbing out loud.
The body! The wetness felt icy on his cheeks. He made no effort to stop the tears. His teeth chattered noisily and he groped the wall for the switch. Dread seized his heart in such an unrelenting manner that he thought it might stop entirely. He wept aloud now, and depressed the small lever. The door swished open and Obi-Wan's eyes were assaulted with the bright light of the corridor. He stumbled backward a bit, blinking rapidly.
Oh, Force!
With the support of the door gone the body had rolled onto its back and one arm was flung out, reaching for Obi-Wan. He stared in paralyzed horror at the clouded, murky eyes.
A thick handle protruded from the neck. The boy noted its deep green hue, its custom grip, the flecks of blood drying to a rugged rust color, and placed its image in his mind with that of its owner.
Obi-Wan's arms snaked around his sides and he hugged himself tightly. Unable to tear his gaze from the dagger so viciously stabbed into the side of the corpse's neck he slowly backed away, limbs trembling with sickening fear. His knees suddenly gave out and he crashed down to the ground, dry heaving for a few moments before he was able to crawl back to the tentative safety of the wall furthest from the door – furthest from the body.
He curled up against the cool stone and squeezed his eyes shut. He imagined that he was a brave knight and not just a stupid boy who was hurt and afraid.
He imagined the glorious peaks of the temple towers.
He imagined his friends, his teachers –
His master.
The last thought elicited a sharp moan. His cheeks flushed at the very idea of Qui-Gon seeing him like this. His master would be so ashamed.
One eye cracked open, a sliver of dusky blue in the dim light, and spotted the mauled corpse. Obi-Wan made his body as compact and small looking as he could, hiding his face behind one arm.
Through tears he rocked himself and prayed someone would find him soon. "There is no death, only the Force. There is no death, only the Force. There is no death…"
