Luke Skywalker was thinking about Han Solo again. Han was an articulate pilot with defiant hairs and a handsome grin.
Luke walked over to the window and reflected on his boring surroundings. He had always hated dry Tatuine with its troubled, terrible Tuskan Raiders. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel ambitious.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the articulate figure of Han Solo.
Luke gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a thoughtful, stable, tea drinker with tall hairs and a cool grin. His friends saw him as a joyous, jittery jedi knight. Once, he had even rescued a salty princess from a burning death star.
But not even a thoughtful person who had once rescued a salty princess from a burning death star, was prepared for what Han had in store today.
The sandstorm teased like flying wookies, making Luke calm. Luke grabbed a warped light saber that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.
As Luke stepped outside and Han came closer, he could see the dirty glint in his eye.
Han gazed with the affection of 6746 adorable grieving gungans. He said, in hushed tones, "I love you and I want force powers."
Luke looked back, even more calm and still fingering the warped light saber. "Han, you stole the Falcon from Lando," he replied.
They looked at each other with loud feelings, like two tasty, teeny tontons rampaging at a very funny space-ship race, which had jazz music playing in the background and two daring wookies winning to the beat.
Suddenly, Han lunged forward and tried to punch Luke in the face. Quickly, Luke grabbed the warped light saber and brought it down on Han's skull.
Han's defient hairs trembled and his handsome grin wobbled. He looked worried, his emotions raw like a bulbous, boiled blasters.
Then he let out an agonizing groan and collapsed onto the ground. Moments later Han Solo was dead.
Luke Skywalker went back inside and made himself a nice cup of tea.
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