Distant
Memories
The
sky out there is still dark. And it
should be, as I'm out here at an unreasonable hour. But after fighting these nightmares or dreams or whatever, I'm
lucky to get any sleep at all.
Coruscant's sun hasn't risen yet, but the lights from this planet are
bright enough anyway. Staring at the
point where the sun should rise soon, my mind began to wander.
Distant memories are all I have
of my childhood. Fleeting images of
destruction, famine, and death. But I
feel detached, like they aren't my memories, like I'm watching through someone
else's mind. But it is me, I'm
nearly sure of it. The hair color is
mine, and, though shorter than I now have it cut, it's the same hair. And the face is mine-younger, thinner. And the eyes-they're the same color, and
they've seen despair and horror, even in their young age. It is me, I'm nearly certain.
But why do I still have the
doubts in the back of my mind? Did my
Master create these memories for me? I
shudder at the thought.
Why do I still search, though
the memories are still there? Why did
my parents willfully give me to the man soon to become my Master for the next
twenty years? And even after that?
Why can't I simply accept things
as they are, and give up this useless search that will only leave me angry or
desperately grasping at shadows and spirits?
I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't.
Until I know, I'm fairly certain
I'll constantly wake up in the middle of the night, shivering, searching for
the comfort I won't find. Because I
push any chance of comfort away. He
tries, but it's safer not to get involved at all. It keeps the inevitable from happening. The inevitable heartbreak and heartache. The pain never entirely goes away. Even I know that.
I can see the horizon brightening
slightly. Mornings coming, with day
soon to follow. Another day, then
another night. Another night of
restless dreams. But if they're dreams
or nightmares I'm not sure. And, if
not, are they my memories? Or someone
else's? I don't know!
They say ignorance is
bliss. But the questions gnaw at
me. If it's not me, then who is
it? And why do I have these damn
half-memories?
It must be my mind; it can't be
someone else's. They're mine, from an
age I don't remember. Which isn't
surprising. My past is a question to
everyone, but most of all me. But it
doesn't outwardly bother me.
I am Mara Jade, after all.
Nothing can break through my
cold exterior.
But why does my heart melt when
I see him, no matter how I want to react?
Why do I worry about what to say, what I do around him, yet still feel
more comfortable around him than even Karrde?
Why do I count the days before I
can visit his Academy with a good excuse to back me up? Why do I feel my anger rise when I think of
some woman leaving and hurting him?
It's not my problem. It isn't.
But I'm changing, inside, much
the same way the colors surrounding Coruscant's sun does. For better or for worse, I don't know.
I watch out for his life
whenever it's threatened, though I only cared about my own for years. I accept missions from the New Republic, if
it means I can help save others' lives, who were oppressed by whomever, be it
the Empire I served for years, or anyone else.
Of course, to everyone else, my
reasons vary, but usually have to do with the fact that I know I'd receive
payment somehow.
But I think he knows
better. He knows me better. And I don't know where to go next, what to
do, what to think. I want to be next to
him, but I don't. Around him I don't
need my rock-hard exterior—he sees behind it anyway. But scathing remarks and pushing everyone away is my way of
protecting myself.
Maybe one day I'll let the true
Mara out, the one barely anyone ever glimpses.
Maybe.
Maybe.
The sun rises in the sky, and I realize
I've been standing here for nearly an hour.
I have things to do here on Coruscant.
I'm supposed to meet with Luke Skywalker for a sparring session in
another hour. We'll banter back and
forth, as usual, we'll fight, release our frustrations from the past few days
into our lightsabers, striking, blocking, swinging around and attacking.
I'll let my barriers loosen a
little.
I'll tell him how good a friend
he is.
Yes, I will. He deserves to know. Gods only know how hard he's tried to be my
friend.
Yes. I will.
I glance at the sun once more
before I walk inside.
