SW does not belong to me, I wish it did though! Just a warning, to those that can't stand reading about suicide, get out now. This is massive angst.
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Everything Begins With Tragedy
What if everything you knew about Star Wars was wrong? What if the hero was not the hero? What if things were hidden in shadows of death and darkness, and only reveled years after they begun? Well, just imagine, and let it begin, for all things, even lies, begin with tragedy...
I am who I always was.
I am who I always will be.
I am the last and the first of my kind.
But do you know something?
I don't really know who I am.
Everyone tells me I am something or other.
Something tells me I am light or I am darkness.
But I don't know what I am, I don't know who I am.
This is the only way to find out.
This is the only way to know.
Blood trailed down his wrists as he wrote. There was not much time left, no, there was no time left. Blood was staining the paper and his time was dwindling quickly. Nothing left, nothing left. Madness, only madness. Who was he? Who could he have been? He did not know, as the life drained from him. He was not who they said he was, no, no he wasn't, he could never have been what they said he was. Everything was a lie, everything! He wasn't him, he never could be him! All was unreal. He once believed he was him. But that was wrong, so very, very wrong.
He lay the paper down upon the desk, and sank to the ground before it. His life slipped from him, and he watched with silent wonder as his blood drained from him.
He then pulled himself one last time, and put the tip of his finger, which was covered in blood, upon the paper and wrote one last thing.
Forgive me.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Everything Begins With Tragedy
What if everything you knew about Star Wars was wrong? What if the hero was not the hero? What if things were hidden in shadows of death and darkness, and only reveled years after they begun? Well, just imagine, and let it begin, for all things, even lies, begin with tragedy...
I am who I always was.
I am who I always will be.
I am the last and the first of my kind.
But do you know something?
I don't really know who I am.
Everyone tells me I am something or other.
Something tells me I am light or I am darkness.
But I don't know what I am, I don't know who I am.
This is the only way to find out.
This is the only way to know.
Blood trailed down his wrists as he wrote. There was not much time left, no, there was no time left. Blood was staining the paper and his time was dwindling quickly. Nothing left, nothing left. Madness, only madness. Who was he? Who could he have been? He did not know, as the life drained from him. He was not who they said he was, no, no he wasn't, he could never have been what they said he was. Everything was a lie, everything! He wasn't him, he never could be him! All was unreal. He once believed he was him. But that was wrong, so very, very wrong.
He lay the paper down upon the desk, and sank to the ground before it. His life slipped from him, and he watched with silent wonder as his blood drained from him.
He then pulled himself one last time, and put the tip of his finger, which was covered in blood, upon the paper and wrote one last thing.
Forgive me.