*A/N: Some people have
asked me if this is only a "one-timer", and I was tempted to say "yes"
but there is a lot more that I would like to do.
Well, maybe not a lot, per say, but I would like to add more!
So, if you're up to it, please read this chapter!
__________________________________________
I knew it! I knew that he would hold me back. I should listen to my
instincts more than that abomination which I call my Master. Again he told
me to "be mindful of my thoughts" and to not show my affections toward
my beloved Padmé. I clenched my teeth, for I feared that my anger would
pour through like a disastrous tidal wave of fury. I simply bowed my head
and gave in to his "authority" once again. I overheard him
talking to Master Yoda the other day. He called me 'arrogant' and
'confused'. That makes me angry beyond all comprehension. Does he
not understand that I am better than him? Does he not realize my superior
grasp of the Force or my agility and skill with a lightsaber? I grit my
teeth even now, for he makes my stomach want to hurl.
I know that as I think these words, I am being disrespectful to my Master and my
upbringing, but how can I not be? Does anyone expect less of me? Why
can't I explode or show my undying rage that I hold deep inside? Because
I'm not supposed to want to explode. Because I'm not allowed the
privilege to feel the rage that courses through my veins as sure as the Force
binds all Life. I'm sorry, I mean meaningful Life. For any
life that takes another is surely not deserving of such a pleasure. But
who am I to talk? I've killed a whole village with only one moment of
fleeting regret.
Now my mind struggles with those thoughts. I remember the screams and the
sound of hurrying feet as the women and children tried to flee. But after
I finished with the ones who opposed me with their meager staffs of bone and
wood, I tracked them down. My mind seemed to be clouded with hate, and I
didn't know what I was doing until I found myself sitting on the cold sand with
a woman, fallen, in front of me, her dead arms still holding her child- her dead
child. It was a sight that no one should be cursed to ever have to see;
but I saw it. I made it.
Which situation was worse, I do not know, for they both raveled themselves
around me and will not separate. They are bound to me eternally, and
shaking the grotesque images from my tortured mind will be all but successful.
I'm sure other Jedi don't have problems like I do, and that is what makes them
pity me. I hate pity. When I walk into a room, the emotions are
suffocating, and they overwhelm the atmosphere. It is not my fault that
I'm the balance to the Force. It is not my fault!
Tears are too salty. I've decided that I would like to make people not
able to cry. Or maybe I would make it so no one could make anyone
cry. That would be better I suppose. I feel so weak crying, but
there is no one that I can go to at this hour of the night. Like there was
anyone to begin with. Padmé is my only sanctuary. Her sweet
presence is all that I need to live- to survive. Her love is like the
Force itself; it gives me strength, hope, courage, and a sense of belonging.
At least I have somewhere to belong.
I once said that I was grateful for my Master and how he saved me. And
maybe I still have a lingering respect for him; but as of now I hold him
no higher in respect than a drunk star-pilot coming into the old shop and
demanding ridiculous parts for his ship. Sometimes I just want to kill
him. But I know that I would never be able to do that.
