*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!

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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.