The Color of the Force
This is for those of you who are sick of my romance fics and who enjoy a little psychoanalysis. Also dedicated to James McBride and his white mother.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I'm merely filling the gaps left by the story writers and have no proof these fill ins are true.
I'm just going to say this once: I REALLY don't want to talk about this. But, you're not going to leave me alone until I talk about my past, are you, Ken? NO, I'm not trying to be RUDE... this is just a personal subject for me... not to mention touchy.
That was a boy. That wasn't me! That part of me is dead, now. I killed him just as I killed those memories of the asylums, just as I killed my heart... don't look at me like that: You'll understand when I tell you why...
Start from the beginning... In the beginning, there was NOTHING. I mean it: nothing. I only knew my name because the Imperial Officers and Slave Drivers at the asylum would always scream it at me. Your mother was the only person I ever met who was tolerant or kind or patient or any of those good traits, and I didn't know her in the beginning. So there was nothing for me.
I don't know who my mother was. My guess is she died while giving birth to me. My father... well, you KNOW what happened there: He banished me, believing that I would overthrow him one day... My father was an idiot... he missed the fact that I was, and still am- don't get the wrong idea, here- a pacifist. But that IS what the beginning of my life was like.
Everything and anything that could be considered a crime here happened in those asylums. I didn't know it at the time: I was naive and thought it was just the way they were supposed to treat me. For a long time, even after I met your mother, I believed that when the Officers beat us or yelled at us, it was just the same thing as when parents scolded their children: just because they cared and were worried about us. Even if it hurt so much I could barely stand....
There was one overseer who didn't glare at me like the others, or the officers. I liked that, back then- I hated being glared at- but instead, he... he LEERED at me. Over time, I began to hate that look even more than the glares. If he whipped me, it was always on my lower back than my upper back, shoulders, neck and head. He always stared at me directly in the eyes. So directly I could see a faint reflection of myself in them.
It took forever for your mother and I to have you, did you know that, Ken? I was terrified by the concept of what reproduction meant had to... um... happen, first. It was because of that foreman. While I had been still young, one day, I hadn't done as good a job at mining the spice- Yes, I was already on Kessel- and the Officers were angry at me, so they ordered for him to punish me. But instead of whipping me or beating me with some alternative to the whip- if you were beat with that, you would have your arms snapped in half and cracked ribs, so it was a bit of a mercy that he didn't do that- but instead, he pinned me to the floor, stripped me of my clothes, and no matter how hard I struggled and screamed and hit and kicked and bit him, I couldn't get away...
Now do you see why I don't want to talk about this? Enough about me... Ken, why don't YOU tell me about YOUR past? It's only fair, given you're pushing me to do the same thing, even though I don't want to...
After all, I'm dead. Dead people aren't supposed to talk.
In case anyone didn't understand, this is Triclops speaking. The next chapter is Ken. Help! I need ideas for 'I'd rather'... ==