When I wake, it is to find myself in a painfully bright room, huddled on a bare mattress set directly on the floor. Experimentally, I wiggle my fingers and find the paralysis has worn off. I catapult myself off the soggy mattress and onto deep white carpeting.
The room seems to be about 12 feet by 15. Everything is white. White walls, white floor, little white toilet in the corner. White door.
I glide across the small chamber and reach the door, which seems to be locked using some sort of number pad. I press in several combinations of random numbers before eventually giving up and pounding on the door. "Is anyone out there?" I shout, mask against the door.
"Prisoner 9800083000, imprisoned for the kidnapping and attempted murder of unidentified Nubian citizens." Harsh tones emanate from all corners of the room. I twist my neck in confusion, half expecting to see someone floating in midair.
"This is prisoner communicator Yulial. Is there anything you need?"
Ah. I see it now. A little intercom system running around the top of the walls.
"Where am I?" I ask, not being able to think of anything else.
"You are being held in the high security prison on the planet Hoth."
"What?" I ask, momentarily stunned. The prison on Hoth…Isn't that the one where only the worst criminals go? Like mass murderers, and terrorists? "How long am I going to be here?" I inquire apprehensively.
"Until execution. Execution date is set in nine months, three weeks, two days."
I lean into the wall, reeling. Breathing faster, heart pounding. "No," I hiss, barely a sound at all. "No," I say louder, though without conviction, voice cracking, "A trial. I need a trial."
"Emperor Palpatine gave an executive order," says the voice, smirking. "You will receive no trial. The Senate voted for your execution."
The Senate…Padme.
"That can't be right," I moan aloud, gripping the helmet with leather gloved hands, kicking the wall. "Is there anyone I can speak to about this?"
"You are in solitary confinement except for limited contact with prison communication task teams."
"No! This isn't right—I'm sure I have some sort of constitutional right to—"
"You are in solitary confinement except for limited contact with prison communication task teams. Is there anything else you require?"
"No—wait. Yes. I'm thirsty."
"Very well. Water will be sent to your room within the next hour."
A buzz of static.
Silence.
I pull myself to my feet and scream in frustration, and stalk to the other side of the room, where I pound and kick at the door. I exert the Force on it, willing it to open—open.
Wordlessly I howl in anguish at the nameless people killing me—killing me. Taking me from Padme, and Obi-Wan, and my babies who I'll never see grown up, who Palpatine will kill anyway because I can't recruit for him—
But no, not nameless, it was Palpatine, "Emperor" Palpatine, who put me here, who destroyed everything. Palpatine my "mentor," Palpatine my "friend," Palpatine my "master."
Damn him.
I march back and forth, back and forth, ceaselessly, tirelessly, don't know how long, until a flap opens at the bottom of the door and a clear pitcher of icy water and an empty glass slide under. I pick up the glass and hold it close to my eyes. The florescent light glides through the crystalline surface, catching every crack and tired chip.
I hurl it at the wall for the satisfaction of seeing it break.
Plastic. It bounces off and rolls onto the carpeting unharmed.
I grab the pitcher and fling it at the mattress. The water spills out, drenching the fabric.
I spend hours, ages, pacing back and forth, back and forth across the tiny room. Backandforthbackandforth.
Suddenly I am exhausted and I collapse, trembling, onto the mattress. My throat is cracked and parched and my tongue is dry and swollen. And on top of that the water seeps through every crack in the armor, sending my body into spasms and chills and temporarily short circuiting one of my legs. I lay that way for hours, shaking from cold or fear. The last thing I see before I fall into sleep is Leia screaming as I torture her.
-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
Time passes, or at least I think it does. It's hard to tell. I sleep when I am tired and eat when I am hungry. The lights never go out; there is no simulated night.
Tedium becomes normality. Most days after the first few angry weeks, waiting for Obi-Wan to come rescue me like I am so sure he will, are spent huddled in a corner. Oh, I do some things. Sometimes I pretend someone is in the room with me, and we have conversations, with me speaking for both of us. Sometimes when I sleep, Qui-Gon visits me, but I am unable to tell if he is real or a dream. I create pictures on the floor with food and water.
Despite the many reassurances that food will be sent up within an hour of my requests, I am sure that sometimes it takes longer than that. My muscles ache with hunger, and decay from lack of use.
Some things happen to ease the painful monotony. Once there is a blackout; things become terribly cold and dark for ages. I have no way of knowing how long. When the power comes on I request water and receive a glass of ice.
Now, I must be dreaming. They told me the last time I ate a visitor was coming. I do not know what to think. Visitors are not allowed. It must be the executioner. Has it been nine months already? I fix an image of Padme in my head. I want her face to be the last thing I see.
The door slides open. A woman, armed. The woman walks over to me. She must be the executioner. I flinch and cover my face with my hands waiting for the inevitable. But no—I want to face death. I stand up and let my arms fall to my side.
But her arms are around me. "Oh, Ani," she says. Padme's voice. Her soft hair smells like Padme's. Why am I imagining the executioner as Padme?
"I'm doing everything I can, in the Senate. I've appealed your case to the courts, and I keep getting referred to higher ups. I think at the least I can delay things. Right now it's set back from the original date—next week—indefinitely. Ani?"
She puts her hands on either side of my face. I wish she would kill me and be done with it.
"Ani, please say something! Are you angry at me? I'm doing my best—Ani?" Her voice is shrill, like Padme when she was frightened.
"Oh—Ani, are those maggots in the corner?"
She walks over to one of my pictures in the corner farthest from the door and picks up one of the small wriggling worms that were born on it. I give a hoarse yell. I haven't used my voice in ages. She looks at me momentarily, then flings it at the door.
"They told me you were being well taken care of! I'm so sorry…"
I stare at the ground. I wish we could stop this game and I could just be dead and it would be over.
"Ani? Don't you recognize me? It's Padme?"
How dare she—? It is wrong; she is pretending to be my beloved just to hurt me. I push her, and she falls from her feet. Whimpering, she crawls out the door.
No one comes, no one comes. I wonder if they have forgotten I am here. Maybe no one will ever come. Maybe I will rot away in here and someday they will find my bones.
I see no need to delay the inevitable. I stop eating. I stop requesting meals.
I ache for a while, and then I am simply tired, too tired to move. Too tired to request food if I wanted any. I crawl to my mattress and lie there.
I drift in and out of sleep. Sometimes I see people, sometimes there is screaming. Always a dull ache, a nameless pain. Always.
Four armed men come in and bind my arms and legs together.
"Walk."
I struggle to pull myself to my feet. My eyes roll in my head and I fall down panting, can't breathe.
One kicks my side and curses under my breath. One talks to someone on a radio. Am I dreaming? I don't even know anymore.
A droid pushes a stretcher in, then turns and leaves without speaking. Two of the men haul me onto it, and then three of them surround me as the other pushes me down the hall.
When we reach the end, I am placed into the cell of a large star cruiser. The door closes, and just before I loose consciousness, I think I hear, "Pathetic filth. He deserves every bit of what's coming to him next week. I thought I'd feel guilty. But he deserves it."
Dun dun dun….
HA! I updated two days in a row! Woot, woot. This girl is on a ROLL! Okay, getting to the point, thanks for all the support. I'm sorry if this chapter was kind of boring. But, yeah, Anakin was narrating and I was kind of trying to reflect him loosing touch with reality. He honestly did not recognize his wife. Don't know how realistic or true to character this was, but its what came to mind. This story is NOTHING like I planned it. If I'd stuck with the chapter outlines, Anakin would have died 6 chapters ago and never worked for Palpatine and…Well. You know. It wouldn't be anything like this.
Padfoot Reincarnated