The World Between Worlds: Letters

by Lady of Reylo

Ben Solo finds himself in the World Between Worlds. He writes a series of letters to those he loves. I imagine there is no physicality in Ben's existence, so "writing" means "thinking" the letters and sending them out into the universe.

Letters from The World Between Worlds

My Dearest Love,

I have no way to reach you, to see you, to touch you, as I am here, wandering. I send you "mind letters" as we used to do when we were able to reach out through the Force.

There are many acts I regret. Many ways I was duped and blinded. But the responsibility is my own for the hatred and malice I allowed to consume me.

I will tell you about one of the first times I gave in to the Voice.

It had been with me for a while, whispering in my ear. I called it the Bad Man when I was younger. I knew it was bad even then.

But it laughed at that thought and told me bad was good because bad always won.

Then, one day, it called me stupid. Stupid.

I may be many things, my dearest love, but I am not stupid.

My parents were not stupid—misguided perhaps, out of touch, annoying, but not stupid. My grandparents, my uncle—not stupid. None of us.

The Voice hammered at me relentlessly about stupid. I resisted fully, mightily.

Until one day, the Voice found a person. Someone who said it. Out loud. To me.

Something shifted inside me. I felt like vomiting. A deep hot rage encircled me.

I pulled from the Dark Side in that moment.

I screamed. I remember screaming and screaming—hatred pouring out. It was hatred toward the Voice in my head.

The Voice screamed back, simultaneously calling me names and encouraging me to strike.

I struck.

Dearest Love, I did. I could not withstand the pressure of the strong being who inhabited my mind. I broke in that instant and cut the Voice down.

Except, it wasn't the Voice that I cut down.

It chuckled inside me, rammed up against me, as I raged and tore at the person whose voice I thought I heard.

I killed someone. The wrong one, of course. But that act, that sickening thing, stopped the screaming inside me.

How I wish you were here, or that I was there with you. My mother, my dad, and you. You stopped the screaming inside me for the short time we pressed hands, then lips, then bodies together. I wanted so much more for us.

I am not stupid. I will find a way out of here. Back to you. And then the screaming will stop once more.

Yours forever, my love, my other half,

Ben

Dearest Dad,

I know you have no Force ghost. I know you are not going to be there if I ever become one myself. (Doesn't look that likely.)

I know, I know, I know that Mom pulled you from the deepest recesses of wherever you are. (Are you here? I wish it.)

Mother was always the strongest among us. I was grateful for her deep strength when you appeared.

I am sad I will never be a parent. I will not know what it is to sacrifice so richly for a child. For one who doesn't deserve the honor of the sacrifice. I am sorry to disappoint.

I know, I know, I really do know that you forgave me. I never meant to kill you.

That's wrong.

That's a blatant lie from a son who lies all the time. Or used to lie.

There's no lying here in this disembodied thought form. There's nothing but bald truth to keep me company.

If you are hearing me as I reach out, please know that I did mean to kill to you.

To prove myself worthy.

I ripped myself in half doing it. I killed a big piece of me. I killed the you in me.

Mother knew when I did it. I felt her feel it. I felt her reach out to me. Then I shut it out as I always did.

I am sorry for that.

She knew. More than peace with her, she knew I needed peace with you.

I could not kill her. I could not do it. Because. I don't know. She was strong and right and mine.

Like Rey, the love of my life, my other half. I could not kill her either.

But you were sacrificed on my quest for… I can't remember what. The Voice told me, but it is gone now.

Thank you, daddy, for helping me come back to myself. I suddenly remembered who I wanted to be.

You.

Always you.

Your son.

A Solo.

Love,

Ben

Dear Mother of Mine,

Can you come and get me? Are you strong enough to bring me home?

If you are, please find me.

I send this thought out daily.

I suspect you are stronger than all of us, steady, practical, logical.

You would never hide on a planet nursing your wounds.

You would not run away to play smuggler.

You stood firm and waited for everyone to stop playing around.

But, alas, they could not help themselves.

Luke and the Force—which let him down.

Or he it.

He let me down and I him. I know what that is like.

Dad and his rum running, putting the smug in smuggler. You bet, wink wink.

Where was he when I was raging?

They could not raise me to fight the darkness.

And you could not do it alone.

Trying to hold the whole galaxy together, like you always did.

Watching your people die, watching worlds blown apart, over and over.

Visions playing in your head like R2's message.

And I ran down the darkest path as fast as my giant feet could carry me.

All boy and no man.

You couldn't stop me with strength or love or anything.

So you did what mothers do.

You let go.

And let me make my own heinous mistakes.

I am not finished making them. I need your help.

Can you come and get me?

I'm done with this now.

Love, Ben

Dearest Rey, my sweetest love, my other half,

I send more Force thoughts to you, hoping to Force open our connection someday, somehow. So many memories wash over me. There is nothing to do but let them surge and cast themselves upon the rocky ground of my existence.

I don't know what my existence is here but pure memory and thought.

I churn up these memories for you. Ever hopeful that you will hear me.

That you will come for me as I am not able to return to you.

Though some days I wonder if I think it hard enough, I will make it true.

Kylo Ren. How he wanted you, my darling. As do I, Ben Solo, your one true love.

Kylo Ren saw you in the elevator and almost, so close he could taste you, almost kissed you on your sweet lips. As they spoke about his redemption.

I remember. I was him that day. I remember the poison in my soul before I ripped it out of me and came back to myself.

Kylo should have tucked you up against him and buried himself within you. As he always wanted to do.

I wish he had dumped his hard-fought control down the elevator shaft and pulled you close to feel your warmth, your mouth, and find the Light inside you.

Then again, I am glad he did not.

Some shred of decency stopped his lips from wandering across your lovely face.

Some hope that flickered inside stronger than the heavy, precious desire he felt for you.

The hope that he would be reborn again as a lighter being.

As you predicted.

And, yet, I cannot claim to be fully Light, Rey. I wish I were Light for you. I would kiss you with my Lightness, with what little I may possess.

I have Dark beating against me.

I hold it close.

Why?

Because Dark allows me to feel strength in myself, to believe in me, and to put myself first sometimes.

Why would I not cherish a little rage? Who doesn't feel that way? Who doesn't need to channel it and let it challenge them to step up and fight?

I know you feel it, too.

I could kiss you perhaps as a lighter being.

But I would touch you with great Dark love, hard and persistent.

Driving you to the edge of madness, then tumbling you over the side, holding you close.

Find me there, your lover with wicked thoughts.

I would have kissed you as Kylo Ren,

But loved you as Ben Solo.

Love,

Ben, who could sometimes be your Kylo

Dear Hux,

Now I gotta think about you, you fucker? Well, that's just how it goes in this place. I have to think about all kinds of shit.

You were a first-class twit, Armie. Sucking up to Snoke for no good reason. Why were you even competing with me, you red-headed dumbass?

You just obliterated an entire planet. Nice work. Though I love the way you say "obliterate."

I heard you got shot down like a dog. You didn't deserve that. If you had to die, at least you could have had a duel with me or something. We could have made it look good.

But, really, I wouldn't have killed you, Hux, my man. You were useful, kind of. Took the heat off me when I needed you to.

Thanks.

I suppose.

Do you think in another time or place we could have been friends? You were from a different place than me. But we had plans and schemes, ambitions and, yes, okay, evil thoughts.

But what if, just what if, you and I didn't want to obliterate everything and everyone? Just for shits and giggles, let's think about that for a minute.

What if we were just two guys doing our best to make it all work as leaders of a bunch of people who didn't want to be led?

Yeah, yeah. Maybe we should be nicer. Live and let live and all that.

I could do my mother's thing and be a … Oh, probably not. That sounds so fucking boring to me. You, too? Yeah, I figured.

We could work on not being so evil to others. Rey would help us. She'd get that big stick of hers out and beat the shit out of us if we fucked up. Right?

I'd let her, too. She's…

Okay, okay, don't drool over Rey, you asshole. We can find you someone who is hot.

Less skinny? Less of a sand gremlin, you say?

That works.

Sand gremlins are my jam. I love sand. I love gremlins. I love Rey.

Phasma? Yeah, sure. She's cool. She'll beat you into submission when you fuck up.

Hey, man. Let's have drinks. I'll buy.

Your (maybe?) friend,

Ky-uh, Ben.

Dearest Rey, my light, my love,

Where are you living now? Who are you with? Are you alone without me as I am without you?

We barely touched. We barely kissed. We barely loved together.

I was leaving, unwillingly lost.

I felt the life draining while we kissed, even though the Force kept me from failing utterly before making you see me as I really am. Yours. Your Ben.

I felt myself leaving you, drifting away from life.

I watched you so closely, yours is last face I ever saw.

I see nothing here. I am pure thought, I believe. I am not sure what I am.

Just a memory.

Up front in my mind's eye is your beautiful face, loving me completely, honestly, as you always did.

I knew when we were bonded through the Force that I loved you. Though I would have died before saying it outright.

Yet, Rey, I promise. I did try. I really did.

I am no good at love. My parents were not good at love.

I have no blueprint to help me love you.

So, I stare and blubber and make proclamations and strange words pass through my mouth and come out wrong.

I have no talent at wooing a woman, one who is my sworn enemy.

I thought you should hate me, and you did.

I am a monster. Was a monster. Maybe still am for the crimes I committed.

I am your monster and always have been.

When I said you would be disappointed in Han Solo, I meant you would be disappointed in Ben Solo. I may have mixed up the words in my mind. I am disappointed in me—often.

Death, or whatever this is, has a way of shifting meaning, mood, and understanding.

I tried to tell you how much I loved you.

That if you let it all go, let the past die, kill it if you have to, you could be with me and we might live together and find peace.

You thought I wanted to run the galaxy—and I did.

I wanted peace, too. What you could do for me, bring me, help me with.

I told you that you were everything to me.

You heard me say you were nothing.

It was I who was nothing. Truly, right now, I am still nothing.

There is no evidence that I exist anywhere. Other than in memory.

Yours, I hope.

If you remember me, I live with you.

I cannot be content.

I cannot bear it.

I have no choice but to live in memory, the good and bad.

I will say it now. Say it again. Get it right this time.

Rey, you are not nothing. You have always been everything to me.

Love,

Your monster, Ben

Dear Fuzzball,

My mother called you a walking carpet long ago. She told me those crazy stories when we were left behind. She was often annoyed, and it was much easier to be upset with you than with him, the love of her life.

I used to hate you, you know. I hated you because you took my dad away on adventures. I was not allowed to go. I was not allowed to be like him—or you.

You came home with Dad and brought presents to sweeten my mother's temper. You let me climb on you and pull your hair until you growled. Then I loved you.

Chewy, I have no words.

You knew my rages, even from an early age. The times I could not control myself and banged and howled like a Wookiee, you held me, if you were around. You told them not to worry, to let me wear myself out, that young Wookiees yelled into the void.

I learned to understand Shyriiwook, when you crooned stories of your own youth in my ear to calm me.

I would grow out of it, you said.

I did not grow out of it. You watched me grow darker and sadder and angrier with each passing year, as the Voice took over more and more.

Then you watched me kill him at the nadir of my life.

I die remembering. Again, and again, I die.

I am here, wishing for you to hold me down while I writhe inside, choking on a bubble of agony that never fully leaves.

You would not hold me now. You would not lull me with stories. Or allow me to touch you, even though my need is so great.

I have no hands to touch you with anyway, Chewbacca.

I am only a shadow, less firm than a Force ghost floating in the sky above Tatooine.

You would kill me if you could. I might let you.

If I wasn't here already.

Forgive me,

Ben

Dear Poe Dameron,

You are the finest pilot in the whole galaxy, I heard. I remember you.

We met under bad circumstances. Me in Kylo's mask. You captured.

Pardon my lapse of judgment. I was bound to the Voice and acting out of fear, rage, jealousy, and… other unnamed things.

Here's the thing, Poe Dameron. You are not Force-sensitive, and you are no friend to me, I am sure. But I need the best pilot to help me find my way out of here. This place. I am not embodied. I have no knowledge of what this place is or how to move in or out.

You know how to move a vessel through space. Will you show me?

I am a pilot, too, but I have nothing to fly.

Can you fly here? Can you fly me?

If I could just, just communicate. With you. With anyone. Who hears me?

If I could just move. A tiny, tiny bit.

This is an incorporeal realm. How do I move, Poe?

What physics will allow it?

Fly in and find me.

I am here.

I am sorry

For all I did to you and those you love.

I would give everything to take it all back and shake your hand, lift you up, and tell you I would fly with you, looping around and around in circles and formations above and below all the clouds.

I would fly again. Away.

Sometimes, Poe, I imagine I feel it. A tiny shift in something here. Like if I work hard enough, I can almost feel a slight, slight whisper of form.

Like maybe I have eyes, but they are closed.

Maybe I have ears, but they are plugged.

Maybe I have wings, but they are pinned.

I will try harder, Poe.

Yours in Flight,

Ben

To My Grandfather, Anakin Skywalker,

Darth Vader was my hero long ago—or so it seems. When I took on my own new name, I promised to fulfill your dreams and thus my own.

Yes, grandfather, we were wrong.

You knew it and repented, giving your son life.

The Chosen One.

Ha. The Broken One.

I joined you only to be shattered and fractured.

Both of us sad poseurs, looking for what?

You fool, you had her right there in your sights. The love of your life. What else is there in life but to love and be loved?

I am talking to myself, grandfather. Really. Or I guess I'm talking to you, too. Could be.

Ambition, hate, power, all ridiculous goals in the face of finding someone you hold dear.

Now, why you didn't learn that, Anakin Skywalker, I don't know. Galloping across the galaxy like some large winged bat. Like myself, playing Anakin dress-up to prove my power and worth. To whom? To myself. To the Voice in my head.

Ah, yes, that Voice. He found you first. Then he came for me, sensing the same rising Darkness in both of us. The Dark power skipped a generation and came roaring back like an inky storm when I was born.

Yet, like you, I could not believe it was completely wrong. It can be harnessed. It is still and quiet until needed, like a viper sleeping in a cage, ready to wake and strike. I will be strong and control it. I can.

I believe you chose not to control it because, like me, the Voice said to ride that swollen wave of hate.

I did. You did. What did we find? Nothing but pain. While the Voice laughed at us for believing, for being puppets and dupes.

No more. I smashed your helm, my grandfather. I smash Darth Vader, the one inside me.

There is silence from you.

Yet.

A flicker of something rushes over me now. A quick shiver of darkness.

Grandfather? Please help me.

I would have eyes again to see my way out. I would have hands to dig, if this is a place to scratch and claw.

More flickers. More sensation.

More… energy, dark and thick, like electricity. If I had hair, it would stand on end.

It is burning me inside this consciousness.

I feel you, black honey dripping downward into a rift, a rip, a jagged place in this realm of non-existence.

Grandfather.

I see her.

Thank you.

Ben

Dearest Rey, my lovely sand gremlin,

You are on Tatooine. I know it just as sure as I know myself to be here. You are there on my uncle's farm.

You hated Jakku. Why would you go to the place of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke Skywalker?

To see Force ghosts? To bury the past?

There must be a crack here in this place because I know you are there, drifting in the sand, making your way as you always did on Jakku.

I would have us live on Naboo, home of my grandmother. Not the lonely, desolate planet of Luke's.

Ha, I speak as if I am returning. I am dead.

I meditate daily as I was taught. I see Tatooine burning inside this consciousness. Its sandy plains return to me as I slip into another state of being.

At first, I thought I was seeing Luke's home because he taught me to meditate.

It is your warm consciousness I feel, not Luke's brittle presence. Your experience of the hot, sandy wind. You hate it and love it because it is familiar to you.

There is a crack. And though I don't know what to do with it, I perceive it.

Rey, leave your sand that shifts under your feet where you walk. Leave it.

Find me.

I will widen the crack with my mind. If I can.

Find me.

Find me, Rey.

You are strong.

I am here.

Love,

Your desperate Ben

Dear Luke's Presence,

I feel you, about to break like the bitter old man you are. Stop. Don't worry about me. I will try harder, Uncle. I will surrender to the Force like you taught me.

I rarely took your meditation seriously because the Voice mocked me for trying.

Its words more compelling to me than yours.

I regret that attitude more than you know. I blamed you for my own failings and weaknesses. And I blamed you for not recognizing my strengths, my abilities, collected from my Darkness.

I didn't mean to be a Darksider.

I didn't mean to fail you. I didn't. I didn't. I didn't mean to.

Please, please believe me. It is just that, I am one.

The Chosen One was Dark. We just are that way, not on purpose, not because we want to be.

You and my mother were born Light. For you, it is easy.

For you, control comes naturally, like breathing. You would not think of killing or torturing when enraged.

We—no, I—must stop and meditate and remember.

It's easier now. I don't feel it like I used to. I have grown. I have changed. I am part Light and part Dark. Like Rey, my other half.

Luke, we balance the Force.

Help us.

Your brittle energy, the crackles of life you emit, the sadness and enmity toward the Dark widens this crack at my feet.

I feel you, Uncle. I meditate, drawing the Force to me. Widen the crack. I will use my mind and all the energy you bring to me.

I feel you, Anakin, and the rich black smoothness of your Force.

Mother, your salty sweet Force.

Dad, an echo only, a dimmer energy.

Where is Rey?

Force Ghosts,

I meditate,

Dad.

Find me.

Mother.

Help me.

Luke.

Help me.

Grandfather.

Help me.

Rey.

Help me.

Force.

Help me.

Mother.

Dad.

Luke.

Grandfather.

Rey.

I burn.

The Light.

I burn.

Out.

I see them suddenly, past whispers, shadows, indeed, ghosts.

I see Anakin first, serious with purpose and intent. He nods at me. You are here, I yell. Do I now have a voice?

I hear him in my mind. I am here, grandson. You are half of the Chosen Dyad. Balance the Force for us. We will help you.

Luke is there, too, a regretful look on his face. You are Dark, nephew. One half of a whole. All is well.

My mother. I will walk with you, Ben. I will not leave you. Step forward.

I hesitate and stare into her brown eyes, like mine. So like mine. She nods and smiles. I am here, Ben. I love you.

I see she is holding my father close to her side, pulling his wan energy toward me. He is pale, more luminescent than the others. Ben Solo, I am proud to call you my son. He reaches for my hand, but I cannot take it.

Where is Rey? I ask them.

Soft as a feather, your breath in my ear, my only one, my love.

Yes, I feel you. Louder, Rey, louder.

I hear you.

I scrabble with hands. I bang with fists. I have a body now.

Now I can fight.

I have a voice, too.

I scream.

My hands rip everything in front of me. I don't know what it is I am ripping.

I hear you, Rey. Call me.

Behind me, I feel them. Next to me, energy rises and buoys me.

My family, you are here. I feel them pulse and quicken with every stumble and step.

They push.

They push.

I feel Rey, meditating, reaching, pulling, guiding me forward to her.

Her teeth are gritted. She sweats and growls under the strain of the Force she draws from inside herself. She heals me. She awakens me. She fills me with her life, with her light.

The light is too intense, and I cry out, calling her name.

She moans in agony as the death, my death, rips away, and I am filled.

I fall and fall and fall some more.

Out of time. Out of space. Out of knowing. I drift lightly, as in remembered dreams.

I am done.

I am here, lying on frosty sand with cold desert winds drifting over me. I am naked.

I am here.

She runs, my wild gremlin, blanket drifting behind her.

She falls at my side and wraps me.

I watch her, feeling rusty and sore.

This body still has marks on it from our encounter with the Voice. It is the body I had before I died. I am satisfied with it.

"Ben," she breathes.

"Rey," I scratch out.

"You are here."

"Yes." I sit up, feeling sand scrape and bite me.

Now, I only want her. I must fill myself with her.

She is small, she fits on my lap, and I wrap her tight, mumbling nonsense.

She jams herself into my chest and we rock together.

Our sandy lips meet and catch.

We are whole again.