Author's Notes: Over on the Jedi Council fanfic forum, the third annual Kessel Run challenge just started. To quote from its official thread: "We all know that Han and Chewie made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs, so in honor of that achievement, you will complete eleven writing prompts spread out over twelve weeks. Ten of these prompts will be secret prompts – you won't know what they are in advance, and once they're posted, you'll have one week to write and post your fic. Given the time limits involved, most of these prompts will have a word range of 100 to 1,000 words. There will also be one longer prompt for a 2,000+ word vignette. This prompt will be revealed at the very beginning of the challenge, and you'll have the whole twelve weeks to write it."
As with the two earlier Kessel Runs, this story will not be a cohesive narrative, but rather a collection of individual bite-size vignettes set in my Renewal!verse. Since I don't know what the prompts will be in advance, the stories may be all over the place as far as genre, characters, and timeline, but they'll feature a mix of Luke Skywalker, Mara Jade, the extended Jade family (OCs), and very possibly the Solo family and other established characters.
If you're new to the Renewal!verse, I do really recommend reading Renewal first. That said, I've tried to make each story in this 'verse work on its own as well, and will mention any previous installments that might be necessary to understand anything in this collection. Title comes from Sleeping At Last's song of the same name.
Week One Challenge: Write a story between 100 and 1,000 words that begins with this sentence: "The rain hadn't let up in days, and all I wanted to do was scream."
Belonging (Kaela and Mara Skywalker; approximately 30 ABY)
The rain hadn't let up in days, and all I wanted to do was scream.
It didn't help that the rest of the family was just fine with the situation. I felt like the odd one out often enough anyway, and this stupid weather wasn't helping.
I wandered around the house, peering out of each fogged up window and noting resentfully how absorbed everyone else was in their own pursuits, before finally heading to the kitchen.
Mom was at the island counter, with bowls and measuring cups and flour and stuff, holding a mixing spoon as she frowned at her datapad, but she looked up as I entered. "Hey."
"Hey," I muttered back, passing her to rummage in the conservator for a cheese stick. I plopped down at the kitchen table and peeled the wrapper off.
I didn't need to look at Mom to feel her looking at me. "Something wrong, Kaela?"
"No." I kicked the table leg a few times, just because it was there.
"Hmm."
I waited a few minutes before sneaking a look at her, but Mom was reading the datapad again. Usually I thought it was funny that Mom always looked way more serious when she was trying to cook than she ever did with actual serious things—just the opposite of Dad, who could be so solemn and earnest about Jedi history and Force lessons and all that but was always cheerful and joking in the kitchen—but today I was positive that I was going to go crazy stuck in this house and no one was even going to notice… I gave a heavy sigh and bit into the cheese stick.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mom look over again. "You're sure there's nothing wrong?"
"No," I said around my mouthful of cheese, and kicked the table leg again.
"Don't kick the furniture, please," Mom said, and turned to frown again at the datapad before beginning to scoop flour into the biggest bowl.
I kept swinging my leg back and forth, as close to the table leg as I could come without actually kicking it, and watched Mom as she finished scooping the flour and started pouring sugar into a measuring cup. "Only everything."
Mom looked over at me, eyebrows lifted. "You don't say."
"There's nothing to do," I informed her.
"What about your brother and sister? Can't you do something with them?"
"They're busy," I said, kicking the table leg again, a little harder than before. "Nakari's reading again, and Ben's working on that mechanic kit thing that Grandpa gave him."
"Ah. What about Dad?"
"He's studying something." Thud went the table leg. "I don't even belong here."
Mom set down the sugar container. "Of course you do. Why would you say something like that?"
"Because it's true. I'm not like anyone else in the whole family. I don't want to read or do mechanical stuff or dance or paint or whatever. If I'm nothing like everyone else, then where do I fit in?"
"That's not how families work, sweetheart," Mom said, leaning forward, elbows on the counter. "First of all, you have plenty in common with everyone in the family—being alike doesn't mean being the same. Secondly, we all love you because you're you. No one earns a place in their own family. It's just yours, always, no matter what."
"Whatever." I took another bite of cheese.
Mom straightened up, reaching for the sugar. "This existential crisis wouldn't have anything to do with the general frustration of a rainy week, would it?"
"I'm serious," I told her, scowling.
"I know you are," she said, starting to pour again even though she was still looking at me. "I also happen to know something about how little things build up until they feel impossibly huge—"
"Mom."
"—and how feelings aren't always reality—"
"Mom."
"What?"
"That's the salt."
Mom looked at me, then at the container in her hand, then at the measuring cup of sugar topped with salt, then sighed. "Case in point: Grandma loves me even though I never get one of her recipes right, doesn't she?"
Despite my bad mood, I couldn't help but grin at that, and Mom smiled back. "Better," she said. "Come on, let's get our raincoats."
"For what?"
"What do you think?" Mom retorted, setting the salt down. "We could both use a change of pace, and a little rain isn't going to stop us, is it?"
I grinned again and shoved the rest of the cheese into my mouth, following Mom to the coat closet. She was fussy about making sure mine was fastened all the way and my hood was up, but then we were outside and the rain was pelting us with fat, cold drops and it didn't matter because we ran and jumped and climbed trees until we were hot and steaming in the chilly air, and we fought a mock duel with fallen sticks because Mom said you couldn't always choose your battle conditions and it was good practice but it was also fun, so much better than the boring things that everyone else was doing back in the house.
It was almost dark when we finally went back inside, soaking wet but laughing, and ran into Dad as he was passing through the living room. "Hello, my wild girls," he said, looking amused. "Couldn't sit still any longer, I take it?"
"Something like that," Mom said, shoving her wet hair out of her face before taking my dripping raincoat. "Go get dry and warm, you. I'll get Dad to make us some hot chocolate."
"It's a sacrifice," Dad said, "but one I'm willing to make."
"Uh-huh." Mom hung up the coat. "Meanwhile, I have to throw away the would-be cookie ingredients in the kitchen."
"Again?" Dad asked, grinning.
"Don't start," Mom told him sternly, and I laughed and hugged her tight before running off to get dry as ordered, knowing there was nowhere else in the galaxy I'd rather be.
