Friday, November 23, 2007

Themed Drabbles # 27

Mouth

I want to scream.

I want to yell, to bite, to just talk him out of staying behind.

As I glance one last time over my shoulder at him, I realize that he could no more stay behind than I could force him to. He is a hero, born of heroes, and if I were able to change that, I wouldn't be able to love him.

That doesn't mean that I don't want to change it though; that I don't want to grab him and go to some world where they've not heard of the war or of the Jedi.



Ears

I can't hear anything but the pounding of my heart. It's a restless drumbeat right behind settled across my temple, keeping time to the steps of the Yuuzhan Vong warrior I watch through the telescopic sight of my sniper rifle. I try to not focus on the husk which they are pushing; Jaina says it contains Anakin's body.

Feeling a flicker in the Force I squeeze the trigger. The explosion of tibanna gas overpowers the drum in my head for a moment, and then the warrior falls.

Lowering the rifle from my eye, I have to wonder how she knows.



Eyes

I watch his body as it lies on his bed. Everyone else is elsewhere on the ship, fighting to keep us all alive. Well, not all of us. There's no more fighting for him. The thought brings a fresh pain welling up deep within my heart and I have to fight back to keep from crying.

I take a quick look around to make sure no one is watching, and then climb up on the bed with him. I press my forehead to his, the way he would do when he wanted to let me know that he loved me.



Nose

The smell of the burning wood, hair and flesh is nearly overpowering. It stings my eyes and burns my sinus cavities. Master Skywalker says something about how I should take a step or two back from the pyre, but I ignore her. My focus is on him and the flames that caress his face.

I want to caress it; to hold his hand in mine.

Absently, I wipe away the tears from my eyes, and drop down to my knees. I can feel my shoulders shaking; all I want to do is die.

I feel like I am already dead.



Hands

The steel hilt in my hand is cold and hard.

Raised rubberized ridges press tight against my palms as I squeeze tightly.

Even though I made it myself, there's nothing alive in it. Even though I know every circuit, gem and power supply as intimately as only the Force can allow, it is still a dead thing.

My thumb caresses the activation pad, as the emitter array rests lightly against my chin.

Just a little bit of pressure…

Just a little bit of pressure and then I wouldn't hurt anymore.

I would be as dead as my saber; as him.

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