"I will not fight you."
He stands before you, unafraid, with the face and the plea of a woman you still love. You killed her, you remember, easily. You can kill him as easily.
He is not a knight, this Luke Skywalker. He is a boy fighting a man's war.
A boy that the Emperor, an old man more dead than alive, strikes down in seconds. A boy who hugs the floor, his body shaking, his young face twisted in pain, and still he looms larger than you. He is light where you were dark, good where you were evil, brave where you were frightened.
Help me, he whispers.
The silver lightning seems to illumine your life before you.
This is a decision you have to make.
You make it, your best decision, seizing the hands that hold your chains, throwing the Emperor over into the darkness. And then you start to fade into the darkness, too, but the only thing that matters is that the words thank you echo in the eyes of your son.
Luke Skywalker is a man who loves like a child. And it this that saves him, and you, and the galaxy in the end, for: how can a child believe his father is anything but good?
-
I can, the sneering expression before you seems to say. "Weak and foolish like his father." He is talking about you.
He stands before you, trembling, on a bridge as slim and tenuous as the bond from your heart to his. The corner of his mouth twists up in the lopsided smile you have felt on your own face, made terrible on his.
He is not a knight, this "Kylo Ren." He is a boy fighting a man's war.
A boy who offers a dangerous, barbed weapon to you. It trembles as violently as he does, sharp edges bathed in blood. In that moment you know he is stronger than you.
Help me, he whispers.
The red of his blade seems to reveal your fate to you.
This is a decision you have to make.
You make it, your last decision, feeling the nothingness in your chest, letting yourself fall into the towering darkness. There is still good in him. There is still good in him. There is still good in him. Like voices from a forgotten history, the words slip into your ears with the rushing air.
Kylo Ren is a child who hates like a man. A monstrous child, obsessed with a legacy that never existed. But he is your son.
And it is this that undoes him, and you, and the galaxy in the end, for: how can a father believe his child is anything but good?
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
Monday, February 15, 2016
Rey's First Rain (A SW:TFA Drabble)
It comes on the third day of being with Luke. (He hasn't agreed to teach her. Yet. But he talks to her, he tells her stories, and he doesn't seem so wary of the lightsaber he once owned--so that's a start.)
Rey supposes she shouldn't feel surprised, surrounded by water day in and day out as she is, a fluid blue expanse as far as the eye can see. She's used to that, almost. But the same water, falling from the equally blue sky, soft as kisses?
This is new.
When the first drops fall--plop!--onto her head, Rey jerks up with the tiger alertness bred by Jakku's treacherous sands. For an instant she's confused, unable to figure out their source. Then she lets her eye travel upwards to the low, overhanging cloud, enveloping the island like a grey blanket. She notices a different feeling, cool, heavy, expectant, in the air.
She wants to drink it in.
Another drop. The next, and the next, and the next. Landing on her sunburnt skin. Catching in her windblown hair. Falling perfectly into the hollow in her sand-roughened palm, so that she cups the little pearl of moisture like a tiny world and stares at it in wonder.
Rain, the long-forgotten word comes to her, out of the deep, deep blue.
The raindrops keep falling, growing in noise and size and intensity, so close together Rey can barely breathe. She upturns her face to the sky so the quicksilver liquid streams down her face, down her hair, down her bare shoulders. She lets it wash away the pain and exhaustion and dust of Jakku, lets it cleanse her like a newborn, lets it seep right into her bones. Laughter wells up within her, laughter that's lost in the rain, and if a few tears slip out onto her cheeks--nobody notices but the seeds they land upon.
Rey feels like a plant soaking in its first drink of water, and, like a plant, she blooms.
The rain sings so loud she cannot hear her own voice, not even in a shout. That does not matter. It drenches her till her clothes cling tightly, wetly, coldly, to her frame. That does not matter.
It calls a tired old man out of his cave, and lets him down gently next to her, where he watches her dance in the rain, remembering the long-ago wonder of a farm boy off Tatooine. That matters. It matters quite a lot.
It's not much. Just an old man, clinging on to the last of his once-bright light, and a little girl, beginning to find hers in the deep, deep rain. (Just the last of the Jedi and the galaxy's new hope.)
But it's a start.
Rey supposes she shouldn't feel surprised, surrounded by water day in and day out as she is, a fluid blue expanse as far as the eye can see. She's used to that, almost. But the same water, falling from the equally blue sky, soft as kisses?
This is new.
When the first drops fall--plop!--onto her head, Rey jerks up with the tiger alertness bred by Jakku's treacherous sands. For an instant she's confused, unable to figure out their source. Then she lets her eye travel upwards to the low, overhanging cloud, enveloping the island like a grey blanket. She notices a different feeling, cool, heavy, expectant, in the air.
She wants to drink it in.
Another drop. The next, and the next, and the next. Landing on her sunburnt skin. Catching in her windblown hair. Falling perfectly into the hollow in her sand-roughened palm, so that she cups the little pearl of moisture like a tiny world and stares at it in wonder.
Rain, the long-forgotten word comes to her, out of the deep, deep blue.
The raindrops keep falling, growing in noise and size and intensity, so close together Rey can barely breathe. She upturns her face to the sky so the quicksilver liquid streams down her face, down her hair, down her bare shoulders. She lets it wash away the pain and exhaustion and dust of Jakku, lets it cleanse her like a newborn, lets it seep right into her bones. Laughter wells up within her, laughter that's lost in the rain, and if a few tears slip out onto her cheeks--nobody notices but the seeds they land upon.
Rey feels like a plant soaking in its first drink of water, and, like a plant, she blooms.
The rain sings so loud she cannot hear her own voice, not even in a shout. That does not matter. It drenches her till her clothes cling tightly, wetly, coldly, to her frame. That does not matter.
It calls a tired old man out of his cave, and lets him down gently next to her, where he watches her dance in the rain, remembering the long-ago wonder of a farm boy off Tatooine. That matters. It matters quite a lot.
It's not much. Just an old man, clinging on to the last of his once-bright light, and a little girl, beginning to find hers in the deep, deep rain. (Just the last of the Jedi and the galaxy's new hope.)
But it's a start.
Thursday, February 4, 2016
Out There (A SW:TFA Poem)
out there somewhere there is a girl
with your eyes and her hair
with your hands and her smile
wearing the same sandy clothes
and bearing the same hairstyle her mother used to give her--
three little knots like the three members of your family still left.
she is waiting for you. waiting for a father.
out there somewhere there is a girl
with his eyes and your hair
with his skill and your fire
fighting with the same independence
crying to the stars that even if the world crashes she will survive.
she is waiting for you. waiting for a mother.
out there somewhere there is a girl
with your lineage, with your blood
with the same calling, closeness to the Force
only stronger, better, more
a girl whose face, scared, defiant
reminds you that the darkness can be defied.
she is waiting for you. waiting for a brother.
out there somewhere there is a girl
with your heritage, with your blood
with the same calling, chosen by the Force?
only younger, brighter, more
a girl whose face, trusting, hopeful
reminds you that you have not failed until you have given up.
she is waiting for you. waiting for a teacher.
out there somewhere there is a girl
who is not you, who is so far from you
and yet so close, so weather-beaten
but not quite broken by the world
a girl who refuses to take your hand
and then takes your heart instead.
she is waiting for you. waiting for a friend.
out there somewhere there is a girl.
she has her father's eyes and her mother's smile
she has hands that can fix things, hands that can fly things
she has the grit of a princess and the softness of a queen
she has her own, radiant, unextinguishable light
she has everything she needs
(love and compassion and family and strength and wisdom and courage)
she is going to attack her destiny
she is going to soak in the galaxy and let her soul grow green
she is going, not to be chosen, but to choose for herself
and she is no longer waiting.
with your eyes and her hair
with your hands and her smile
wearing the same sandy clothes
and bearing the same hairstyle her mother used to give her--
three little knots like the three members of your family still left.
she is waiting for you. waiting for a father.
out there somewhere there is a girl
with his eyes and your hair
with his skill and your fire
fighting with the same independence
crying to the stars that even if the world crashes she will survive.
she is waiting for you. waiting for a mother.
out there somewhere there is a girl
with your lineage, with your blood
with the same calling, closeness to the Force
only stronger, better, more
a girl whose face, scared, defiant
reminds you that the darkness can be defied.
she is waiting for you. waiting for a brother.
out there somewhere there is a girl
with your heritage, with your blood
with the same calling, chosen by the Force?
only younger, brighter, more
a girl whose face, trusting, hopeful
reminds you that you have not failed until you have given up.
she is waiting for you. waiting for a teacher.
out there somewhere there is a girl
who is not you, who is so far from you
and yet so close, so weather-beaten
but not quite broken by the world
a girl who refuses to take your hand
and then takes your heart instead.
she is waiting for you. waiting for a friend.
out there somewhere there is a girl.
she has her father's eyes and her mother's smile
she has hands that can fix things, hands that can fly things
she has the grit of a princess and the softness of a queen
she has her own, radiant, unextinguishable light
she has everything she needs
(love and compassion and family and strength and wisdom and courage)
she is going to attack her destiny
she is going to soak in the galaxy and let her soul grow green
she is going, not to be chosen, but to choose for herself
and she is no longer waiting.
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