My Little Fanfiction Corner | Fanfiction Short Stories

Moof Milk Entry: Lost Hope

Written for the Kessel Run contest held by the official Star Wars profile in 2020.

The moof milk was suspended in the air, floating above the metal ground of the ship. I stare at it, my hand open and outstretched in front of me. I dared not move. Though, my fingers twitched, my eyes slowly widening as I had a stare-off with the glass.

I could almost hear the thrum of the Force echoing around me, comforting me whilst I slowly moved my hand from side to side, my hand loose and calm. The glass moved with my hand, following it, if not a bit delayed.

Chuckling, I accidentally flung my arm down beside me, the glass shattering onto the ground, the moof milk splattered as it drowned the shards of glass. I jump at the loud crash, almost falling backwards out of my chair as it swung on its hind legs - they were old, rickety chairs made from whatever materials the pilot could find on the journies he had been on in the past.

"What on-"

With his hands clenched on the doorframe, he took in the mess I had made on the floor of his otherwise pristine ship. The corner of his mouth tugged upwards as though he were going to smile or smirk, but he suppressed it as he glared at me.

Quickly grabbing the nearest cloth I could find, I began mopping up the mess, stuttering my apologies whilst my hands shook. The glass shards continued to float in the milk, moving this way and that following whatever direction I was moving the cloth. It made it increasingly difficult to clean.

His clanking footsteps upon the hard metal made the ship shudder. Pausing, he knelt beside me, just as a shard of glass cut through my hand. I hissed at the pain that shot through my palm. Blood dripped, mixing with the milk, creating a more odd colour than what the milk was previously. His hands turned my shaking one upwards, my palm facing the ceiling with the nasty gash that cut through the perfect pale skin.

Tutting, he shook his head, placing his palm on top of mine, his eyes clenched shut. I could feel the Force rushing through the cut, healing it, and I struggled in his grip.

"Feliks, stop!" I almost screamed, trying to pull my hand away from him.

"No!" His eyes snapped open as he glared at me. "You were silly enough to play with your drink, Devora. I will risk myself to heal you." His voice was stern, the embodiment of authority. I dared not argue with him.

I stopped struggling, tears in my eyes as my breath hitched at his words and the pain that throbbed through the skin deep gash.

I never knew he cared.

It felt like hours before it stopped, the pain subsiding in my hand. The blood was still plastered on my hand, caking it as it dried, but it had no source anymore. My skin was as clear as it had been before the cut.

Feliks ran his thumb along where the cut had been, tracing the lines upon my palm. He shook his head, his long braid falling into the remainder of moof milk. "I thought we agreed no more using the Force. It isn't safe."

I stared dumbly at him, blinking back the tears that had been in my eyes, blurring my vision so Feliks was but a distorted image. "It was an accident. The glass slipped from my-"

He glared at me, both of his eyes two distinct flames I had had the misfortune of meeting when I had first met him a long time ago when we were children. It still sent shivers down to my bones.

He sighed, turning away as he rubbed his temples. "If he senses that we are Force-sensitive-"

"He won't." I quickly said, only to be offered a disapproving snort in return.

Pointing his finger in my face, he reiterated, "If he senses that we are Force-sensitive, then we are doomed. Do you understand, Devora?" He asked, his eyes widening as he glared at me.

I nodded, gulping back my fear of the mask, the legendary breathing that had been passed around in stories - tales - on our travels. Suddenly, the ship that we had called our home for many years now did not seem as safe as it once had.

Bowing his head, Feliks returned to the cockpit. I soon followed, tripping over my boot covered feet to keep up with him.

I took a seat beside him, both of us staring at the stars in the sky, not bothering to speak with one another. I swung in my chair, to-and-fro, only to be met with a sidelong glance from Feliks before he snorted.

"Sometimes I wonder why I decided to help you." He ground his teeth, his jaw set as he folded his arms over his stomach.

I sighed, leaning my chin against my balled-up fist. "Because of what happened. We were the only Padawans-"

"There has to be more of us out there that survived." Feliks turned to me, his brows furrowed as sweat dripped from his brow.

I looked at the braid, longer now than when we were children. It had been many years ago, but we were on the run. Always on the run. The Empire seemed to be around every corner we went. Storm Troopers were everywhere, a constant reminder of the betrayal we had faced.

Landing on the nearest planet, the pair of us settled into the little hut that had become our home. Feliks made sure to hide the ship with leaves and twigs, making it part of the landscape. Neither of us spoke much when we were here. We only ever left the planet when we needed supplies, which was not too often, but it felt like it.

Our mantra whenever we worked on the farm we had built for ourselves was: Here we are safe. Here we are unknown. Here we are not Jedi, nor are we one with the Force. Here is where we will rest our bones.

The night of when we returned was no different. We had already dug our graves a long time ago, reserving our places in the ground. This was the life Feliks and I lead, drinking our stores of moof milk and pretending that the Force does not exist in our lives. There was no room for it, anymore.

"I'm sorry," Feliks said over dinner, peering up at me from beneath his lashes.

I twisted my head from side to side, shrugging as I moved the fingers of my hand that was still tingling, though the gash was no longer there. "It's okay. You're worried. I understand." I whispered, not daring to look up at him.

"Do you think we will ever go back to Coruscant?" He asked, scoffing his food down like a rabid animal.

I rolled my eyes at him whilst I thought, humming to myself. "The Jedi temple is gone, isn't it? I mean, if we really wanted to be free and go back, we should join the Rebels-"

He waved his hand away at the thought. "A lost cause." He muttered, chomping down on the remainder of his food, twisting his spoon between his fingers. "Here we are safe, remember, Devora?"

I nod, letting the subject drop as I normally did. Once I had eaten all of the food, I resigned myself to my bed, staring up at the hole in the roof as the stars shimmered in and out of existence.

This was life now. Feliks and I would just have to accept that in time. The Jedi were gone. We were alone in the galaxy, and there was no one coming to save us. Not even the Rebel Alliance could save us from the graves we had dug for ourselves. This was where we would stay and this would be where we would lay our heads.

Word count = 1319