Lacuna~A Star Wars Sequel

Nadir

"I don't know what you want me to say, Anakin," I sniff, tears coming to my eyes.

"Say you'll come back. Come back to the Order, to me," he begs. There are tears coming down his own face.

"I can't."

"Yes you can!" he whimpers. "Look, when I first met you, I had no idea what you were like, and then I got to know you and; you're a ball of light, Alex. You're my sunshine. Please don't take my sunshine away."

"Anakin," I breathe out.

"I know, I know," he sighs. "I just, you..."

"Anakin stop," I cut him off. I pull him into a hug, probably our last one. His whole body shakes as he silently cries. "Thank you. For everything. You gave me the life I always wanted. And even if it were for a short time, I'm just happy I got to live through it."

"Don't go, Alex." I take in everything about my Master. No; my brother. His scent, his arms wrapped around me giving me a safe feeling. A feeling I will never experience again.

"I have to do this. I have to."

I pull back and walk away, meeting up with Ahsoka. She nods when she sees me and we descend the Temple steps.

I look back one more time and instead of seeing just Anakin, I see my childhood. I am no longer a child.

I will never forget this day; ever.

༒

My eyes fly open and I sit up straight. I take in deep breaths. My rough hands reach up to touch my face, but only to feel that it is stained with tears.

"Please don't take my sunshine away."

His voice rings out in my head. It always does. I can't get it to stop, no matter what I do.

"Bad dream again?" a familiar male's voice asks me. My Papa is kneeled next to me, his hand on my leg.

He was very timid when I came back; and I guess I was too. He kept asking if I needed anything and if he could do anything to help. Almost as if he was afraid to say anything that would make me shatter into pieces.

"Maybe," I mumble. I haven't told him about what my daily night terrors are exactly; though, every time it switches.

"What was it this time?" His blue eyes search my own.

"When I left," I sigh. I know I don't need to go into detail. He knows what I'm talking about.

That one is the most common nightmare; when I left the Order, and him. That and when I was brought back. I will not dare speak its name. It's too painful.

His name is too painful. And yet, he haunts me. Why him? Is it because he was like a brother to me? Or is it because he was my Master?

He's not the only one though. Her voice haunts me too.

Both of them. I can still see them so vividly. His brown hair that came to his shoulders. Her orange skin and white patterns on her face.

Papa's unmistakable voice breaks me out of my post-dream state by saying,

"You have to let go." He stands up, his brown robes swaying. He holds his hand out to me to help me up from my lying position. For a split second, I can see the familiar outline of a man with a helmet. I shake my head to get the thought out and take my Papa's hand.

"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that, Papa," my groggy voice sounds. I drag my feet over to the small dresser I was given for my seventeenth birthday. A big downgrade from a necklace that can allow me to time travel, but I like it. It's a short, white dresser; something you'd never see in a regular house or apartment in Coruscant. But, it's perfect for me because I don't own too many clothes.

I left my battle armor back at the Temple, not wanting to see it again, and my overalls from the Od'es' shop are the only ones I have left because I was wearing them when everything went down. So now all that lies in there are my overalls, my mechanic outfit, which is a brown top similar to my battle armor, shorts, and my mothers robes.

I pick up the mechanic outfit and go into the other room to put it on; my old room. I don't sleep in there for a number of reasons anymore. One being that I've simply grown too large for the twin cot. My seventeen year old self is now five foot, compared to two years ago where I was still four feet and ten inches. It's not that tall, but I'm quite proud of my height.

On the old cot is a black box, one I know too well. Inside, something I wish I didn't know. My necklace.

{Flashback}

I run into the small room, searching for the black box I had disposed of almost a year ago. Well, for Papa it was a few seconds.

I find the box on the floor in the corner of my room. I pick it up, my hands slightly shaking, and open it. It's empty; as it should be. I walk over to the small cot I call my bed and place the box down on it.

I raise my hands that are now fully shaking up to my neck and unhook the clasp, taking off the necklace. I hold the object out in front of me, the pendant swinging in the air. It mocks me.

I can't bear to look at this any longer. I put it back in it's box and leave the room.

{End of Flashback}

A full two years without it. I'm glad actually. All that necklace did was bring me pain. I still don't even know why.

I turn to leave the old room once again, but stop myself before I go. I look to my left, a reflection of myself stares back at me. Only, I don't recognize the person in the mirror.

Her eyes are swollen from crying and lack of rest, her long hair is all ratty at the tops and bottoms. Her hands, they're rough and have scars all over them. Her middle, though she doesn't like having it exposed, has a familiar scar. It holds both a painful physical and mental story.

I look away from the unfamiliar person and grab a brush. Though I know my hair won't stay in place for long, it helps to brush it. I pull the waist long hair into a ponytail, letting some shorter pieces fall in front of my face. I look back to the mirror, but I still don't recognize the person staring back at me.

With a sigh, I leave the old room and return to the main living space. The round room I know as my home is nothing too special. Its small kitchen and little sitting space are not that fancy. There are crates everywhere holding whatever things either Papa or I brought back from one of our outings to Anchorhead or Mos Eisley.

Papa, however, is nowhere in sight. He's most likely doing the food run, if not checking up on who he calls his 'pupil', whomever that may be.

But there's one thing that I've learned from my life in this currently empty hut; it's that silence is a terrible thing to be left with. It allows you to think more than you should, and with the night terrors that I experience, it's never a good thing.

I walk up to the small table set in the center of the seating area and pick up my goggles and heat lamp; the only objects I brought back with me. I put the goggles around me and head up the stairs, out of the hut I call my home.

The blinding twin suns make the sand below my feet scorching hot, but I dig my toes under them and feel the cold sand below. I crouch down and reach for my brown boots, ones very similar to my Papa's.

I sit on the top step leading down to the inside of my hut and slip the boots on, making sure not to get any sand in them.

Standing back up, I walk over to my old speeder bike. Its once white color is now black in some places, due to some of the paint falling off, but it still works quite fine.

Hopping on it, the memory of ramming into a rock and falling forward flashes in my mind, but I push it away. The engine humming signals that I'm good to take off.

So that's what I do.

FINN SPEAKS—

:)