Clone Wars One Shots

The Scars of his Past

This story contains descriptions of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), so if your not comfortable reading this sort of stuff then I recommended another one of my stories.

Anyways enjoy! :)

~flashback~

The Gameorreans tightened their hold on Anakin's arms as they continued to pull him down the corridor. The frightened boy wiggled underneath their grasp, his legs following limply behind him. 

"Mother!" Anakin yelled, pushing all of his weight against the strong creatures. "Don't let them take me! Please!"

"Anakin, it's ok my love. You'll be ok!" Shimi Skywalker called back, falling to her knees as more tears stained her puffy cheeks. She looked at the now dark hallway, straining her eyes for any sight of her son. 

The boy watched as his mother got farther and farther away from him. He didn't want to be property. Property was for animals, not humans. Anakin managed to turn his hands around, scratching deeply with his nails in the green Gameorrean's arms. He watched proudly as the red liquid spilled from the cuts, staining the skin a deep pink. This could be his escape.

It wasn't.

"You wretched scug!" One of the Gameorrean's said, gritting his teeth. "Your lucky Watto doesn't want to kill you- yet."

The other creature laughed. "You worthless slave."

Anakin felt more tears prick his eyes, as the smell of burning coal wafted through his nose. His stomach gurgled as the smell of rotting flesh followed. This was it. He was officially going to become property.

Watto's property. A slave, for the rest of his life.

The creatures deposited the young boy on the stone floor. Then walked over to the furnace turning to talk to a tiny pig-like creature. The pig cackled and turned towards the furnace.

Anakin trembled as the creature pulled a long metal stick out of the hot coals. The tip was flat and round and the boy knew it was engraved with his master's initials. The pig blew slightly on the metal and walked towards Anakin, the metal pole gripped tightly in his meaty grasp.

The boy crawled on the floor, gasping when his back hit the cold stone wall. There was no escaping this now. The pig grabbed Anakin's wrist, twisting it to reach one of his hands. Then crashed the flat part of the metal pole to his wrist.

Anakin wailed in pain as the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils. But this time it wasn't someone else's, it was his. Tears streamed down the boy's face as he continued to scream even after the burning metal was taken away.

Anakin twisted his hand back around coming face to face with a boiling red burn mark engraved in his flesh. It was a fairly big circle, made to fit his master's name as well as his "number." Yet another way Watto felt was more efficient for his many slaves. A couple more tears dropped from the boy's eyes knowing that his mother had the same exact burn. The same engraving. The same property number.

There was no escaping now.

~end of flashback~

Anakin exhaled a long breath as he rubbed two fingers across the faint scar on his wrist. After many trips in bacta, the circular burn must have faded. But not enough that he wouldn't notice it.

The scar reminded the Knight of his mother. How she gave up everything so he could leave with Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan. It reminded him of the time she died, and when he murdered a whole village of Tusken Raiders.