Star Wars: The New Order

Remembering

IT'S BEEN THREE DAYS.
   At least, that's what I think. I remember waking up, hands clasped in the steel binders attached to each side of the table that I am forced to lie on.
I've been awake for hours and hours, but one finds it hard to sleep when positioned vertically for days at a time. I've had no food, nor water. I feel as dry as a desert planet.
All I can do to entertain myself is count the dials on the dark wall that looms in front of me, like a predator. A cruel predator, waiting for me to go insane before it kills me slowly. But I will not be intimidated.
Why? Memories flood back. Gunfire. So much gunfire. Red and blue lights, zooming by. Always into the fray. Always clad in white. Always led by one with a sword of light.
My head spins violently, as it does when I try to think in this place. As if the room wants me to forget. As if that looming black wall just wants to watch me rot away.
But I fight it. And in doing so, I remember the most important thing about me.
I am a soldier.
A soldier. Good. That way, if I somehow get free of these restraints I can strangle the bastard who put me in here. Revenge.
But that's not the kind of soldier I am. That's not the way of the Jedi!
Jedi? I try to ponder the word, figure out what it means. But it's like trying to grip a laa scalefish; the word quickly slips from my grasp, and into the abyss of lost memories.
I try harder to remember who I was. Or is it what I was? There were conflicting opinions on that matter, I feel. Was I the property of someone else? But my head spins again, this time harder than ever, and concentrated around my right temple. It keeps getting worse. I writhe in agony, until. . . .something happens.
I lay still—not because the pain has subsided; in fact it continues to grow worse. I am still because something has happened. Nothing ever happens. And if that "something" could be the key to getting out, I would seize that chance. I have lost much of myself in this asylum of darkness, but I haven't lost my determination.
Plop. Plop.
This is the sound I hear. I don't stop to think of how odd it is, me going to so much effort to hear a sound that trillions of beings throughout the galaxy would pay no mind to. But I'm hopeful, and desperate. For anything.
My eyes follow the noise to the black metallic floor on my right. I can barely tell by the dimness of the room, but there is a small puddle of red. And every few seconds–
Plop. Plop.
I can't hold on any longer. The pain gets to me. I yell—the first time I've heard my voice since....whenever it was I had heard it last—and shake my head back and forth. The plop sound turns into a wild spritz, and it's only then I realize it's coming from my head!
The dark room grows darker. And I drift off, hearing words flow from my mouth: "Good soldiers. Good....The Jedi. Clones."