Star Wars: A Conglomeration of Tales of Woe and Joy in the Galaxy Far, Far Away

Did You Ever Hear the Tragedy of The Geonosian Who Cries?

A Geonosian.

A lonely Geonosian, furiously proud of his winged-alien hive colony in the rocky formations of his dusty planet.

A lonely Geonosian who cried boogery tears as he lay in his catacomb every night after each long day at work, monitoring the same droid-producing machines, watching as the same two arms were welded to body after body, ready to press a button if anything were to go wrong in the incessant, never-ending attachment of metal arm to torso. He was always ready, just in case something went wrong. Part of him knew nothing ever would, but he worked hard all the same. He loved his hive. He wanted to work hard for his hive, for his queen.

A Geonosian living under the hive that produced these droids for the Trade Federation, albeit just as despicable to any Geonosian as the Republic. They claimed to represent all, to represent democracy. Yet they knew little of any one Geonosian, any one creature in the loneliest corners of the galaxy.

A Geonosian who clung to the walls of his catacomb near his factory as a human male Jedi and his white-clad female intruded in his home and his hive. How dare they near his factory, his queen? Infringe upon his livelihood, his hivelihood?

A Geonosian who drew his weapon. A Geonosian who charged.

A Geonosian who fell in an instant at the slash of a lightsaber, without ever another thought from either intruder.

Boogery tears fell as a Geonosian lay there in death. He knew he had worked hard till the end.