2018 Writing Scrapbook

Stormtrooper

Note: This is a Christmas present for my friend Ben.

He was clad in white armor with dark eyes in the shapes of triangles. A sinister plot where white represented the darkness in this world and the dark cloaks of Jedi represented the light. Where was the fairness of such a place? Where was the equality of the force? A ruling body made of nothingness, an omnipresent being always present. A power that one could harness towards good or evil. He didn't believe that it mattered. Good and bad didn't exist. Only survival.

He marched. He held his gun, he blasted. He darted into every mission as instructed. 501st Division. Vader. He had lived so long that he'd witnessed the wars against these Jedis, against Anakin Skywalker. And he'd watched as Anakin had gone cold, disappeared into the blind wheezing behind the mask. Everybody wore a mask. It was only customary. Strip one of their identity, and it was easier to send their division into suicide missions. Unconquerable battles that they won anyway. No feelings. No emotion. Only the mask.

This is how he lived. Why did he live this way? The answer was quite simple. It was the reason why anybody risked their life for such a useless cause. It was all about the money. Everybody knew that the Stormtroopers were paid more than any other faction of the entire galactic empire. Wealth was the key. Send it to your family and you're golden. Work and work to let them live. Bring them out of poverty. Let your children succeed. Pave them a path in life. That is why he lived.

He could picture her- her blue skin was dappled with spots, but her form was humanoid. His darling's eyelashes were long and thick, and though there were wrinkles on her forehead, her lips were still large and her black eyes round. She was there in his memories, staring at him curiously. In that memory, she wasn't cunning and deceptive as she'd been to win him over, but just innocent. Purely beautiful. She clutched their sons, each a pale seafoam green, looking at him with mournful eyes. "Will you come home, Papa?"

He had patted their heads. "Of course, my sons. I will be gone for a very long time, but I will see you again someday."

She sent him messages at times. Detailed him on the life she lived now. But they weren't passionate. They weren't filled with the love they'd once shared. That was to be expected. After all, it had been forty-two years. And he was still a Stormtrooper. He had lied when he said he would come home.