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When the pain becomes too much and the emptiness consumes, there's no way out but the one you cut through yourself. She's curled up and crying. Never was pretty but now her face is so reddened and swollen - unrecognizable. She wonders: If I write my story in blood across the white walls, will they bother to read before washing it off? Oh, everything hurts, and it's cold, tingly. She's eaten away from within, They lied when they said they could help her. If she ever had a soulmate, he must surely be dead by now. In the end, it doesn't take so much courage as thought-control. And as the blade slides, there's blood everywhere. But she's not afraid now, and this new pain is welcome. She hadn't though things would be calm like this. She's cute deep enough through her flesh to escape.
(A long, long time ago, and so on…)
All sentient beings have a breaking point, when their will is shattered beyond repair and they become as subservient and dull-witted as animals. Just now, the tiny huddled figure breaks, screaming out from the deepest part of its being; screaming in rage, fear, disgust. And then silence, as the creature lies broken and bleeding in its own filth, stained clothing twisted about its torso like shackles. Its eyes glaze over as it stares at its new master. That master is far across the room, though not quite distanced enough to avoid the stench of blood and fear which emanates from the creature’s torn body. The master speaks low and harshly, in a voice that sounds rarely used. “Give me the name.” “Illiyona Tarek,” whispers the creature, dull and droid-like. “Good.” From within the master’s dark robe a hand is clenched tightly, swiftly. The creature is dead.
“I can’t believe I’m stuck here!” Illiyona yells in frustration at no one in particular. She swears and kicks a rock, then proceeds to jump up and down on one leg, howling in pain. She stalks toward the cantina across the street, limping along the way to express her pain and frustration at the galaxy in general. Greeted by stares from a multitude of menacing and disgusting-looking creatures, she sinks into an empty corner booth quietly, and draws a random drink from the serving droid. The outside of her glass is stained with something that looks suspiciously like blood, and she decides to push it away without taking a sip. Suddenly, Illiyona realizes how many thieves there probably are in Mos Eisley, and digs deep into her pocket, past her wallet, to make sure that a small datacard is still there. She then realizes that any thieves who suspected she has something important in her pockets will now be sure of it. She gets up to leave, but knows no safe place to go, and instead sinks deeper into her booth.
Aboard his unnamed ISD, the dark figure turns slowly to face the officer by the door, and watches expectantly. “Yes?” “Tatooine, sir,” the officer whispers nervously. “How soon can we be there?” “Three days, sir.” “And she won’t be gone by then?” “She is unable to leave, sir.” “Very well.” The figure waves dismissively, and the officer rushes to leave the room. Alone, the figure reaches deeply into anger, and smiles as he feels his power grow. There is nothing but strength, and no one to oppose him.
Something is following Illiyona; she is sure of it. Every time she walks she can hear slight clicks from footsteps blending almost perfectly with her own. They don’t blend perfectly, though, and she knows there is someone behind her, even if she sees no one when she turns around. The sand crunches quietly under her feet as she picks up speed. Something is following her, and she is terrified. No blaster, not even a vibroblade, and something is following her. Now the footsteps are loud and echoing. There’s no attempt to hide them anymore. They pick up speed. The faster they move, the darker a sound they make. It’s right behind her now, but there’s no breath down her neck, and the footsteps have silenced. She still moves, and it’s still behind her, but there is such a silence. And then it leaps. Illiyona falls, unconscious. The twin suns have set, and all is dark. Here comes the night.
All sentient beings have a breaking point, and Illiyona is just on the verge of hers. Huddled in her filthy, stinking rags, she cries out as the dark figure comes again. “Where is it?” the figure rasps in an unused voice. Illiyona shakes her head and sniffles. She won’t tell. She won’t tell. A frown on the face of the figure. Illiyona screams and pain rushes through her body, pulling her muscles into spasms. She won’t tell. She won’t tell. Mamma told her not to tell. Mamma said it’s dark, it’s bad. Now all grown up, Illiyona won’t tell, can’t tell. No squadron of fighters, no expensive weaponry. Just a girl and a demon conversing quietly about the fate of the galaxy. Such unspeakable darkness in Illiyona’s knowledge. Such unspeakable power. And all sentient beings have a breaking point, so Illiyona breaks. So the dark, unnamed figure dies and is reborn in power. So, the unnamed figure breaks. Madness is the end. The end, is the beginning…
(On a planet far, far away, a child is born.)
The trees are awake now, and my favorite one is flowering - white and pinkish surrounded by leaves. The air is drizzly and cold, but I want to see the tree anyway. Daddy'll meet me in the park. I circle around my tree, the bows bending over me like a roof, low enough so I can smell the flowers. I look up, and petals hang from the sky all around me. I walk, sometimes on stone, sometimes along the mud and grass. Now I sing: "And baby I could melt away, fall like rain. Every time I see your face.." The birds sing too, high and sweetly, almost forming a melody for my song. "Baby I could melt away..." It doesn't matter that there's no one with me, no one for me. Doesn't matter. I star from the tree and tilt my face and palms upward to catch the raindrops on my skin. The grass smells of green, and the sky is happily gray. I walk, and pick out patterns in the spaces between leaves. I smile at the flowers. And suddenly, just for a bit, I'm whole. No emptiness, no saddness. Happy, and I feel a part of everything. Wow. But someone enters the park and steps past me and the feeling's gone. I'm quiet, birds are quiet. I start circling the tree again and wait for Daddy. It's spring.
Under a fire-cloud sky, a Child of the Moon sits quietly. A He and a She, two stuck together in one. The He laughs at a silly thought passing through the She's mind. It's before the origin of love, so the He and the She have only pure understanding. The He and She hold hands, fingers fitting togethere tightly. Beside, is a Child of the Sun: the He and the He, and also a Child of the Earth: the She and the She. All smiles. Gods are pinned to the heavens by mountain peaks, and they scowl down at the Children. Pray to us, they say. No, says the He and He. Mother told us not to, says the She and He. We won't, says the She and She. The gods grow red with anger. Zeus flings down lightning bolts, his face twisted in a grimace. Oh, such pain the Children feel as the white-hot blots slash through their flesh. Separated, they fall to their knees and cry. Come back to me. It hurts, says the He. Come back to me. I'm but a half, says the She. They clutch at their wounds and cry again. Some Indian god in almost-pity, sews up their wounds into a hole. He pulls it around to their bellies to remind them the price they pay. The hole is impossible emptiness and loneliness. The hole is like being lost in a wicked little town. They're only half-people now. And Osiris and the gods of the Nile gather up a big storm. Wind, water, power. Lifts them up and scatters the halfs along the Earth. It'll take ten thousand eternities to be whole again. I'll find you, calls the She. I'll find you, calls the He. But they're lost. And the She can only stare at her hands, and remember the fingers that used to fit so perfectly with hers. She can only sigh, and wander the Earth by moonlight. That's the origin of love.
Read about My Hell.
Two alone in a grassy place, lying against each other. Tiny weeds poke up between their fingertips. It must be spring. Somewhere, there's a daffodil. The girl's a daffodil too. Daffodil hair, flower eyes. And the one besi de her, he's just beautiful. Blue eyes, dark hair. Beautiful. No one to break the silence, exept themselves. And they don't. But she pushes it aside for a bit. "I remember that falling in love's supposed to be like spinning and spinning," she whispers. "Is it?" "Let's see," he says. Amusement sparkles in his blue, blue eyes. He gathers her up into his arms, and stands. Starts spinning: slow, then faster, faster. Her finger tips lace around his neck. She giggles high-pitchedly, and he laughs too. Then stops all of a sudden, and sets her on the ground. Their eyes smile at each other, and he holds her close. "So, was that like being in love?" she asks quietly. "Depends who you're in love with," he tells her. "That's no answer." Pretty pout. "It isn't?" He grins. Pins her down and tickles her. The giggles start up again. Two alone in a grassy place, it must be spring. Some moments last forever.
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