Post by Torin Vercet on Aug 26, 2015 11:12:41 GMT -8
She woke up.
Again.
Just like the previous 389 days. At least she thought it was 389 days. There was no real way of telling time here. No passing light, no readable clocks. She woke up, occupied herself doing the same things over and over again until she bored of it and went to bed.
There was never anything else in this place. She couldn’t remember how she got here; the memories prior to her arrival fading now to something of a hazy dream. She questioned whether they happened at all after a while. She tried to remember everything she could but it most were just gone. Never to be remembered again. At least she didn’t think she could.
She could feel though and that overwhelmed her.
Pain. Loneliness. Loss. Anger. Defiance.
These were repeated over and over again, permeating every waking moment of her existence.
She discovered fairly early on in her confinement that she wasn’t actually alive. She tried holding her breath and in waiting for the pain that comes when your lungs scream against your ribs, she found that the whole process was entirely unnecessary. She also did not hunger or really ever tire but these findings gave her no comfort.
She had things to do if she could only remember them!
The monotony of her routine quickly eroded any enthusiasm she had that anything would change from this eternal prison. There was very little she could assess from her surroundings and without any interaction for more than a year, she should have been insane. But there was no change.
Vague feelings of the same, over and over.
Pain. Loneliness. Loss. Anger. Defiance.
She had snapped of course. Many times over.
Her prison was a sterile and unadorned interior of what looked like her 3-Z freighter. But the dings and dents accumulated over lifetimes of use were absent. It was pristine as if it had just left the shipyard. Except nothing worked. The panels were illuminated, the lights were on, the refresher functioned but she could not plot a course or maneuver the ship. It sat dead in space, with nothing but stars in the viewports, unmoving.
She had tried to sabotage the ship but even when the airlocks were opened there was nothing being sucked out. Not even her. She floated out into space, without a mask or suit. She blinked and ended up back in the cargo bay. There was no point to leaving the craft, the conditions outside it were identical to inside it. Her weapons did not work, they were merely props, something to look at and hold but which could not bring her any real use.
Neither could the Force. It was eeriely silent for something that had been with her for the span of her existence. She couldn’t touch it and the isolation from it was just as painful as the one from everything else. Maybe more so.
She stared out at the stars from the pilot’s seat again.
Was this it? Penance for her lifetime of destruction and violence? To be bound for an eternity in an unchanging nightmare of persistence?
______________________________________________________________________
She took a break from her work for a moment to stretch her legs and get some coffee. She couldn’t remember the last time she had written something that wasn’t academic or work related. Unfortunately, with the class load and changing jobs, it wasn’t going to change any time soon.
“Sin must be going nuts.” She thought to herself as she poured herself a cup and tried to remember where she even left her. Oh well. One day, she’d get around to doing something with her again.
With a sigh, she sat back down at her desk, an Imperial mug in hand, accounting books open before her.
Again.
Just like the previous 389 days. At least she thought it was 389 days. There was no real way of telling time here. No passing light, no readable clocks. She woke up, occupied herself doing the same things over and over again until she bored of it and went to bed.
There was never anything else in this place. She couldn’t remember how she got here; the memories prior to her arrival fading now to something of a hazy dream. She questioned whether they happened at all after a while. She tried to remember everything she could but it most were just gone. Never to be remembered again. At least she didn’t think she could.
She could feel though and that overwhelmed her.
Pain. Loneliness. Loss. Anger. Defiance.
These were repeated over and over again, permeating every waking moment of her existence.
She discovered fairly early on in her confinement that she wasn’t actually alive. She tried holding her breath and in waiting for the pain that comes when your lungs scream against your ribs, she found that the whole process was entirely unnecessary. She also did not hunger or really ever tire but these findings gave her no comfort.
She had things to do if she could only remember them!
The monotony of her routine quickly eroded any enthusiasm she had that anything would change from this eternal prison. There was very little she could assess from her surroundings and without any interaction for more than a year, she should have been insane. But there was no change.
Vague feelings of the same, over and over.
Pain. Loneliness. Loss. Anger. Defiance.
She had snapped of course. Many times over.
Her prison was a sterile and unadorned interior of what looked like her 3-Z freighter. But the dings and dents accumulated over lifetimes of use were absent. It was pristine as if it had just left the shipyard. Except nothing worked. The panels were illuminated, the lights were on, the refresher functioned but she could not plot a course or maneuver the ship. It sat dead in space, with nothing but stars in the viewports, unmoving.
She had tried to sabotage the ship but even when the airlocks were opened there was nothing being sucked out. Not even her. She floated out into space, without a mask or suit. She blinked and ended up back in the cargo bay. There was no point to leaving the craft, the conditions outside it were identical to inside it. Her weapons did not work, they were merely props, something to look at and hold but which could not bring her any real use.
Neither could the Force. It was eeriely silent for something that had been with her for the span of her existence. She couldn’t touch it and the isolation from it was just as painful as the one from everything else. Maybe more so.
She stared out at the stars from the pilot’s seat again.
Was this it? Penance for her lifetime of destruction and violence? To be bound for an eternity in an unchanging nightmare of persistence?
______________________________________________________________________
She took a break from her work for a moment to stretch her legs and get some coffee. She couldn’t remember the last time she had written something that wasn’t academic or work related. Unfortunately, with the class load and changing jobs, it wasn’t going to change any time soon.
“Sin must be going nuts.” She thought to herself as she poured herself a cup and tried to remember where she even left her. Oh well. One day, she’d get around to doing something with her again.
With a sigh, she sat back down at her desk, an Imperial mug in hand, accounting books open before her.