Awakenings (ROTS vignette, 1/1)
May. 31st, 2005 05:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dangermousieTitle: Awakenings (1/1)
Fandom: Star Wars
Summary: There is only pain, and fear, and loss. The loss overwhelms everything.
Archive: I would love it. Just let me know if you do so I can gloat.
Rating: Old enough to see ROTS? Old enough to read this.
Spoilers: ROTS
Ship: Vader/Padme. I suppose.
Disclaimer: my first name not being George, my last not being Lucas, this is clearly not mine and I am getting no profit from it. This is x-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
padmeanakin
His body is not his own, his spirit is not his own, and he knows his soul has died. He has killed it. Chopped off its arm in the Chancellor’s chambers. Slashed into its face in the Jedi Temple. Buried it in the lava of Mustafar. Choked it into silence, as it looked at him with fear and love. Padme. PADME. He thinks of nothing but her face. He looks at nothing but her eyes, frozen in time, puffy from crying, looking at him. The desert of his mind finds no relief. Blaming Obi-Wan does not help. Blaming Padme does not help. There is no help anywhere. No respite. Oblivion is denied him in the extremity of suffering, the vision replaying in an endless loop. He wants it to stop and yet he dreads it. This intensity of memory is all he will ever have, all he’s left with.
There is only pain, and fear, and loss. The loss overwhelms everything. He wants to howl, mindless like an animal, but even that is denied him. The complicated regulators of his body do not let him cry, or whimper, or sob. He cannot punch the gleaming metal of the operating table and bloody his hand, break the fragile bones, so that the physical hurt will blot out the agony of the mind. He wants to hit his head against the wall, expiate his pain in blood, cover his guilt in pain. He cannot: there are no pain receptors left, and probably no blood to spill. The machines control him. They will not let him die. Please. There is no more absolute slavery than that.
And then there is no thought left, no hope, no fear. Hate wipes them clean. He hates the Jedi, the Republic, Palpatine, everyone who breathes without pain. He hates the living for their hope. He hates the dead for their peace. Most of all he hates Anakin Skywalker.
Darkness.
Fandom: Star Wars
Summary: There is only pain, and fear, and loss. The loss overwhelms everything.
Archive: I would love it. Just let me know if you do so I can gloat.
Rating: Old enough to see ROTS? Old enough to read this.
Spoilers: ROTS
Ship: Vader/Padme. I suppose.
Disclaimer: my first name not being George, my last not being Lucas, this is clearly not mine and I am getting no profit from it. This is x-posted to
padmeanakinHis body is not his own, his spirit is not his own, and he knows his soul has died. He has killed it. Chopped off its arm in the Chancellor’s chambers. Slashed into its face in the Jedi Temple. Buried it in the lava of Mustafar. Choked it into silence, as it looked at him with fear and love. Padme. PADME. He thinks of nothing but her face. He looks at nothing but her eyes, frozen in time, puffy from crying, looking at him. The desert of his mind finds no relief. Blaming Obi-Wan does not help. Blaming Padme does not help. There is no help anywhere. No respite. Oblivion is denied him in the extremity of suffering, the vision replaying in an endless loop. He wants it to stop and yet he dreads it. This intensity of memory is all he will ever have, all he’s left with.
There is only pain, and fear, and loss. The loss overwhelms everything. He wants to howl, mindless like an animal, but even that is denied him. The complicated regulators of his body do not let him cry, or whimper, or sob. He cannot punch the gleaming metal of the operating table and bloody his hand, break the fragile bones, so that the physical hurt will blot out the agony of the mind. He wants to hit his head against the wall, expiate his pain in blood, cover his guilt in pain. He cannot: there are no pain receptors left, and probably no blood to spill. The machines control him. They will not let him die. Please. There is no more absolute slavery than that.
And then there is no thought left, no hope, no fear. Hate wipes them clean. He hates the Jedi, the Republic, Palpatine, everyone who breathes without pain. He hates the living for their hope. He hates the dead for their peace. Most of all he hates Anakin Skywalker.
Darkness.
