Master Apprentice  Archive Marking It Down To Learning |
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Rating: R
Category: Angst, POV, Q/O
Disclaimer: The Jedi aren't mine. No money is exchanged.
Archive: M_A, SWAL, anywhere else please ask.
Spoilers: If you haven't seen TPM by now, you've probably already been spoiled.
Summary: Obi-Wan indulges in a bit of *very* chaotic grief. A DeathScene!Fic.
Feedback: Author without feedback = unhappy author. Author + feedback = happy author.
Notes: This was written as a catharic thing for me. It's a bit...ummm, strange. Not typical fare. Partially inspired by last Saturday's conversation (*smile*) about Obi-Wan and grief.
The title is from a matchbox twenty song.
You lie here in my arms, limp. And for moments I curse the Force that took you away, then remember what I serve and quiet my raging mind.
You lie here. And the blood spreads out in a pool beneath you, so much blood. Your wound must have torn as you moved before you died. And the redness of it confuses me, so like the early morning sky we first made love under.
In all the galaxies, I thought once, there is nothing so hideous as something dead. And now I hold your flesh in my arms, the spirit gone, and I cling to what I cringe at. The body I loved is dead, and that is horrible, but I cannot let go of you.
I wonder for a second if my mind is merely raving; how would I know, alone in my thoughts for the first time in years? Without your steadying presence beside me?
So this is how I will look when I die. So cold. So not there. Looking exactly the same except for one huge difference that changes everything. No movement.
Dead. You are dead.
And I scream in my mind, searching, yearning, casting out for you through the Force, finding nothing.
"Master! Master! Where have you wandered? How could you leave me? I am yours, and if you are not, where am I?"
Nothing answers. It is this more than anything else that tells me you're really gone.
I will never sleep again. Or eat. I'm strongly considering never breathing another breath. Those things are such great weariness, ten thousand times harder without you here.
Master. Oh, please, Master. Wake up. You're not dead, you can't be dead. Dead is so final.
And all the fragile things I've been told about "becoming one with the Force" seem so helpless in the face of my loss. I can't feel you because you're part of something else, part of the Great Dance that holds the universe together.
And my madness says this: it's not fair. Not fair to take you away from me, whatever the good purpose intended. You're meant to be by my side, not far from me, in my mind and heart and body forever only. We should have died together.
No rest for me. No peace. Only fire and chaos in my heart, numbness in my body. So deep within myself searching for you, I doubt I'd move if you tapped me on the shoulder and whispered my name.
But you will not do that. You are dead.
I catch, this time, the grief-crazed circles my mind is going in, and pull myself up. Stop. Think about something else. I stand, lifting your body with the strength you gave me and the Force.
And I carry your body out of the melting pit area, thinking dutifully about something I can't trace back to you in six thoughts or less.
Farewell. I know some things now that I did not before I entered this battle. I am a whisper away from despair. And despair will be a fate worse than being one with the Force.
I will mark this day down as the day I first saw the true reality of the Darkness within me, not the Dark Side, but dark despair.
I'm marking your death down to learning. Your last lesson for me.