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Jun. 19th, 2006 05:47 pmAtton paced across his room, head bowed deep in thought.
He remembered things. A blurred, patchy stream of events, different encounters merging into each other, but it was something.
And it made the void in it’s middle all that more noticeable.
There was a point at which the memories stopped, faded away into a mass of darkness and red dots, bright and glaring. And when the stream came back again, Atton knew it was a long, long time after they had stopped.
He was missing years. And thinking about them gave him a headache.
He came to a stop in front of a mirror, bowing his head against it and closing his eyes. There were times when he thought he was about to remember something from those years, some insubstantial whisper against the back of his head. And that was enough hope for him.
Red lights. Tiny, twinkling stars in and endless void without sight, sound or smell.
Atton pushed further, rummaged deeper, snatching at those whispers as they slid past him.
He might have been there for hours. Or it might have been seconds. He couldn’t tell.
With every snatch, something felt closer, every push uncovered new whispers. It was slow and tiring, but Atton knew there wasn’t much further to go.
Not much further at all.
”The Republic has grown weak. Stagnant. They have betrayed the common soldiers and their own citizens and they care only for the rich and powerful, the influential, the fashionable. We have been betrayed by our Republic,” The voice paused, and Atton could feel a breath by his ear, cold metal beneath his feet. ”And we have been betrayed by the Jedi Order. You all have heard how they sit and discuss the great matters of the Force while worlds burn. You’ve seen the effects in a dozen peoples without a homeland.”
Atton’s throat felt dry. Nothing had happened yet, nothing important, but he knew something was about to.
”A new order is arising. One that will cleanse away the stagnant wastes of the Republic. And you all are the fire with which we will burn it all away.”
Feet drumming against the ground. Applause. Shouting and whooping and a wave of joy and enthusiasm.
It hurt.
A dull, aching pain at the back of his head which spiked with every bang of a foot. Louder and louder, and more and more painful. There had been faint images, but now they were just bright red light behind Atton’s eyes.
”Kriff!” His head snapped up, pain flaring behind his forehead. “Kriff.” He groaned, closing his eyes for a second. A couple of moments passed, and when he opened them again the light didn’t hurt so much.
The mirror was broken. Spidery cracks had snaked out from a thousand different spots across it. Atton peered at it, reaching forward and prodding it warily. It didn’t fall to pieces, but it was hot.
It dawned on him, as he stared in the mirror, that he’d remembered something. His experiment had been a success. Dashing across to the other side of the room, he scrounged around his draws for his journal, raising a pen to note it down and ... stopping.
Pause. Frown.
The words were there, faintly against his memory, but he couldn’t make out the details. Every time he tried to recall them, they were a little fainter. His pen hovered over the journal for a moment, then hit the floor as he slumped down onto his bed, scowling.
He’d remembered something. He knew he had. But apart from a faint impression of noise, there was nothing there.
He bit his lip, tossing the journal across the room half-heartedly and trudging towards his door as the headache returned.
He needed some headache pills.
He remembered things. A blurred, patchy stream of events, different encounters merging into each other, but it was something.
And it made the void in it’s middle all that more noticeable.
There was a point at which the memories stopped, faded away into a mass of darkness and red dots, bright and glaring. And when the stream came back again, Atton knew it was a long, long time after they had stopped.
He was missing years. And thinking about them gave him a headache.
He came to a stop in front of a mirror, bowing his head against it and closing his eyes. There were times when he thought he was about to remember something from those years, some insubstantial whisper against the back of his head. And that was enough hope for him.
Red lights. Tiny, twinkling stars in and endless void without sight, sound or smell.
Atton pushed further, rummaged deeper, snatching at those whispers as they slid past him.
He might have been there for hours. Or it might have been seconds. He couldn’t tell.
With every snatch, something felt closer, every push uncovered new whispers. It was slow and tiring, but Atton knew there wasn’t much further to go.
Not much further at all.
”The Republic has grown weak. Stagnant. They have betrayed the common soldiers and their own citizens and they care only for the rich and powerful, the influential, the fashionable. We have been betrayed by our Republic,” The voice paused, and Atton could feel a breath by his ear, cold metal beneath his feet. ”And we have been betrayed by the Jedi Order. You all have heard how they sit and discuss the great matters of the Force while worlds burn. You’ve seen the effects in a dozen peoples without a homeland.”
Atton’s throat felt dry. Nothing had happened yet, nothing important, but he knew something was about to.
”A new order is arising. One that will cleanse away the stagnant wastes of the Republic. And you all are the fire with which we will burn it all away.”
Feet drumming against the ground. Applause. Shouting and whooping and a wave of joy and enthusiasm.
It hurt.
A dull, aching pain at the back of his head which spiked with every bang of a foot. Louder and louder, and more and more painful. There had been faint images, but now they were just bright red light behind Atton’s eyes.
”Kriff!” His head snapped up, pain flaring behind his forehead. “Kriff.” He groaned, closing his eyes for a second. A couple of moments passed, and when he opened them again the light didn’t hurt so much.
The mirror was broken. Spidery cracks had snaked out from a thousand different spots across it. Atton peered at it, reaching forward and prodding it warily. It didn’t fall to pieces, but it was hot.
It dawned on him, as he stared in the mirror, that he’d remembered something. His experiment had been a success. Dashing across to the other side of the room, he scrounged around his draws for his journal, raising a pen to note it down and ... stopping.
Pause. Frown.
The words were there, faintly against his memory, but he couldn’t make out the details. Every time he tried to recall them, they were a little fainter. His pen hovered over the journal for a moment, then hit the floor as he slumped down onto his bed, scowling.
He’d remembered something. He knew he had. But apart from a faint impression of noise, there was nothing there.
He bit his lip, tossing the journal across the room half-heartedly and trudging towards his door as the headache returned.
He needed some headache pills.
