"A state of looping turmoil without rest, surely it'd drive anyone mad given enough time."

"And if time's all you have left, rest assured you find sanctity in knowing Death comes for all eventually, God or Mortal, for there's no truly escaping the crushing weight of the passage of time."

She was angry.

It wasn’t like her usual burst of rage, where she would trash and scream, but I knew from my bottom of my heart she wasn't mad

This was silent. She was silent.

It was unnerving and eerie, it was like a storm with no thunder, a flame with no heat, it was not right.

She shed no tears as I told her the truth, and for once, I wished she did.

She stared at me, her eyes burning into me

Her eyes, beautiful and brown. They shown golden under sun and were peaceful at night, reflecting the colors of the moon ever so slightly. But right now, they were like the rocks that ships crashed into, like the cliffs that even the biggest waves could not break. They were as cold as the darkest caves.

and for once I wished they weren’t

As she grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulders, I wished to god I didn’t do it, regret crashing into me like the unforgiving waves of the ocean.

She turned, glancing for the last time at me, before giving me a smile.

God her smile, it didn’t look right, but it glowed nonetheless. Her smile, and the way her eyes crinkled, and the way her lips curled in and oh just the way you could see her teeth and gum, shining to the world and not a sense of fear as the shimmered.

And with that my resolve broke, god no don’t go, stay, I take it back, I didn’t mean it. 

But she was done, she had made her decision, and I knew nothing I did could fix this mistake. Nothing could turn the clock back and I hated it.

With that smile, and those eyes, and her hair, and the grip on her bag, and her glasses and the way her eyebrows soften and her nose crinkled and just how perfect she was.

She smiled and whispered, her voice so honey smooth and sounded like they carried the weight of the world, how I knew that they did.

She whispered

I AM SO SMART!

I AM SO SMART!

I AM SO SMART!

S M R T!

I MEAN S M A R T!

Only three kinds of ships ever visit Naboo. Supply transports carrying food, medical supplies and some crates of trade goods; diplomatic consular ships transporting dignitaries most of them originating from the core systems of the Empire; and military transports loaded with weapons, and troops ready to use drop ships at any moment to take control of the surface and to shoot down any unidentified ships. In the early days of the newly formed empire the sounds of pulse canons and the crash of wrecked ships was a common occurrence. The night skies would light up with red flashes as the unfortunate ships trying to flee were hit and fires engulfed them as they fell back to the surface. By the following morning the news had already named them terrorists and spies but everyone knew the truth even though no one dared to say it out loud.

Padme sometimes wondered how many of those ships actually made it. She wondered where they went after they got past the naval ships. But most of all she wondered if she would have been on one of those lucky vessels if she had taken the chance to flee when it had been offered to her. Maybe she would have found Anakin by now. If he was still alive. She hoped that he was. She hoped he knew she was still alive too. The news of the bombing at the Senate had listed her as one of those killed. But in reality it was Sabe. The bombing had left several thousand public servants dead and their deaths had ultimately been deemed an act of terrorism orchestrated by the Jedi Order. Padme had watched the broadcasts of the Jedi Temple burning. For once she had been glad Anakin was so far away from the capital. But overall she had never been more terrified. Jedi were dying all across the galaxy killed by their own soldiers at the orders of Chancellor Palpatine. Was Anakin among them? She prayed he wasn’t.

A knock at the door caught her attention. On instinct she stood, adjusting her posture, her back straightening and her hands folding across her lap with her head bowed as the door opened. “Good evening, Sabe,” Teckla greeted. The young servant’s eyes never meeting hers.

“Good evening, Teckla,” Padme returned. If there was one blessing in this entire mess, it was that by pure chance her third house assignment had placed her in the same household her friend had been assigned to serve. The young girl had known immediately who she was and being here was the first time in nearly a year where she felt safe being herself if only for a little while.

Teckla shut the door behind her, her eyes glancing at every corner of the room, fear reflecting as clear as the waters at Varykino in her eyes. “I found them,” She whispered. Her fingers shook as she held out a piece of flimsi towards her. Eagerly Padme took it from her and opened it. Printed on the surface was an image of two toddlers sitting side by side playing in what looked like a playroom in a daycare. The boy had short blonde hair and blue eyes and a wide smile as he held a spaceship towards the girl at his side. She had the same wide toothy grin as the boy, her brown hair pulled into two loose buns on either side of her head as she reached her hands out to grab the toy from him. Padme touched a hand to her chest, tears filling her eyes as the looked at the image of the babies. Her babies. Anakin’s babies.

She hasn’t seen them since they had been pulled from her arms when she had been assigned her new role in this Hell. If she’d had them with her, she would have taken the offer to leave when she’d had the chance. Padme traced her fingers over the image, wishing she could pull them from the image and into her arms again.

“The address is on the back,” Teckla whispered.

She smiled as she looked up to meet her friend’s eyes. “Thank you,” She said. “I know how dangerous this was.”

Her head bowed like it used to when she worked for her, “Nothing is too dangerous for you, my lady.” Her head quickly turned back to the door as if she heard something, “I should go, she whispered. Teckla didn’t even give a goodbye before she quickly fled the room, the door shutting behind her, leaving Padme alone once again.

The bed creaked as she sat on the edge. Flipping the flimsi over she read the address that had been hastily jotted down. It was in a town about one standard hour away. Not close enough for her to pass on her daily mandated walks. Her head spun with ways to get to her children but none were possible with all the restrictions placed on her and people like her. But now she knew where her children were. Wasn’t that worth the risk? Once she had them she could find a way off world. She could try and find the Rebellion that had slowly started to take shape. Even here there were whispers of their actions in the Outer Rim. Some say they are a group run by disgruntled senators from the former Republic. Others say they have Jedi in their ranks. If anything she has heard is true, than it may be a chance to give her children some freedom and if they were lucky, maybe she would finally be able to make contact with Anakin. But that still left the question of how she was going to get them off world. And the chance of even getting that far was slim. Padme laid down on the bed with a heavy sigh. What was she going to do?

Ceremony days. For the most part her new role in society was easy to deal with. Do the shopping, attend gatherings, pray… the Ceremony and the months that may follow were unbearable. The Emperor deemed it a “reward” for some of his most loyal subjects. Each world had a set of judges that ranked a small group of women by their beauty and their fertility. The process was abhorrent, chauvinistic, and humiliating on every level. The so called “reward” Palpatine promises those deemed worthy was a child. Children born by the new class named the Handmaids were given special rights and privileges that filter through to the immediate families of the child. The children of the Empire are given the very best. Health care, education, wealth, an all but guaranteed position in the galaxy when they become of age… all of it was a means of control. Such gifts would help placate those in power and those with wealth that could challenge the new regime while at the same time fostering the growth of the next generation.

As for the Handmaids, their rights were practically nonexistent. Once a month their host family would spend a night trying to impregnate them and the rest of the time they were servants. And for those who do manage to conceive, once the baby is born and they are weaned off breast milk, they are forced to leave the child as if nothing happened. It was cruel. It was a violation of natural rights. But the war, the attacks, the fear… it all worked to keep the system working. Padme knew fear could only hold it together for so long. But with Palpatine’s power virtually unlimited for the moment, there was no telling how long it would take before the cracks started to take shape.

Padme stayed cloistered in her small bedroom all day. When she had been trained on what Ceremony days should be like, she had been told it was her duty to pray she would conceive, and that the child would grow to be a loyal subject in the Empire, to fill her thoughts with the glory of the Empire, and to regard her duty as her contribution to that glory. Padme was not so foolish to believe such lies. But the psychological torment of the training Handmaids had to endure certainly put enough fear into making them at least pretend they did.

Her stomach tightened as the sun started to set. It was nearly time. Instinctively her hand fell down to her stomach again. At her last assignment she had conceived. She bore that family a son. A boy she saw maybe for two hours a day for six months before she left and was forced into this new household. She felt nothing. Nothing but dread at the prospect of it happening again. The clock in the foyer downstairs chimed, signaling the end of the last hour of her cloister. This would be the last night. In her final prayer before heading downstairs to start the Ceremony, Padme prayed that she would find Anakin. She prayed that she would get her children out of this place. But most importantly, she prayed that the Empire would fall.

To be continued???

Should I post on ff.net???

This test is very similar to the Bechdel, but with people of colour (PoC) instead. It has these questions:

Are the two or more non-white, named people?

Do they talk to each other?

Do they talk about something other than crime?

Sadly, most fiction (at least in the west) fail this test as well. I don't have any exact numbers though. Here is a link which describes its origin.

Comic from the site made by Inti Chavez Perez and Bitte Andersson with translation and transcript below for it under the cut:

A.k.a. the Bechdel-Wallace-test. Probably the most well known of these tests. This test consist of three questions, and all that's needed to pass it is to answer yes on following three questions:

Are there two or more named women in the story?

Do they speak to each other?

Do they speak of something other than men?