No More Nightmares

Deep in the bowels of Coruscant’s long dark underbelly, walked the shadows of those lost to time; both by choice and by design. Among the surly scavengers and ruined men, was one whose name could be remembered by only a seldom few, but he was remembered. Former ARC Trooper Fives, CT-5555, had come a long way from Kamino. He’d traveled well across the galaxy. From the outer rim, to the inner worlds, Fives had once sailed through the stars with the glorious Five-O-First and their heroic leader, the legend himself; General Skywalker.

A sigh fell heavy from his lips and stifled inside his helmet. This dim grey bucket was nothing like the tried and true helm he’d worn back in the day, but it was what he had. He couldn’t risk showing his face out in the world, and that included his plastoid one. There were no distinguishing marks on the dingy dark grey mask he wore, only scars and scuffs to mark its time in the world. Fives didn’t risk drawing attention to himself, especially not after what happened to C-two-five-zero. Nope. Fives was not gonna get got. He would persist. 

It was his persistent and steady nature that had gotten him this far in life, as well as his sense of humor. In spite of the harsh conditions he found himself in, he still found it in his heart to be glad for what he had. His “little patch of sunlight,” as he liked to call it. The lamps he’d put together with bulbs that produced the precious full spectrum light needed for his plants to thrive. Those little seeds he’d dug out of heaps of rotten garbage and filth, now full and green and filling the space in his hovel with life. He’d never felt more free, and every day, he was thankful for his piece. 

But even while he kept an upbeat attitude, his life was not without its darkness. In the false night he kept for himself, the dark hours sometimes took their toll. Voices echoed through empty halls, the pipes churning with secret plots and conspiracies. When he woke, shaking and sweating, sometimes even his patch of sunlight wasn’t enough to keep the shadows at bay. In those long, lonely hours, he had no other recourse but to sit awake and keep himself company. He talked in wide circles, about nothing and everything, of things long past, and what might have been. The sound of his own voice kept him sane, or well enough. There wasn’t anyone around to tell him otherwise, at least, not anymore… 

What kind of herb are you?

You leave an impression wherever you go. Your heart is so strong, so determined, so willing to go after whatever hole you see in the world, whatever wound you need to fix next. You're there. You're justice, hot red and pure gold, fairness incarnate, a paladin in shining armor come to protect and cleanse and heal and yet sometimes you wonder if you're the most corrupt, dirty being in the world, a fraud, a monster in hero's clothing. The world is so intense and you are so small, so fragile, and no matter how hard you try you're never good enough. You want to be good. You want to be good enough. You try so hard and yet the world is so dark and angry and cruel. Perfection is always just out of reach and you want things to be okay so bad you bleed with it. You just want things to be right, to be good, to be fair, but you don't know if they ever can be. If you can ever be.