(no subject)
There is no journey without risk --
there is no way to tell the passing of days, of weeks, of months. each cycle moves just the same as the next, an endless loop of time, brought on by the quiet hum of progress. blood does not flow, his heart does not beat, eyes do not see.
the suns rise and fall in time with the movement of the universe; the birth of a galaxy, the death of a star.
near hoth, asteroids collide with violent force, scattering projectiles through the empty darkness. steam rises from hot dagobah swamps. transports move about corsucant in neat rows, people, goods, money, all moving, all making their way towards something.
there is no way to know how long he's locked away, eyes dark to the change of the seasons on corellia, hands numb, toes and legs still, his chest doesn't move, his body sleeps.
and sleeps.
and sleeps.
There is no risk without reward --
the hutt pays boba fett well for his prize, but instead of waking him up, instead of pulling him from his icy block, he leaves him be. hangs him on the wall in the middle of his lounge, and laughs at the way solo's hands are outstretched, the look of pain on his face.
it echoes; laughter.
deaf ears hear none of it, probably for the best.
why didn't they ask him any questions, of course, now it makes sense. they wanted to use him as bait, as a trap, for luke. the kid is only a kid; thinks he's a jedi, going to get himself killed for thinking that, he just knows. of course he will. a trap, a disturbance in the force, a signal.
he came, he's probably dead now, maybe leia too. if he could scream, he would, if he could feel his chest well up in worry, his heart pound with fear, he would welcome it, welcome the salt of tears on his cheeks, the pain of raw hurt in his throat from his screams, but nothing.
just thoughts; feelings.
There are no rewards without sacrifices --
and he sleeps.
and he sleeps.
she sits in her chair and stares out the window towards the stars, towards the galaxy, no news from lando or from chewie. the rebellion has other things to worry about, the imperial strongholds, the raids, the fact that it's getting harder to hide from the troopers. they don't have time for a rescue mission.
but they're still looking; she won't give up.
and he sleeps.
and the laugher echoes across the room, booming deep, and a man with brown eyes watches, and waits.
and waits; no matter to him, he's been waiting in this endless loop for months.
There are no sacrifices without pain --
many die for information, battle plans, drawings, hints and scraps of data that may not even be true. the rebellion is suffering losses but struggling on. the cycles seem to grow longer with each orbit of the suns and moons around the planets, their strongholds vanishing, allies leaving them behind.
but he sleeps; awake
they used him for a trap, and now he is the one trapped, awake, alive, questioning every moment, every job, every flight.
slowly it creeps into his soul, the darkness, the cold, the blindness. no touch, no sight, no sound, not a thing to connect him, a mind in a shell, a shell frozen in time, where stars don't collide and asteroids don't tumble out of control. there is no space, no connection, no movement.
just existence; he's sure he's going insane.
slowly.
Without pain, sacrifice seems mindless.
Without sacrifice, reward seems worthless.
Without reward, risk seems pointless.
Without risk, journeys seem hopeless.
They're not.
They'll keep searching, until they find him.
and until then, he sleeps. awake.
there is no way to tell the passing of days, of weeks, of months. each cycle moves just the same as the next, an endless loop of time, brought on by the quiet hum of progress. blood does not flow, his heart does not beat, eyes do not see.
the suns rise and fall in time with the movement of the universe; the birth of a galaxy, the death of a star.
near hoth, asteroids collide with violent force, scattering projectiles through the empty darkness. steam rises from hot dagobah swamps. transports move about corsucant in neat rows, people, goods, money, all moving, all making their way towards something.
there is no way to know how long he's locked away, eyes dark to the change of the seasons on corellia, hands numb, toes and legs still, his chest doesn't move, his body sleeps.
and sleeps.
and sleeps.
There is no risk without reward --
the hutt pays boba fett well for his prize, but instead of waking him up, instead of pulling him from his icy block, he leaves him be. hangs him on the wall in the middle of his lounge, and laughs at the way solo's hands are outstretched, the look of pain on his face.
it echoes; laughter.
deaf ears hear none of it, probably for the best.
why didn't they ask him any questions, of course, now it makes sense. they wanted to use him as bait, as a trap, for luke. the kid is only a kid; thinks he's a jedi, going to get himself killed for thinking that, he just knows. of course he will. a trap, a disturbance in the force, a signal.
he came, he's probably dead now, maybe leia too. if he could scream, he would, if he could feel his chest well up in worry, his heart pound with fear, he would welcome it, welcome the salt of tears on his cheeks, the pain of raw hurt in his throat from his screams, but nothing.
just thoughts; feelings.
There are no rewards without sacrifices --
and he sleeps.
and he sleeps.
she sits in her chair and stares out the window towards the stars, towards the galaxy, no news from lando or from chewie. the rebellion has other things to worry about, the imperial strongholds, the raids, the fact that it's getting harder to hide from the troopers. they don't have time for a rescue mission.
but they're still looking; she won't give up.
and he sleeps.
and the laugher echoes across the room, booming deep, and a man with brown eyes watches, and waits.
and waits; no matter to him, he's been waiting in this endless loop for months.
There are no sacrifices without pain --
many die for information, battle plans, drawings, hints and scraps of data that may not even be true. the rebellion is suffering losses but struggling on. the cycles seem to grow longer with each orbit of the suns and moons around the planets, their strongholds vanishing, allies leaving them behind.
but he sleeps; awake
they used him for a trap, and now he is the one trapped, awake, alive, questioning every moment, every job, every flight.
slowly it creeps into his soul, the darkness, the cold, the blindness. no touch, no sight, no sound, not a thing to connect him, a mind in a shell, a shell frozen in time, where stars don't collide and asteroids don't tumble out of control. there is no space, no connection, no movement.
just existence; he's sure he's going insane.
slowly.
Without pain, sacrifice seems mindless.
Without sacrifice, reward seems worthless.
Without reward, risk seems pointless.
Without risk, journeys seem hopeless.
They're not.
They'll keep searching, until they find him.
and until then, he sleeps. awake.