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| Before Leaving by Blakken |
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The sun hung across the sky like a wound. In the distance past his home, sitting alone amongst waving fields of krill grass, feeling as isolated as he felt, Mylo watched the sun make its slow descent below the horizon. The fields, normally so verdant and green, took on a somber glow. As the breeze blew across the red-tinged plains, it seemed as though a river of blood flowed towards him, as unstoppable and inevitable as tomorrow’s sunrise.
The breeze, thick with the scent of blossoms and distant rain, swept his hair from his forehead, and he closed his eyes feeling the tears threatening to come. He hung his head and leaned against the long staff he carried and thought about tomorrow.
His father had woken him up the morning of his birthday, two days ago, and handed him a small package.
“This is for you,” he had said. His father had laid a hand on Mylo’s shoulder and let it linger there. It was the most his father had touched hum since before Mylo was twelve. He remembered looking deep into his father’s eyes and as his father held his gaze, Mylo thought he night have seen a tear, small and unfamiliar, in the corner of his father’s eye. Then Mylo had blinked and the phantom tear was gone. Still, his father had kept his hand on Mylo’s shoulder and placed the package beside him on the bed. Then his father, of all things, ran his hand, so scarred and calloused, rough, yet so strong, across Mylo’s face, across his cheek and kept it there. “We love you son. We are proud of you.”
Then his father had left, and Mylo was alone.
Now two days had passed and Mylo was still sorting out his feelings. When he thought of how hard, how foreign those words must have been to his father. How difficult it must have been for him to say them, and how much weight those words carried because he had said them, Mylo couldn’t breather. He had never harbored any doubts of his parent’s love. He was provided and cared for, respected and trusted. He knew they loved him, but the words were rarely spoken. Only after leaving for the University, did Mylo begin to see how other families showed their love; through words, as well as deeds. Mylo had begun to wish for things he had never known.
Now Mylo could almost believe that there might be a deeper level to his relationship with his family.
But he was leaving tomorrow. Finally he was on his way to Carida and the Academy. He was sneaking away, ignoring his parents’ wished and admonitions. He felt sure that whatever unspoken offering his father had made two days ago, would be taken back and put away wrapped in disappointment and anger.
He still had to go. He knew it.
At the University, Mylo began to learn about the Empire and its secrets. Palpatine, for all his apparent benevolence and grandfatherly manners, was the author of the New Order. Even without the urgings of his professors, Mylo would have recognized the New Order’s evil. He planned to help snuff it out for the dangerous disease that it was.
He thought of the words of Professor Animar. He remembered the vehemence of the speech, the ferocity, and the righteous anger. Mylo had recognized the truth of those words in which he knew he had found his destiny.
“In a galaxy of trillions of beings, destinies are shaped by extraordinary individuals. Those willing to sacrifice, to fight to challenge, to accept the weight of awesome responsibility. Are those who shall be long remembered and celebrated as heroes.”?
Mylo leaned against the staff and allowed its ancient strength to support him. He pressed his head against the cool wood. It was time to leave, he knew. He couldn’t wait for his father’s allowances. Tomorrow, he would sell his speeder; collect his savings, and book passage on the cheapest flight to Carida. He ran his hands along the length of the staff and imagined his father at eighteen. Did he feel the same way? Feel the same pull? Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Father had stayed here and built a life identical to all the others before him.
The wood of the staff was smooth and polished black by generations of hard use and sweat-drenched hands. His father’s sweat was soaked into the wood, a permanent piece of family history. Mylo’s own sweat was there, too, but he swore that it would not signal his own permanence here. His story ended here, ready for another chapter, another set of hands, not his own.
He had told his father last night, and he had watched the look that passed between both his parents. He didn’t know what that look meant for they had their own language built on years if the triumphs and tribulations inherent in all unions. It had not mattered anyways, between bites if gree steak and blue milk, his father had ended the discussion with a shake of the head and a soft muttered reply: “I need you here.”
Against the wood Mylo shook his head at the memory.
No way.
He turned away from the setting sun and looked at the animal below.
Not another year with these things!
He couldn’t do it; He knew that if he stayed till next year, his father would think of another reason for him to stay. Then another. If he didn’t get off this rock today, he would never get out.
Besides, his father had more than enough droids.
He reached into his tunic and pulled out his credits.
All that I have. I’ve been saving for fifteen years now, since my third birthday.
Fifteen years and tomorrow it would all be gone. Even then, the credits he had would not be enough. He’d have to sell his speeder. Still, he would journey third class on the liner, at best. But Mylo couldn’t think of anything more luxurious than the sound of exhaust and booster rockets. The thrum of engines as they blew past the atmosphere.
He fingered the macrobinoculars hanging from his neck. When he had opened the package from his father two days ago, he hadn’t been able to muster the excitement the macros would have generated even just last year. They were nice, top of the line, and Mylo had wondered briefly how his parents could have afforded them. But already his mind was on the coming days, the feeling of both betrayal, and impending freedom weighed heavily on his thoughts.
Now, he adjusted the controls and held them to his eyes. Miles away he could see a pack of grazing nerfs, the play of their muscles and the swish of their tails as they swatted at the pesky glider flies.
Wow! These really are nice!
He hadn’t planned on taking them with him, just a small bag with some clothes and tools, provisions, and his small holdout blaster, which he had bought in town two weeks ago. He looked east, where it was already dark, and through the green hue of the night enhancement feature, he could make out the rook of the Celchu home. Yes, he would definitely bring these, too.
He tilted them up, pointing towards the darkening sky. With some small adjustment, he aimed it at the moon and he could make out craters and cliffs, even the remains of an old mining colony. Now Mylo was smiling, the thoughts of father and the Academy, of mother, of selling his speeder, of leaving friends, of the unknown that awaited him tomorrow. All were forgotten, and Mylo let the feeling of happiness flood him. He felt as he did when he got a new toy when he was younger. Everything was forgotten and he relished the moment, the feel of holding joy in his hand. Mylo laughed and for no reason, yelled at the top of his lungs a primal scream. No words, nothing intelligible. It echoed down the valley and frightened the herd of nerfs he’d been tending. He laughed again as he watched them scatter, and whinny their fright.
Mylo pointed the macros and tried to focus on the moon again. He swung them toward the moon, but before reaching it, his attention was halted by something else, something big, and something that had never been above Alderaan before.
What in the world was that? A dull, gray globe hung in space, dominating, artificial and metallic. It’s too big to be a space station, he knew. So what was it? Mylo could make out tiny shapes orbiting it. He thought of the glider flies buzzing around the backsides of wild nerfs. Are those TIE’s? He thought of Tycho. Could Tycho be up there?
It was definitely Imperial. No one could afford to build something that big other than Palpatine. He looked at the monstrous construct and the pull in his chest grew stronger with each beat of his heart. This is why they must fall. To build something so obscene in scale could have no other purpose than to inspire fear and obedience, unquestioning adherence to the laws of the New Order.
And in the final moment, Mylo knew that somewhere out there he would make a difference. He would effect change. He imagined, too, that there must be others out there like him, looking at sunsets and wishing for more. He knew that they would all make difference. He felt an undeniable pride in being among their unseen number. In the last second of his life, Mylo smiled.
Through the lenses of his new macrobinoculars, there was a brilliant flash of green and then nothing.
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