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Comatose Conscious: Chapter 4
Chapter 4, Oncoming Sleep
"Are you absolutely sure that this is safe?" my Master asked as he uneasily laid down on the pristine, white gurney.
"We're pretty sure that you will go into a coma and be as safe as possible, and that you won't be trapped inside a virtual world filled with medieval barbarians, unable to return to reality," Obi-wan answered with a smirk.
"Oh, that's reassuring," Anakin responded, putting his head down, staring at the ceiling as a med droid put an IV in his left arm. "How come I have to be put under first?"
"Well, you're the strongest of the group, so we decided to test the serum on you before we inject Obi-wan and Ahsoka," Mace Windu said, eyes cold and dead serious.
"Are you kidding me?" Anakin squeaked, not sounding very brave like a Jedi should. "What am I, a lab rat?"
"No…" Obi-wan sighed. "More like a…a test subject! Yes, that's a better term!"
Anakin gave a terrified look as the med droid slowly l
Comatose Conscious: Chapter 3
Chapter 3, Confessions
When I opened my eyes, I was back in my quarters, lying down on my bed. I was confused momentarily until I remembered what had happened; I had a panic attack and Ahsoka had managed to get me back to our shared room. I sighed heavily, rubbing my eyes harshly.
"I see you're awake," I heard Ahsoka say in the distance. I looked over to the small counter to see her preparing some coffee, black…just the way I liked it. She walked over holding two mugs, one that was a navy blue with the Jedi symbol in a light blue, my favorite mug, and a similar one that was dark and light green. I sat up when she reached my bed, taking my mug from her hand.
"Thanks," I said, taking a sip of the caffeinated drink. Ahsoka walked towards the small table next to the counter, sitting in one of the chairs beside it. I followed, setting down my coffee before sitting across from her. "How are you?"
"I'm…fine," she replied. "Just, tired," she continued, rubb
Comatose Concious: Chapter 2
Chapter 2, Pain
Anakin seemed quite eager to see Master Yoda and inform him of his strange visions. I wondered what they meant as we quietly strolled though the even quieter halls of the Jedi Temple.
"Master?" I asked nervously, trying not to seem calm to no avail.
"Yes?" he responded, still walking and looking ahead.
"If those dreams of yours really are visions…" I said. "then what are they telling us? I mean, a medieval knight that looks like you has to mean something."
"We're about to find out," he whispered in response, nodding towards a small figure silhouetted by the soft glow of moonlight reflecting off the waterfall running through the center of the Temple, making the Garden of a Thousand Fountains look alive. "Master Yoda?"
"Sit down, you may," the ancient Jedi Master responded before we both sat down in from of him on the grass cautiously. "Help you, how can I?"
"You see," Anakin said. "I've been having strange dreams that feel like
Comatose Concious: Chapter 1
Chapter 1, Dreams
Such pained faces, such loud screams, the sound of metal clashing in a dark sky, muddled by black blood and bones…
I gasped as I sat up in my quarters, shaking in a cold sweat. It was just a dream, I thought, looking over at my sleeping Padawan, curled up under her thick quilt, so innocent, so unaware of what I had seen. I sighed heavily, standing up, walking over to the open window, my bare feet padding softly on the smooth floor.
I gazed at the murky, dark sky, faintly seeing the snow that was starting to cover the bustling city of Coracant. It was winter, and the war had gotten worse as the cold season went on. I had faced many battles, many defeats and victories, but none could compare to the battle in my heart; unable to control my anger and guilt, trying to ignore my past, but focus on the now…the forsaken, bloody now.
"Is something wrong, Master?" I heard Ahsoka say behind me. My head unconsciously turned around to see Ahsok
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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