It was the middle of the afternoon in the city, and the sun had turned the city into one large oven. The heat rose in waves across the cracked streets, the thick smell of tar and speeder fumes caked onto the city's body, and the juices of waste seeped into it's pores.
Children laughed and played out by the open street, splashing each other with water, old folks would toss and turn uncomfortably under their sweaty sheets, and young women would venture out onto the rooftops of house while their men were off at work. The heat had affected everyone in the city, while the heat had fermented it, and covered the city in another day of grime.
Andrea had spent the day on the roof of her building soaking up the sun, and listening to music on from the nearby cantina. She, like many other young people, had found it necessary to venture out into the warm sticky air, and force herself to lie beneath the pounding sun for hours in order to darken her skin.
Her brown hair had matted down against her sweaty forehead, and she pulled the thick air from her lungs in short gasps. Andrea had never understood why she subjected herself to such punishment everyday. Some of the girls in her neighborhood used tanning lotion year round. She always knew when someone had been using lotion; their skin had an orange tint to it. Andrea always thought it was funny to see orange colored humans in the dead of winter.
There would be a foot of snow on the ground, and people would be walking around the city, thinking they were fooling the world, with colors painted on themselves. The rest of humans in the city had tan in the summer and white during the winter. That's how Andrea thought of it at least.
So like the rest of the city, she would sit out on the rooftop everyday, exposing her delicate skin to the sun, her lungs to the thick putrid air, and her body to the hard, gritty gravel beneath her towel.
The music grew louder, Andrea hearing her and her boyfriend's favorite song being played in the local cantina across the street.
Andrea smiled, and closed her eyes. Jadeon had always known how to make her feel special. That's what she loved about him, his charm. He hadn't much else to offer. They lived in the worst part of the city, fondly named Heavenly Haven by it's inhabitants, because Jadeon decided to waste their money on alcohol. When he had alcohol, he beat her.
She felt the bruises on her face. Sometimes he beat her real good, put bruises in places where people wouldn't look. He would stop, someday, Andrea knew that Jadeon was a good man. He could get help, and then they could get married. She wanted him to get help. She wanted to marry him. She loved him.
Jadeon had been living in this city for five years. Without a education, he was limited in his career choices. He had been working in Krueger's deli shop for six months, looking forward to the day he could quit. The place was a dump.
Jadeon hated nosy customers. He knew what had caused the holes in the bread; the entire deli was infested with vermins and insects.
"Well tell you manager that you just lost another customer."
Jadeon watched the angry customer storm out the door and onto the sidewalk where he was greeted by a slight drizzle. The rain had started. Jadeon looked at his chronometer, ten till five, close enough. He hastily collected his belongs, and hurried out the door, hoping arrive home without being caught in the rain.
Andrea felt raindrops against her body and face. She enjoyed the rain; it soothed her burnt skin. She believed that the rain cleansed the city, washed away its sins, yet this is a city of sin, and she knew that as well. It began to rain harder and although she was content on the roof, she gathered her belongings, and went downstairs, back to her apartment to see Jadeon when he arrived.
Jadeon was no longer in a hurry to get home. He was now wandering the aisles of a liquor store, greedily clinging to credits he had taken from the register at the deli. He took a bottle of Nubian Whiskey off of the shelf, inspected it, and brought it to a Rodian who stood behind the front counter. Jadeon handed him the credits needed to pay for his drink, and ran from the store.
He was ashamed to be buying alcohol, he knew he had a problem, but he promised himself that this would be the last time. He had been promising himself that for the last two years. Running into an alley, Lewis tore the bottle open, and drank the whiskey until he had to stop to breathe. Andrea hated it when he drank. He hated himself when he drank. He couldn't go home in this state, so he decided it would be better if he spent the night in the alley.
Adnrea sat on her balcony that night. She sat and watched over the city, her city, looking for Jadeon. The streets were busy, even at night. The night people roamed them. Holo-News spoke of heroes, who wander the night fighting crime and upholding justice.
Those heroes never ventured into Andrea's neighborhood. Outside, on her street, robbers stood under streetlights, while bums slept on the sidewalks. Tonight was different, the storm had kept them away. The only sound on the streets was the soft patter of rain, a soft lullaby for the tired city.
Andrea sorted through a leaflet of papers. She had received information about a drug detox clinic weeks earlier, but she never had the courage to show Jadeon. Tonight was the night, it had gone on too long for Andrea, she had to show him the papers.
She knew that he loved her, and he would do anything for her. Jadeon would go to the detox center, he had to. And closed her eyes, and listened to the soft rain. Tonight was the night.
The ambiance of Jadeon's drunken slumber was broken by the sound of a thud. He shielded his eyes from the heavy rain that pounded the alley. A man dressed in deep gray lay sprawled in the alley not more than ten feet away from him. Lewis pulled himself to his feet and ran towards the fallen man.
Questions poured from Lewis' lips. He touched the man's chest. His fingers sank into clouded blood. Lewis heard the sound of footsteps. The shape of another man, dressed in black, came into view. A moment later the man came fleeing down the alley.
In a drunken stupor, Lewis stood and confronted the running man. He saw the man pull a metallic object under his robe from the darkness, a gun. Jadeon's eyes traveled down to the man's belt, seeing another metallic object, clipped to it, a lightsaber. The man raised blaster the to his eyes and cocked it.
He followed the path of the slugthrower up to the man's face. Lasting he saw was the tattooed face of the man. He know what he is, a Sith.
Jutar dipped his fingers in the warm blood,
Brought them to his mouth,
Tasted the salt,
The man had been in the way,
No one gets in the way,
Not a Jedi,
The guard at the prison tasted death. Then was an obese human male in his late forties. Thoir Campbell was his name, he had been working ant the prison for twenty years. He never understood how Jutar had pulled his gun; he never knew the favor Jutar did him. It was only one quick shot through the ear. Thoir probably never even felt it.
Jutar now turned his attention to the body of Clahe Desio. Smiling, he put the gun to the Jedi's temple.
Clahe felt the gun lift from his face, and heard the steps of Jutar fade into the rain. Blood shot through his throat. Jutar hadn't killed him. He laid on the ground reflecting on what had occurred. The asphalt was still warm from the heat of the day. The rain trickled over Clahe's body. It diluted his blood. It cleansed him.
Why was Clahe alive?
He knew the answer.
It would have been too easy.
The smells of death,
The tastes of death,
Would have spoiled.
The walk back to the his ship, in the shuttle bay was a harsh suffering. Clahe been bruised and broken. He stopped to spew out some blood that had surfaced in his mouth. It fell on the street in a putrid spray. Drips of the remaining beaded to the corners of his mouth.
The entrance to his home, was only a block away, but he could no longer move. His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground. The asphalt pressed against his face. The rain pierced his wounds like a thousand needles. He lay there, happy to be alive, and he starts to heal himself.
White clouds blocked the heat of the blistering sun. This day is a break from the heat wave that's been pounding the city for days. The sticky air has stopped, and cool whispering wind has taken its place for today.
The street quickly filled up by the citizens of the city, running to hurry to their job, some already working at this time. The kids yelling, playing, running around just like every other day, they play without knowing how hard it is really to live in this world, to live with the crimes, the killings, to live with evil around them.
A gang of four Chadra Fans surrounds Clahe, a shiny metal rod caught their attention, thinking they might able to sell and get a Ale or two if they sell it. The leader of the group, looked back to the rest, his fingers of his lips, telling them to be quiet while he tries to the weapon of the Jedi away.
He quietly walks over to him, his tiny hands wrapped around the saber, with all his might he tries to pull it off the belt, his feet on Clahe's leg as push down onto it. Clahe opens his, squinting, the ray from the sun caught his eyes from the opening from the clouds.
His eyes looked down at the little alien trying to steal his sword, the alien looked up smiling, his fingers letting go, he quickly backs up, still smilling towards Clahe, getting a pretty far from him he starts to run followed by his gang. His hand instinctively moved to block the sun, lifting him self up from the floor he slept in for the night.
The bruises gone, the peach color of his skin back to the area where once colored by dark shades of blue and green are gone. The blood that stained his clothes had dried off during his cold slumber.
Clahe stood up, his eyes roaming his surroundings same with his other senses. He looked down to the corner he slept, thinking how long he has asleep, he shook it off, heading towards his ship.
As he walks, he couldn't help seeing that people are looking at him, he thought to him self it must be the blood. He smiles, as he continues his trek back to his ship. He tries to not bump to anyone, not wanting to start a spark with an angry citizen and trying to evade even more attention to him, and not attract anymore trouble.
The ramp began to descend towards the ground, the wind coming in from outside catching his hair, the sunlight glinting off of his eyes. He stopped on the bottom of the ramp, he looked around checking if someone is around, he turned his head forward, walking up the gangplank.
He reached the top, the hatch closed behind after he went in. He walked his way to his quarters, closing the door after him, taking the filthy clothes that seemed like he worn over a year ago, although he only had them for a few days.
After putting fresh new garments he sat t quietly, his dark brown hair lay motionless on top of his head, the lose gray attire covering his flesh. His legs were crossed, his hands rested gently upon his knees, his eyes closed, the light above and behind him casting a dim shadow before him.
Clahe trying click with the concentration needed for him self to enter the meditation process. He enters his meditation, soon he will be ready to fight for the Light Side of the Force against the Dark Side...