Obi Vignette Series: Need Some Opinions! 11/30!

Just a quick one-posty. It's not that great, but hey, everyone has their flops.

Not My Intention
LuvEwan

^^^^^^^^^^

The wind swirls, the frosty breaths of nature blowing fiercely. Snow clings to every surface, in some attempt to escape the warmth of the earth below. The night is glazed in cold dew, a moisture that seems to have settled in glistening drops upon his eyelashes.

He stands on the balcony while the air whips his robe around his body. His arms are protected by sleeves, semi-long stretches of brown, coarse fabric that billows at the ends, where pale fingers grip. A hood, something others would kill for, and probably have in the past, in the poverty stricken streets that populated the downtown areas, rests unnoticed at his shoulder blades.

The posture is slumped, though the unprotected head is upturned toward the dark, starless sky. Tiny, clear shards of ice collect in the closely cropped ginger spikes, and catch the light of a far off moon.

His lips, sealed to a painful tightness, are tinged blue. An exhale escapes them, slowly, and the frigidity swallows it up at once, turning it to a white cloud that promptly dissipates.

A red flush has bloomed some time ago in his cheeks and nose.

I move before him, and from this utterly close proximity I can study the faint tremors in the form. It is far too harsh in this unforgiving climate, how I long to guide him back to the safety of the apartment.

Yet I stay.

I see his eyes now, what I once avoided by averting my own. They are the same cerulean hue, but there is something?still?in them now. I could always detect an unsettled stirring in those breathtaking orbs before. At this moment, they are motionless. They are carved from glacial crystal.

I watch his hands fall. They too are draining of healthy pallor, giving way to the temperature and his mood.

I observe him intently. He is oblivious to my presence.

I suppose it is a bitter poetic justice, for I chose to ignore this exquisite spirit?once. I reveled in my self-made, chilly haven, where my shelter was erected of wariness. Betrayal was slowing my heart in the ice now killing his eyes.

He reached for me with bare truth: he spoke of destiny.

I shoved him away, I was leery of the open beliefs he expressed.

I could not be linked to this wild, roguish youth.

But I can, today, understand that his aura was a placid sea, gentle waves never thinking to drown me.

Indeed, he wished only to release a sweet torrent of love into the parched depths of my being. His comprehension of that bruised mind was astounding as he tried to cleanse it will all the kindness he possessed, an amount I cannot begin to estimate.

And, I had wanted that compassionate well dried. Even attempted to trickle away every precious drop. He did not raise a protesting hand, would not hinder my destructive powers.

When I placed wrongful blame upon his weary shoulders, he would willingly carry the burden, if it meant my load was any lighter.

As others attacked me, he comforted me. Yes, he would not lay idly if I were to be enduring pain. He would leap into my path and take the assault.

Would wake, often, alone.

I suspected shadows creeping inside the purest essence the Universe shall know.

He coped.

I prided myself in my distant attitude. He would never get close enough to harm already damaged emotions. He would stand as a single, well-trained force.

He would not know love.

Or its crippling weaknesses.

He would turn a fever bright gaze upon me, seeking the comfort that could be a soothing balm. I would return a stern expression and sleep suggestion, pressing my callused palm to a blazing forehead.

He recovered.

He would rush to our shared quarters, clutching a perfect exam paper. I regarded his grin with indifference, searching for traces of conceit in one who did not have such wicked capabilities.

And he would disappear into his small room.

Birthdays and special occasions would fall. He spent hours crafting unique, beautiful gifts,

 

Very nice work, LuvEwan!

Wow, the sorrow Qui was feeling as he was watching Obi-Wan was so palpable...



And don't call this a flop!

EVER!



Again, great work!

 

This was most certainly NOT a flop! I actually almost feel sorry for Qui-Gon! You did a wonderful job of portraying Qui-Gon's feelings of regret. Too bad Obi's so attached to him...

I enjoyed it!! Nice job!

 

I have the sudden urge to strangle the life out of that twit....

VERY WELL DONE!!

And if I may say...FLOP MY BUTT!!!!!!!!!

 

NOT a flop. Very well done.

 

This is your idea of a flop??? NO WAY

 

OK - it's November. I'm in the south - where November is just another word for May. And you gave me chills.

This is really, really stunning, LE.

Good job.

CYN

 

Wow! This is amazing! So brilliantly crafted and moving.

You're wonderfully talented, LE!

 

astroanna Thanks for reading.

Havoc_2Nite Feel sorry for Qui-Gon? I didn't know I had it in me to write something that persuasive!

sabercrazy Thank you.

obaona I really appreciate your constant support of my fics.

Padawan Kitara

CYNCICAL21 Chills? Wow! That just made my day. No, how about year?

Cascadia Thanks for the compliments!

***Thanks a bunch for buoying my self-esteem!*** LuvEwan

 

Congrats! You got me to read a JA vignette! And I enjoyed it very much. Good job -- artistically written, keeping the pace and flowing well all at once.

 

Definitely not a flop LE So sad and tragic - there are tears in my eyes. Great piece

 

Whoa!

 

*twitches* OMG. QUI!!!!!! *wraps arms around her master.*

 

Darth_Fruitcake Thanks for reading!!!

Ginger_Jedi It's pretty cool when you discover your words have actually brought someone to tears. Thanks!

Cam_Mulunous

Master_Dar_Sala-at Don't feel too sorry for him... Thanks for replying.

 

up!

 

Thanks for upping my story, Cascadia...Especially since it's finished. But I think I'll just post all my vignettes under this topic. So tomorrow it might have a different subject title.

 

What is Left
By LuvEwan

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

The sun bled through the thin white drapes and cast a warming light on his face. He frowned, rolling on to his side.

The ceiling fan turned slowly. The breeze rippled the sheet and silk material slid from his arm to his waist. Shadow pooled in the curve of his side.

A shrill cry elicited from a bird perched on the window sill. Not a harmonious call of morning, that gently filled the ears and roused the resting. It was akin to an angry shriek.

His thick lashes fluttered and he moaned. A restless hand collected ginger hair in a fist. His body twisted beneath the blanket. The sweet oblivion of unconsciousness soothed him with its numbing touch?. It was good not to feel. He wished he could sleep forever.

But then another cold gush of circulated air chilled his bare skin. He rubbed at his eyes with a weary, muffled grunt.

He sat up and released a long sigh. He had dreamed of home.

Walking through the sleek, silvery corridors. Opening the door. The fresh and familiar scents of mild spice, crushed flowers. Worn, but well-loved furniture. Little knick knacks scattered throughout the amber-lit room. Holos, a bit dusty, recalling contentment and certainty. Innocence in the cerulean gaze so often fixated upon the master. Always wide smiles.

Now, he scanned the space assigned to him by the planet officials. In his life, he was accustomed to government-provided housing. White was predominant, as the bedclothes, curtains and slick floor were all of that bland, unfeeling shade. He searched for perhaps a small shred of personalization, and found nothing.

His shoulders slumped slightly. The room was a blank canvas. No one would ever take their vibrant brush to it.

He could relate.

The winged creature cried out again. He turned to watch the feathery thing, eyes bulging and beak sharp. It?s neck darted forward and another acidic chirp was heard.

He looked beyond, and saw a pure blue landscape. Cloudless sky above a glittering ocean.

A small smile touched his lips. He stood, clad in snow colored sleep pants. His feet settled onto the icy tile and the temperature shot up to the rest of him.

He shivered, but did not move to retrieve his cloak.

He traveled through the hallway and into the main room. Stylish pieces, with hard cushions and an uninviting air decorated the area.

He passed them. The door slid back when he approached.

Heat radiated from the natural atmosphere. An orange glow accented smooth, golden skin. He stepped off the wooden porch.

His toes sank into the coarse sand.

At once he was taken back to that place. Standing at a round window, desolate eyes waiting for the return.

His chest tightened. Seeing the dusty boy running up the ramp.

Knowing, somewhere in the wounded depths of his soul, that things would be different.

Terrible visions from the future roiling in his belly.

Accepting fate with a steady expression. Vows he had rasped without deliberation, tears streaming down his sweaty cheeks.

He journeyed forth, until he was at the edge of the shore. The waves crashed in a pleasant rhythm. A tropical aroma swirled around his nose.

He thought of standing, hands shackled, head bent to discover the drop he would surely take, into salty waters. He had been twelve. He had nearly died.

And now, roaming his existence as a stranger, he ached for the end.

It was a sin to even consider such a possibility. Life was a gift bestowed, to be treasured, and relished until the Force sought your presence.

Besides, the whispers he overheard spoke of potential and destiny. Awe-softened voices. He was the elite. He would teach the One. The One who shall bring glorious balance.

He sank to the grainy, tan ground. A cool mist left its fine droplets on his face. The tears mingled with them, and were undetectable.

Maybe none of those fools were aware.

He was young. Tender emotions killed while the center of his very world burned on a pier, o

 

Oh, I loved it! The visuals were wonderfully beautiful, and the despair of not having anything left for himself was beautifully heart-breaking. Just beautiful!

 

Well.... I have painful knots in my stomach now. I think it's enough for you to understand the effect it had on me....

Bravo bravo bravo!!

 

Thank you, Cascadia!!! I can always count on you to read my stuff! Thank you again and again!

You must've been replying right when I was, Nat, because I only responded to Cascadia, then saw another post on the front boards! I can't believe my story can have such an effect on readers! It makes me feel quite special. You have my undying gratitude.

 

This is just a big, fat, shameless

UP!!!

 

I must really be reply-hungry to up myself twice in a row...

 

Marvelous imagery, LE - and a real in-depth look at what he carries in his soul. Imagining what it must be like to look ahead and know what's lying in wait - and still be bound by a sense of duty. Imagine as well believing that his only worth is in the fact that he will enable The Chosen One. It's at moments like that that I just want to kick Qui-Gon's butt from hell to breakfast.

Beautifully, lovingly done.

CYN

 

beautifully done LuvEwan. Now where is that box of tissues??

 

CYNICAL21 Thank you thank you thank you!!!!!!!!!

Padawan Kitara I always greatly appreciate your replies, Kitara.