Part 5: Hmiol's POV

Written by Wampasmak




Simeon Cates and Garos Hmiol sat alone in the Temple Refectory, in front of two trays that hadn't been touched.

Neither spoke.

Neither knew how they had come here, in fact. They had simply ended up there, sitting across from each other.

~I should be there for him...~ thought Simeon, ~He's my best friend, and I sit here (With HMIOL, of all people!) while he suffers. I want nothing more than to go comfort him. But I can't. This is his alone to work out. I just need to be there to pick up the pieces. Doesn't make it any easier...~

Meanwhile, across the table, Garos Hmiol had similar depressing thoughts.

~I hate sickness. I hate everything to do with sickness. I don't care what the masters say about hatred, I hate it, I hate what it does to peoples lives...~

~And most of all, I hate what it did for my life.~

And now sickness claimed another victim. His friend.

The thought startled Garos, and he took a moment to recover himself. Had he really just thought of Jemmiah as a friend?

Yes, he realized, all feuds and personality quirks aside, he found that somewhere deep down he had grown to trust them almost as much as his master. Was this what friendship was? Hmiol had always thought that friendship, if he ever experienced it, (Which had seemed highly unlikely for most of his life) would be something that reached up and hit him like a lightsabre. But... what if it wasn't? It made him think. Alot.

And he began to realize what the greenish padawan across from him must be going through.

Slowly, uncertain, Garos reached a consoling hand across and placed it atop Simeon's.

Neither spoke.






Part 6: Jemmiahís Point of View


Written by Jemmiah





Well diary,

Itís been two days. Two whole days since I woke up.

Theyíre all waiting for me to crack up, breakdown or whatever. I can see them watching me, hovering nearby, always the worried expression. Always the sympathetic look.

Iím not an invalid. I just want to get up and get on with my life but they wont let me. An-Paj has ordered me to stay in bed for at least another couple of days whilst they run some more tests on me. Pulling me this way, prodding me that way, and "oh, can we have some more of your blood please?"

As if they havenít had enough of it already.

They moved me to a room of my own because Iíve been disturbing the other patients with my nightmares. I donít know why in the name of Sith theyíve chosen to come back now, but Iím telling you itís damned inconvenient. Now everyone in here is treating me like Iím some kind of freak. Theyíre already walking around as if theyíre on eggshells as it is. Personally, Iíd settle for a normal conversation. One that doesnít start with "How are you feeling?"

And how am I feeling?

I just donít know, to tell the truth. Tired. Very tired. Not as tired as everyone else it would appear, who seem to have been pacing the floor whilst I was floating around oblivious to everything. I can read their expressions and emotions exactly the same way that they canít see mine. What do they say to someone whoís lost a child? Thereís only so many ways to say sorry. Nobody should be feeling guilty. But that doesnít stop them from beating up on themselves, does it?

Iíve tried over and over again down the years to not feel guilt for the things that have gone on around me because at the end of the day it serves no practical purpose. Changing the past is impossible, however much you would wish to alter it. But you know, I understand how they feel because I do know what guilt is. Iím just not one for showing it. When I was young, emotions were weaknesses that could be exploited against you and you soon learned to keep your head down and your feelings locked away.

Not very healthy, on reflection.

Ben asked me if there was anything he could get me. I said my diary, my butterfly hair clasp and a bottle of Corellian Brandy. Now they think I want to drink myself into oblivion! I certainly needed my diary. Iím not sure why I asked for the clasp. Master Jinn gave it to me when I was ten and Itís been a bit of a favorite ever since. Well, if Ben can have a rock why canít I have something of mine? And anyhow, I need something familiar at the moment. Just being able to pick it up and hold it in my hand is a big comfort for some strange reason. I think Iíd be lost without it.

I didnít want this child. Nobody wanted this child, letís face it. Iím useless with kids. Never really knew any others when I was small, except for my brother and to be honest I canít really remember him at all. I tried to recollect his face last night and hereís the funny thing; I couldnít even remember what color of eyes he had. Amazing what the passage of time does. Not so much a healer of wounds but it does paper over the cracks.

Strangely enough though, everyone sort of pulled together. Master Jinn has been extremely supportive. Ben, of course, has always been there. And Evla. It was nice, I donít deny it. It felt like a proper family in a way. I must be getting soft in my old age! It never bothered me before. Still, it was nice while it lastedÖ

Am I sad over whatís happened?

Yes, I think maybe a little. Thereís always going to be a bit of me that wonders what the kid might of turned out like. I mean it wasnít just a part of myself but of Ben, too. Thatís what hurts the most, I suppose. Iím sorry that his child never got the chance to grow up but I donít think it was meant to happen. At the end of the day, the poor kid deserved better than to have me as a mother.

Of course, Ben is hurting. More than me, I think. Or maybe Iím fooling myself, I donít know. Perhaps the tears will come later on. I doubt it, but you never know. I asked Leona if the kid was a boy or a girl and she seemed more upset than me. Isnít that just shameful? I almost found the whole thing amusing. Anyhow, she said it was a girl.

Butterscotch, Candyfloss, CupcakeÖwhat was it now? I canít remember. Poor thing! I sípose I ought to have given it a decent name. No wonder it gave up the will to live.

Iím beginning to go stir crazy in here. Thereís nothing for me to do other than re-read seven years worth of diary entries and frankly it makes pretty miserable reading. Gods, some of the things I did! Therapeutic it ainít! So much for the soul healer I saw when I first came here all those years ago. Write everything down, she said. All Iím left with is a jumble of exceedingly crazy memories that range from frightening to downright idiotic. I promised Ben Iíd bequeath him my diary. He nearly got it a bit sooner than I had expected! When Iím gone and heís sitting on his own somewhere heíll have something to read.

Heíll probably shoot himself before he gets to the end, though.

You see, this whole affair has shown me one truth that Iíve tried to push away time and time again.

I kill people.

I donít do it on purpose, of course. It just happens. Bad stuff just happens to me, and I always seem to drag everyone down too. All those people on Nargotria. My mother and brotherÖ

Evlaís sick as well. I donít know how badly because nobody speaks to me about it. But if she were really sick, sheíd tell me, wouldnít she? What a track record Iíve got. That poor kid didnít really have a chance, now I think about it.

Iím not sure I can let Ben get too close to me. Iím always worrying that heíll get hurt because of it. And if anything happened to himÖwell. It really would be my fault.

And thatís one piece of guilt that I might not be able to live with.

Until tomorrow,

Jemmiah.
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