Select Fan Fiction Stories
Writer's Block, go away!
C3P0 & R2D2

Archive Frontdoor

You are not logged in

Search by:
Latest Entries
Most Hits
Advanced Search
Random Fiction

Plot Bunnies
Writing Tips
Writing Challenges
Recent Polls
Fan Fiction Lexicon
Mailing Lists

Get Archived
Register a Free Account
Style Guide

The People
The Editors
The Reviewers
The Authors
The Beta-Readers
Become a Reviewer

Contact Us
The Editors
The Reviewers
The Beta-Readers
The Artists

Gungan to the left

Lacrymosa (PG)

By : Mcily Nochi

Archived on: Tuesday, August 2, 2005

A Rebel prisoner in an Imperial P.O.W. camp learns what freedom is . . . and what it is not.

Weep for them, not for me. I escaped, but they are still in hell.

When I close my eyes, I can see the rows and rows of prefabricated shelters, the constant rain lashing against them and dripping down the sides. The muddy ground flooded every night and did not drain away until evening. After the first month, all of our shoes had rotted off of our feet. Only the stormtroopers, in their white armor, stayed dry. Very little could grow in that place except disease, which devastated us as our immune systems shriveled from lack of food and rest.

The last day greeted me as I huddled against the wall of Block 13, watching rain drip through the leaky roof and collect in a dirty puddle on the floor by my feet. My blanket barely kept me warm, but I had tucked it under my toes in an attempt to block the omnipresent drafts. They would bring in our morning food soon, if you could even call the thin porridge food. Still, it was warm and we were grateful for anything we could get. When my wingmate died, I left her body in the bunk for three days so I could eat her meals. For three days my stomach did not ache from hunger. After the three days I grieved, and to my shame I grieved as much for the lost rations as for her passing. Death was escape, and tears had no place in the prisoner camp. It was wet enough already.

Something was in the air that day. I could see it in the confused rushing of the stormtroopers, just as hours later I could see the red and green of blaster fire reflecting off the blank stare of their black eyes. The rain continued into the morning, as it often did, and that morning our porridge did not come.

I stepped out into the sea of mud, my bare feet barely even protesting anymore, my blanket clutched tightly about my shoulders to ward off the chill. The guard did not look at me. He stood up straight, instead of leaning as usual against the side of the building. I wanted to congratulate him for discovering his backbone, but humor fades along with the last vestiges of humanity, and there was no place for it there.

You discover quickly that there is nowhere to go. At first I walked to keep up my strength; eventually I learned just to stand, and that was almost too much. The guards were the only changing part of my surroundings, and so I watched them. They all looked the same at first, but then there were little things about them, like a slight swagger or a tilt of the head, that identified them. The guard who brought our food always hesitated at the door. The guard who came to take the bodies away would glance constantly over his shoulder; maybe he was afraid we would eat him. We were certainly hungry enough. They all slouched, except the new ones. The new ones walked around with pride in their steps, but that soon faded as the dampness set in.

And this guard was not new. The new ones jumped when I came out in the morning. They never thought that a prisoner could prefer the open cold to the claustrophobic shelter, warmed as it was by the press of bodies. There had been no new guards for awhile. We should have noticed the signs, but our minds were frozen from the cold and lack of food. It wasn't until I saw the flashing lights that I realized what was happening. My last battle had been Hoth, over a year ago, but I had not forgotten blaster fire. The sounds, deafening, thunderous sounds, reached us, and the guard and I together looked up into the sky.

That was when we knew it was all over. The Rebellion had found us. So I turned and went back into the shelter with my blanket. None of us had the energy to rejoice. Some smiled. Some didn't. We sat on the floor or our bunks and watched the door, waiting for something. We were not even sure what would happen. All we knew was that it was over. By the end of the day, we would either be free or dead.

After hours of waiting, they arrived. We heard more firing, then it stopped and a young woman, a little younger than I, stepped in, blaster raised. She stopped short and lowered her weapon, said something into a comlink, then lifted her head and smiled at us. "The war is over. You're free." Such a clich?. Such a relief. Such welcome news.

And I, staring stupidly at her, could only say, "Do you have any food?" Nothing congratulatory. Nothing thankful. Simply the only thing that truly mattered to us anymore.

I do not know what she thought of us, women like her in name only. I did not doubt at the time that I would be a human again, but in that moment I still felt ashamed, because I truly did not care. My stomach was a black hole, directing all of my actions. My head ached from the abrupt change in routine. My feet were numb from the cold, and I knew I would lose a few toes . . . if I were lucky. This woman, with color in her cheeks and the light of victory shining in her eyes, was as much an alien to me as the guards had been. Except that she would feed me.

As we filed out hours later, knowing that a transport waited with medical supplies, warm beds, and hot food, I looked at our guard. He had taken off his helmet. I don't think he was much older than I. He looked confused, and water dripped from his hair down his face. Slumping again, he simply stood by the door and watched us leave as his world fell apart.

But this was my world too, and it had been for a year. Everything was changing. The prisoners were the victors and our captors were the ones without shelter from the rain. His eyes were blank, inhuman. Just like mine. I did not recognize him without his mask, just as he did not recognize me through his confusion.

So I did the only thing I could. I took the battered, precious blanket from my shoulders and put it around his. His eyes found mine. I nodded. Then I walked away, and I did not look back.

Weep for them, not for me. I am gone, but they are still there.

Original cover by Lyra Luminara. HTML formatting copyright 2005 TheForce.Net LLC.

Fan Fiction Rating

Current Rating is 9.45 in 22 total ratings.

Reader Comments

Add a comment about this Fan Fiction

Author: bobill  (signed)
Date posted: 8/2/2005 6:45:50 PM
bobill's Comments:

Wow, this is really beautiful! I love the conflict within the woman, and her reaction to her rescuers. Really breaks that steryotypical fairy tale feel.

Author: DarthIshtar  (signed)
Date posted: 8/3/2005 7:27:37 AM
DarthIshtar's Comments:

Very wonderfully bittersweet.

Author: DarthSabe  (signed)
Date posted: 8/4/2005 9:16:56 AM
DarthSabe's Comments:

This is great - your character is so human. We see her flaws, like leaving her wingmate's body so she could take her food, and not immediately being grateful to her rescuers - but that selfless gesture at the end 'redeems' her. Wonderful

Author: Koon  (signed)
Date posted: 8/4/2005 4:29:54 PM
Koon's Comments:

Well done

It was a good tie in, and it demonstrated human nature well. Once with the complete disregard for anything but food, and the humanitarian side.
My only complaint is that it was too short! I think you could have done alot more...o well.
Maby a follow up?

Author: The guy right below you
Date posted: 8/5/2005 4:43:41 PM
The guy right below you's Comments:

Its easy to forget in the thriller epic backdrop of Star Wars that war is hell. Here we see the rebellion not as heroic, nor the empire as pure evil. I can really see into the character, and its wonderful to see a story that covers the shades of gray between the empire and the rebelion.

Author: Dietcokeani
Date posted: 8/7/2005 5:57:34 AM
Dietcokeani's Comments:

Very interesting fic. You really delved deep into what it would be like as a POW in that situation. No glorifying the rescue either. Very creative & refreshingly different choice of topic also. Good job!

Author: Daughterofflame
Date posted: 8/12/2005 9:24:53 PM
Daughterofflame's Comments:

Splendidly done! Humanity and divinity you showed all in one well-woven fic! I enjoyed the first-person and the description. Your use of emotion is applaudable!

Author: rebel_raider_001  (signed)
Date posted: 9/3/2005 6:58:30 PM
rebel_raider_001's Comments:

very good, is like you express in words a famous second world war paint, "the freedom soldier"

Author: harrietspybest
Date posted: 9/4/2005 10:26:28 PM
harrietspybest's Comments:

I liked it a lot, especially the description of the rescuer's face.
I think I know where you got your inspiration.
See, I was listening when you told me I should comment on stories that I read.

Author: Innis
Date posted: 11/10/2005 8:56:51 PM
Innis's Comments:

Wow... Haunting, captivating, and beautifully crafted. The best I've seen so far.

Author: Darth Vader
Date posted: 12/18/2005 12:09:37 PM
Darth Vader's Comments:

I didn't enjoy it.

Author: obiwancollins
Date posted: 2/5/2006 9:28:56 PM
obiwancollins's Comments:

First, let me tell you that I loved this work! Well written, very in-depth, transcendent in nature...

Secondly, choosing Mozart's Lacrymosa for a title was a brilliant move on your part, considering its tie to his death (he died as he was writing Lacrymosa). It really shows that you know your stuff!

Author: Gabri_Jade  (signed)
Date posted: 6/17/2006 9:28:26 PM
Gabri_Jade's Comments:

Absolutely brilliant in its eloquence and poignancy. You capture so much in such a small space, and do it so very well. The situation and the characters are given such depth, such humanity, that the reader is left aching for them - all of them. Beautifully done in every way.

Author: Persephone_Kore  (signed)
Date posted: 2/4/2007 1:00:15 PM
Persephone_Kore's Comments:

So vividly dreary, I can almost feel the rain and the squelch of mud -- and stop to be thankful I can't *really* come near imagining the constant chill and hunger and illness and exhaustion. Excellent use of detail, tactile and the choices made, the stormtroopers ceasing to strut "as the damp set in" as if they got soggy, physically and spiritually.

It felt very real, the bit about expecting to be human again, but not feeling she was. Not caring, and yet caring enough to feel ashamed.

And the blanket, I think, says several different things -- to the reader, and to its recipient. Kindness and yet a reminder.

Add a comment about this fan fiction

Comments to Mcily Nochi or post it in the Jedi Council Fanfic Forum.
Archived: Tuesday, August 2, 2005

DISCLAIMER : TheForce.Net and its Fan Fiction associates do not own any content posted on this web site.