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TOPIC: Resolution-A Story Inspired by Star Wars

Resolution-A Story Inspired by Star Wars 1 month 4 days ago #86584

  • Eddlyss64
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So, I've been working on Psychology projects all day today, and one of them was writing a story about attachment theory and how different stages of cognitive development and attachment correspond to different stages of life, from birth to elderly. I started writing about a nameless character who goes through his entire childhood thinking that he isn't good enough to impress his cold father. I wanted to share it with this forum since I took a lot of inspiration from Star Wars, namely SWTOR. I hope you all enjoy.
Part I

I was not the kind of boy that one would consider “well-off.”

No one believed me when I said such things, of course. My parents were wealthy. They had spearheaded galactic travel long before I was even considered in their realm of possibility; but of course, I would not have known that. All I knew was that when I was born, my world consisted of three things: the love of my mother, the coldness of my father, and the vast expanse of our manor that I was rarely allowed to explore.

My father had been a soldier before he had become an explorer, and with the tension that had then been overshadowing peace in the galaxy, he was not exactly the most supportive parent. One of the first sentences I ever heard him say was also the only praise or admonishment he had ever told me.

“Your privilege is the dirt.”

I learned very quickly to not expect his praise.

I suppose I should mention my mother, without whom I would never have learned what love even was. My mother was love in its purest form. She was the only person I ever observed to be able to bring out real emotion in my father. She taught me to trust.

Her passing taught me that trust was a lie. Her death showed me that love was weakness.

After my mother fell to an epidemic that ravaged our planet, my father became my only source of parental guidance. His words were always the same. A monotone, like the sound of the maintenance robots that kept the manor clean and functioning. It was those droids that make my meals every day, the ones that made my bed before I went to sleep.

I don’t know much of my first few cycles besides that. In a strange way, it was those years that taught me the most about who I would become. The lessons of love my mother had taught me seemed to fade away as I approached my sixth cycle. I am thankful for the concern my mother showed me early on in life, as it was in those first years that I learned basic human function from my mother. Were it not for her, I would have learned such things from the droids, as well.

Then again, were it not for her, I would not have had to learn heartbreak at such an early moment in my life.

My father was callous and cold, but never malicious. Yet he would threaten me each time I tried to explore our home, threaten me with a look of both indifference and warning. It was a look that told me he did not mind punishing me most severely were I to step out of line.

I did manage to avoid his gaze once, however. With no real knowledge of my own home, I sought to explore every nook and cranny I could before I was caught. When one of the droids found me looking at ancient weapons hung delicately within the wall of a display case, I was afraid of the consequences. In response to my behavior, my father had me locked inside an inner room for an entire day, with no light and no entertainment. The entire event occurred when I was but five cycles old. It taught me to fear my father, for his ability to plunge my entire world into darkness.

It did not, however, quench the flickering embers of my curiosity.

At my sixth birthday, my father took me down into an outer courtyard, early in the season when the air was still brisk. He brought me into the cold sun and left me to stand, shivering in the chill, having brought no overcoat.

After what felt like an eternity, he drew me back into the house. He then took me to an underground room, below the house, and told me to do as many push-ups as it took for me to puke. Without knowing any better, I did just that.

I had done 34 push-ups before he handed me a glass of water and told me to drink of it. I did, gulping it down with earnest. He told me to continue.

I had only completed a few more push-ups before my belly began to churn. I retched then and there, but I refused to stop until I had heaved up the last of my breakfast and the water. Tears and vomit soaked my face, and I collapsed face-first into my own mess. I rolled over, hoping for the first time to see my father’s face lit up with some kind of pride. Anything.

Instead, I rolled over to see a medical droid with a towel slung over its metal arm, and my father gone.

So ultimately, when I say that I was not “well-off,” I do not mean in terms of material wealth. Instead, I was robbed of the values of trust and love, and hope for either depleted as I advanced into basic schooling.

Speaking of schooling, I was awful in school in the beginning. No one had taught me any practicality or use for numbers as a child, save for the droids, and I had no help from my father, of course. I risked succumbing to a feeling of inadequacy.

But no, I told myself. At the time, I believed that somewhere along the way, my father blamed me for my mother’s death. I was a child, anything was possible. I refused to disappoint my father further. So I began to study fervently. I rose up in my class, looking to put the nameless bullies and anonymous classmates behind me. I finished my first six years of basic schooling at the very top of my class.

This was in conjunction with the grueling training that my father put me through at home. Weight training, calisthenics, combat training, all of it was there. In the beginning, like I had with my schooling, I was worse than pathetic. But in a desperate effort to appeal to my father, I pushed myself with every ounce of being in my body. I defeated the combat droids my father launched upon me with precision and deadly force. I was unparalleled with the staff and the rifle. After twelve cycle of my life had passed, I was as fearsome as any warrior.

“Your privilege is the dirt.”

Those words rang in my ears as I powered into the next four cycles of my life. I had goals and ambitions to travel the galaxy, to become a powerful leader and establish connections between worlds. I thought I had found for myself a future.

All of that came crashing down when war broke out on the other side of the galaxy.

Suddenly, prices on every resource shot up. Barracks were being constructed. And ships of all varieties were landing on our planet, drafting the most fit for duty into the Galactic Army.

I knew that I could buy my way out of it. I could still do what I wanted to do. But one night, before the transports had left, I lied to myself. I told myself that this was the only way to prove to my father that I was a worthy son.

The next morning, I joined the Galactic Army for my father. And as I stepped onto the ramp leading into the transport, I gave a single look back into the watching, waving, tearful crowds, looking for any sign of my father.

He was nowhere to be seen.

Part II

After the Hell I had undergone back home, I had anticipated Basic Training to be an easy six months before I would be inevitably assigned to an officer position. I believed even then that the wealth my family had acquired before my birth and the training I had endured at home would be enough to jettison me into at least a small officer position.

I was wrong, and arrogance had gotten the best of me.

The first thing the drill sergeant did when we arrived at Basic Training was remove our names and give us numbers. I was assigned a bunk, three other bunkmates, and a schedule. I did not share any blocks or words with my bunkmates. As I settled in, I thought to myself that this would not be so bad.

The first day opened with a 10 kilometer run around the facility. I finished without even breathing heavily, and for that I ran an extra 5 kilometers, then went right into combat training.

At this point, I had trained against combat droids. However, these were other, sentient opponents I was facing, and I found myself on the receiving end of several nasty bruises before I was able to defeat my opponent.

The rest of my day was similar.

However, I faced this challenge with the same gusto and energy that I had faced my education and training at home. Though I was not the best in my class, I soon became skilled with my weapons of choice, and was shaping up to be a highly competent infantryman.

There was a single problem, however. I do not remember any names or identification outside of military numbers being passed between my comrades and I. Insubordination was met with punishment. The Galactic Army was bred to be a companionship of no-names, and I realized with growing apprehension that I had become just another no-name.

This feeling escalated upon deployment into the heat of battle. I led my troops day in and day out on a rocky terrain, laying out the enemy with repeating blasts of energy from our weapons. I had a sense of serving the galaxy with my actions, but for what purpose? I watched as crimson bolts cut through unsuspecting soldiers like hot knives through butter, I covered my ears as concussive waves shattered the landscape and buried whole squadrons alive, and I wanted so desperately to care about the loss of life of people I had spent months training with, but it occurred to me that I had never learned how to care.

One day, as I let loose a barrage of blaster bolts from my rifle, I suddenly realized that I didn’t even know why the Galactic War had started.

A man to my right had screamed a warning, but it was too late. A frag grenade went off in the sky above my head, raining fire and shrapnel down on me as I stood there, like a confused animal. I felt the blazing hot metal shards pierce my helmet and blast me backward, but I did not make a noise.

Not a whimper as my comrades dragged me back toward an already waiting medical droid, not a wince as they gingerly pulled away what remained of my helmet and looked upon my face, which would be scarred for life. I felt the droid begin to pluck the shards from my face and administer a medpack, which burned worse than any grenade, but I refused to let a single noise escape my mouth.

My right eye was removed for all the trouble, and the right side of my face was patched with carbon fiber plating until they could get me into a reconstruction facility. I told my comrades that I needed to get back out there, that the soldiers needed me. But the comrade who had tried to save my life shook his head.

“With that wound? The loss of your eye? You’ll never shoot a rifle again.”

With those words, emotion finally broke free. Tears began to roll from my left eye like a raging river, and I screamed in frustration.

I was eighteen at the time.

They shipped me over 50 kilometers to the nearest barracks, where I was taken up into a cruiser, in orbit around the planet. The medical teams did what they could, but despite extensive repair hours, they could not save my vision.

“You will lack depth perception for the rest of your life, soldier,” one of the doctors had told me.

I responded that I already knew that.

I was granted a purple heart for my year and a half of service, and they sent me back to my home planet with the promise of a penchant in credits when the war was over. I returned to the manor, to my father. I had no idea how I was going to face him.

He answered the question for me. He was there when I stepped off the transport, waiting for me. His arms folded behind his back, his chiseled brown beard tinged with grey. As I approached him, he turned and made his way down the road toward our home, and I was obliged to follow. We continued in this fashion until that evening, when he sat down at table to eat with me for the very first time.
My surprise at this turn of events was nonexistent. Emotion and individuality had been beaten out of me during my service in the Galactic Army. It was only when he uttered a single sentence that I conveyed the emotion of shock.

“A man can have anything,” my father said to me. “As long as he is willing to make a trade.”

Our meal was concluded in silence. He left the table first, making his way up the stairs and vanishing into the shadows of the upper room. I stood, then, and took up the dishes, setting them gently in the refresher. A droid showed me to my room, which had been left untouched. Were it not for the service droids, it was likely that my bedroom would have been left to collect dust.

I removed my filthy uniform and laid down, sure that things in my family would return to normal by the morning.

I was wrong, for when I woke up the next morning and went down the stairs to breakfast, I was informed that my father had passed away in his sleep.

Part III

My father had been a wise man, I realize to myself as I near the conclusion of my story. He had taught me everything I needed to know in a single sentence.

With my father’s death, I was now the owner of his manor, his heirlooms, his possessions and his wealth. And when I met a woman from my childhood in the town as I walked robotically down the street, I understood that none of those things mattered.

I had known this woman from my days in our town’s basic education system, but never paid her any mind. She was average, or at least that was what my emotionless mind seemed to think at the time. But suddenly, like a punch to the gut, I recognized the sidelong looks she gave me as I passed through town.

She did not offer me sympathy or pity. No, when she approached me as I conversed with a farmer on some meaningless subject, she gave me a look that undermined everything I had learned up until that very moment in my life.

She created in me a need to love once more.

It was not by the flip of a switch, mind you. Our conversations started as mere small talk, and at the time I was an impenetrable being, untouchable by concern or affection. But she was persistent, and as time went on, I began to look forward to our conversations.

Then, all of a sudden, I realized that I had fallen in love.

“A man can have anything, as long as he is willing to make a trade.”

I sold my father’s manor and almost everything I owned. I gave much of the money away, and the amount I kept was carefully calculated to be enough for a wedding. I proposed to this woman, and she accepted. We bought a small farmhouse, and I began to farm for a living. It did not take long for a child to appear in our midst, and we became a family.

I never did receive my penchant at the end of the war, but I didn’t mind. Instead, I took to small town politics and became mayor. I taught my daughter the lessons my mother had taught me: lessons of love and trust. I praised my younger son when he came home from school with good grades, and when my daughter married a charismatic yet dorky young man from the city, I supported her. I refused to become like my father, even as I began to respect him as time went on.

Now I am an old man. And I would be the last to say that my life was a perfect one. However, I would be the first to say that finding purpose in life is a solemn vow, uttered at birth from the cry of an infant. After all, as my father eloquently put it, one can have anything, if he is willing to sacrifice.

Xiphos, Avenger, Eris
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Resolution-A Story Inspired by Star Wars 1 month 1 day ago #86745

  • DarthRevan17
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Honestly I have to say that I really liked it.
Keep them coming!
“This challenge you will not overcome. Your lightsaber is nothing against the power of the dark side.”
"That's why I always carry two”
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Resolution-A Story Inspired by Star Wars 1 month 1 day ago #86775

  • Eddlyss64
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Thank you much! This story was very much a one-off, but there will likely be more Star Wars stories that have no worries of copyright infringement (since they won't be for a school project so I can't be called plaigerizing), so look forward to those!

Xiphos, Avenger, Eris
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Resolution-A Story Inspired by Star Wars 1 month 1 day ago #86779

  • DarthRevan17
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I definitely will.
Thanks for sharing!!
“This challenge you will not overcome. Your lightsaber is nothing against the power of the dark side.”
"That's why I always carry two”
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