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A Cure For Being A Kinks Fanatic? No Thank You!
By CockneyRebel

I'm CockneyRebel from WrongPlanet.net. I was diagnosed with HFA, 30 years ago, this month. Do to my uneasy feelings that I feel, about being of the female gender, I also go by the nick name, Mick Avory, of The Kinks. All of my special interests are London related. The Kinks, Routemasters, Swinging London, Carnaby Street, British Rock, and The Pearly Kings and Queens. You can look them all up, on Wikipedia. I'm a modern day incarnation of one of my British ancestors. I also work, and I'm a member of Toastmasters International.

These are all things that organizations like Autism Speaks deliberately like to overlook. If Autism Speaks were to look at me, the first thing that they would do, is sniff my behind. It's hard to smell like roses, no matter how many showers you have, if your bowels don't work properly. They'd also notice that, "That's not ordinary underwear...I was expecting silk, or lace!" The second thing that they would do, is study my face, and than scroll in red ink, on a form, "Looks like Mick Avory, in the face - typical for larger people with autism. They'd also look at the similar face of an autistic 9 year old girl, on the internet, print it off, along with Mick's face and take a picture of mine and run it through a Kodak printer and staple them all to the form. I'd start talking, and than they'd write, that I give unusual eye-contact, and I have a male Cockney accent. They'd write that I have 100 times the testosterone of an NT female.

That's why I hate Autism Speaks.

Hey
I'm just posting this here, really to get a little feedback. I’m a little self conscious, but basically this is meant to be a book explaining my very complicated life so far. I believe I have a message I can give to society but I feel very anxious about my writing. Basically, I don’t want it to be boring. Let me know what you think. This is just the intro, so it doesn't give you the hard facts for a while yet

First off I would like to say thank you so much to you, the reader, for picking this book up. There are hundreds of choices of literary genius at your fingertips, and you have been kind enough to listen to the ramblings of a seventeen year old girl. You may be wondering what strange creation this book will be, perhaps some tasteless jokes about the Irishman Englishman and Scotsman in a pub, but I assure you those are at the back of the book. No, I have decided to write this to try and share the story of my life. Now, I know it seems a bit strange, a seventeen year old writing an auto-biography, but I assure you these pages are filled with a fresh and individual look on society. Too understand, I guess you’ll have to read on.
I was born by caesarean in Edinburgh, weighing in at a hearty 11 pounds 11 and a half ounces. My family’s since told me it was as if I did not want to come out, being two weeks overdue and after my mother was induced, proclaimed just too large to be born naturally. I’ll be honest; I was a butt ugly baby. My favourite description of this period is ‘something that looked liked it had crawled out the swamp to consume us all’. My mum had 80’s hair (even though it was 1993) and my dad had his rudimentary moustache. We lived in a reasonably well off area, called lower granton road. If you know Edinburgh well, you’ll know that’s in trinity. If not, you’ve just learned something.
My father worked for building contractors, and lived at this time with my mother and my two half brothers (Scott and Antony). Scott was the younger of the two, with a bright and funny personality. Antony was older, and slightly more serious but good natured.

(too explain a bit better, heres a poem that helps a bit)

Pitied man.
I held you once
In such a high regard
And waited on a fathers pride,
A single guiding word.

But drunken fits
And angry shouts
Filled places meant for warmth,
Slowly killing all respect
And turning love to loathe.

A child cannot understand
The power of the brew,
The undeserved striking hand,
The emptiness in you.

Passing time dulls the ache
And clears the eye to see.
The problems that you had back then
Belonged to you
Not me.

Well this is my first time posting on this thread. I've become a bit more open to showing my writing off. Well here's a link to a poem I wrote recently on a whim. Tell me your thoughts?:D

http://writing.com/authors/gemstone123

This is the first chapter of my fantasy novel "Apocalypse Game" that I've been working on and off on forabout three years now.




Chapter 1


The District 12 cemetary looked even more unpleasant under the radiant sunlight. The ground was only half covered by grass. It looked dead. Dead as the people who lived there. Some tombstones had images constantly playing.

Frightening cries of agony were heard. They echoed through the sky. From beneath the ground something was tearing through. It wasn't even in a grave, but rather inbetween the two. A hand came out. It was easily tripled the size of any human hand. It had grey flesh that looked almost decayed. It stabbed into the ground, trying to pull out the rest of it's body.

This new light, this new world, this new body, and the only thing of old I carry, is hatred. Hatred for you. The road to your end will be paved. Your apocalypse game is over.





The board's date read Day Fifty Two, Year 892 in bright flickering letters within the otherwise dark class room. Karaka Slater leaned in her chair staring into the darkness of the empty classroom. Only shades of sunlight that managed to slip through the blinders offered any light. The only sounds came from outside the room, the occasional walk by discussion, the endless  tapping of a pencil followed by maddening scribbles, with the ocassional sound effect from the computerized board. Karaka twirled some of her long, green hair in her finger, over and over.

They think keeping me in here longer is going to do anything? Heh, and they think GIRLS are ignorant.

The door opened abruptly, the assault of light forcing Karaka to shield her eyes. She couldn't quite see the man except for a blue suit, business like suit. He turned the lights on, the assault on her eyes continued to the point Karaka moaned out loud. She rubbed her eyes vigorously. No fair at all, that hurts!

"Here we are again Slater. I consider myself a routine kind of man but dealing with you is one routine I wouldn't mind breaking" he said. Karaka's eyes finally adjusted to the light, taking a good look at the man known only by his title. The contempt showed in her face from his remark.

The board showed the current time. She had been in there two hours. "Refusingto stand for the Regional pledge, skipping knitting class, disrupting a gym class, have I covered everything?"

"Why not put me in the gym class, sir, then maybe I wouldn't leave it"

"Miss Slater, I'll be blunt. There's no place in a functioning society for girls like you. For society to function, every member must know their place. Society can never reach utopia because of those like you who refuse to accept their place and fulfill it, you and those like you think of yourselves above what's best for the community. Individuals like you and me, we don't matter, everything we do is for the community as a whole, you yourself are worthless outside your place"


Karaka rolled her eyes.


"The Girl's Graduation ceremony is at Three o clock this Saturday. You have just enough academic credit to graduate, I don't see why you're still so rebellious. Is this where you want to spend two hours after school for the next two days? You don't have to come here, all you have to do is follow the rules, or are they too complicated for your simple little mind? You have a simple life ahead of you, a simple life for a simple mind. Leave this room, and understand you will not want to be in here ever again"

Karaka stormed outside the room and of the school as well. She was greeted by the empty hallways. Turning the corner, she saw litter near both sides of the wall. She saw homework assignments, suicide notes, and even paper clippings with headlines like "Female Special found dead in Reformation Center" and "Region 12 cracking down on Juvenile Crime". She also saw graffiti on a locker saying "Karaka:Lesbian Call Girl" She scowled at it but was quick to head outside.

A simple life for a simple mind

She strolled down the concrete road, a smooth surface as could be imagined. The roads were narrow, with just enough space amongst the walking crowds. Simple huh? Bring on your detentions, I'll make it through both of them without breaking a sweat!


Karaka's home was a one story house with brown rugs carpeting the entirety of the floor. Wind chimes hung by the door, the music they create soothing Karaka's mind upon entering every time. They had an average sized television but no Media Players. The curtains were dark green, currently open to allow the streaks of sunlight to stretch across the floor and even to the walls.

Karaka saw dinner already on the small round table, a clean white cloth over it with bright red beads strung on the edges. Her father walked in, placing his own dinner before him. Her father was a sturdy man reaching his fourties. He adjusted his glasses, taking his seat at the table. "Typical school day huh?" he asked.

"Pretty much" said Karaka sitting down.

"Graduation coming up huh?"

"Yeah" said Karaka. He hasn't said a word to me about constantly being in detention, even after all this time. He's on edge lately though, I think he may be ready to confront me on it.


A buzzer went off.

"I'll get that" said her father. He went over to the door, a middle aged woman standing there. "Sorry to bother you but I came to-

Her father walked away hurriedly, rushing up the stairs like officers going in for an arrest, coming down with a book he handed over to her. "Thank you very much for letting me borrow this"

"Any time" said the woman. She looked past him at Karaka.

"How are you doing?" asked the woman. Karaka turned with a bright cheery face.

"I'm fine" she said.

"Your daughter is so nice, I hope mine grows up the same way. You know those terrible twos. Well, I better get back" said the woman. She walked away. Yeah, her child.

Karaka felt a moist sensastion building up in her eyes, wiping her eyes before it could come to fruition. Karaka wasted no time finishing with her dinner.
 
 




Karaka's backyard was surrounded by small wooden posts, it more resembled a tiny piece of farmland with moist and plentiful grass over it. Karaka's backyard, like most, was as exposed as the front yard, which she was fine with. The only material within the fence was a tall, wooden post. Karaka slashed at it with her sword. The sword was about three foot in length with white steel, the tip and sides masterfully crafted and razor sharp, with a golden handle. Karaka swung hard and fast, imagining the principal as she struck the post. She was pouring in sweat, people walking by just shaking their heads at her. After another harsh swing, she finally fell backwards, an ensuing struggle to catch her breath following. She closed her eyes, letting out a sigh of satisfaction, the feeling of the cold sweat running through her body giving a relaxing sensastion.

Her father walked outside with a phone. Karaka sitting up and grabbing it. "Hello?" asked Karaka.
 


Her father was inside washing dishes when Karaka walked back in. "I'm going out tonight" said Karaka.

"Allright, just don't stay out too late" he said. Karaka nodded.

She turned and put the sword handle in her pocket. Just in case.



At night the roads appeared to be white, with the light of the moon and street light blanketing the entire road, every square inch within the entire city. Many of leisurely based businesses got their lights out at this time, and combined every color that could be created could be found somewhere. Many of the in house lights appeared much brighter now, no longer competing with the sun, and ended up adding to the colorful nights as well.

Karaka entered the business district now, which was not short in populace. Karaka was wearing a red long sleeved shirt, tucked into blue jeans wearing brown sandles. Strapped to her back was a small sack connected to two straps that went around Karaka's shoulders. As she strolled down the brightened road, she kept her hands gripped for dear life on the straps.

Should be just a block down from here. Better not stay out too late.

Karaka strolled down at a leisurely pace. She was coming closer among groups of teens hanging around as she came closer and closer to her destination. Many of them were smoking, others talking but Karaka could scarcely hear their words over the beating of her heart, or make them out among the random bouts of laughter and profanities fired out, some even screamed and echoing through the sky.

My hand! It almost shot right into my backpack. C'mon, you have to stop being so paranoid. What's to worry about? I'm just a stupid girl according to them, right? Why would anyone want trouble with me? Oh right, muggers. I'm not even rich, that shows right? No fair, I'm not supposed to be feeling this way, no fair at all!

Karaka let out a loud sigh of relief when she finally made it out of the crowds. Only a couple buildings down. She could hear some light murmur by closer by crowds.

See? Nothing happened. Just leave them alone and they'll leave you alone.

The building she arrived at had by look, obviously have gone out of their way to look colorful. There was a light on every square inch of the outside building, a blinding sensation at first. Karaka walked in, the heating of the light attacking her briefly before entering the inside.

The floor was nothing but square shaped textiles that flashed multiple colors. The floor was wide, big enough to fit at least five average sized bedrooms. At the very end was a long table, stained by drinks, littered with crumbs and even what appeared to be blood, refreshments lined across. There was a sphere hanging from the ceiling that fired out rays of multi colored lights, Karaka putting a hand over her eyes to keep herself from being blinded. Their were chairs against the wall circling the entire room except for the entrance and exit. The chairs were half filled, and many more people were out on the floor, most dancing to a rock song played at glass shattering volume.

"Hello Karaka, quite the experience, your first time, isn't it?" asked a boy Karaka recognized. The boy was dressed with a white button up shirt tucked into black leather pants with a black leather belt holding it together and a black vest over it. He had black sneakers as well with white stripes on the side. His hair was a brownish blond.

"Hey Damien. I hope you know for me this is just a chance to get out of the house and enjoy myself." said Karaka.

"C'mon, I haven't been able to dance all night. As a friend, could you do me this one favor? Our relationship will never be anything more then friendship perhaps, but that dosen't mean we can't have a little fun" said Damien in a matter of fact tone. Karaka was offput a little, his words feeling almost scripted. Karaka caustiously took his hand, then took his other one. The music stopped and a much smoother, slower song played. Karaka and Damien did a tango.Karaka looked uneasy.

Time passed by, only a few moments but those moments seemed to draw on and on and on for them. Even when the song came to an end, they didn't let go immidiately, letting th realization sink in they had actually done this. Damien let go.

"Where's Beth? Have you seen her?" asked Karaka. Damien shrugged, Karaka turning away from him She strolled through the dance floor scanning the room. Damien walked over to a nearby chair and sat down.

Karaka was just about to give up when she looked to the entrance. There was a small girl, just over four feet in height, wearing a glittery black dress and black high heels getting yanked out by the wrist.

Beth! What the hell?

from this Warm Place sincere,
grow thoughts of love and fear,
beliefs and ideas randomly appear,
while creating emptiness as a career,
moods and swings play from chandelier,
cold and hot, keep this place warm and dear..

Peter’s War



Chapter 1:
Graduation Day, 1869



“We now present to you, the valedictorian, Peter Bradford Creedon Junior!” the voice of General Thaddeus Brownell said over the podium. It certainly was the end of one road for Peter Creedon, and the beginning of another. “Thank you. Thank you all for being together for the last eight years. It has been one hell of a ride. I have seen cadets come and go, and I have noticed one thing: teamwork and respect. Together we work as a team, and as a team we show respect to our commanders, and most importantly, our fellow countrymen. When you leave here today, you are now members of the world’s finest armed force.” His speech was short, but to the point. At age eighteen, Creedon was a gentleman and a well respected young man. Standing at six feet even, he could be a little intimidating, but he was quite soft in his heart. Perhaps what really made him stand out, were his eyes, they were blue as lapis lazuli, and could hypnotize a young woman. He scanned the crowd, looking for his father. “Why isn’t he here? He MUST be here to see me!” he thought to himself as he looked the crowd over as the cadets marched back towards the academy. Suddenly, Peter heard”Peter Congratulations!” it was a familiar voice. It was his sister, Meredith. He knew then and there that his father was present to watch such an occasion.
Later that evening, at the graduation ball, Peter looked perplexed. “Why is no one willing to dance with me? My dance card is empty, and no one has noticed me.” He thought to himself as he sat at a table. Out of the corner of his eye, came his friend, Samuel A. Bukater. “I thought I’d find you here, dance card empty as well?” he asked. “Yeah, no one has wanted to dance. I’ve even asked a few of the women out there, but to no avail.” In Peter’s mind, these women were all stuck up daughters of some socialite that he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about. He hated some society groups, like the ones in Peter City and New Haven. Peter City’s social set was tolerable, but the New Haven set was horrid. He never considered himself as part of any social set other than his own. His friend, Sam Bukater also thought in this way. While his relationship with his father could be strained at times, it was often a cordial one. The one he truly cared about was his mother; for often he would be gone for months at a time at the academy and she truly was the one who would give him the news of events in the family. Tonight was, in other words a superficial event, in reality he had graduated early, and today was just a show he put on.
Thoughts in his head turned to other things such as his new found freedom, and perhaps finding a woman. All those things were on his mind of course, but the biggest concern was pleasing his father. When Peter was a small child, his father said that his son “would go on to become an influential figure in the nation’s history.” His parents, oh how he cared about them, trying to please them with everything he had. Even at a young age, he never could seem to understand the meaning of a whole family. Yes, his father and mother loved each other, but he could see the strain. The strain began in 1854 when his sister, Meredith was born. Peter senior wanted only one child, and if there was to be another, he wanted another son. Things went well with Meredith until 1861, when Peter senior and Nancy conceived again, this time it resulted in twins; one boy and one girl. All these children could never take away the relationship he had with his oldest son; they’d go fishing, walking around town chasing women or even bum around the house for the day. To Peter, this family was his own, and he loved them.
Now however, Peter entered the real world. He was no longer a cadet, but a fully fledged officer in the Creedonian Army. A voice called to him in the shadows of the ball room. It was Thaddeus Brownell, the five star general everyone had respected and felt great honor to talk to. “There’s no need to salute me Creedon. I’m here to let you know that due to the vacancy left by the death of General Hardy, you are now the newest three star general of the Creedonian Army.” He said in a hushed tone. “Thank you sir, but how did they choose me?” he asked. “A while back, remember when the politicians came to watch you and your fellow cadets’ parade around the grounds? They saw you and said ‘he’d make a fine replacement for the ailing general.’” Creedon stood in awe, he knew he could trust Brownell; the man had taken him under his wing, and transformed him into an outstanding officer. As soon as Brownell had come, he was gone; leaving Creedon to ponder what had happened. “What does he expect of me? I cannot lead many troops into battle. Has the press been notified? What about my father, what will he say?” all these thoughts entered his mind.

From the beginning of something Sam Pembroke is writing. The man thinks he knows me.

Yesterday died today, of this we can conclude
Today will die tomorrow, and not try to elude
Tomorrow will live forever, as day is debuted
Yesterday gave birth to today, well construed
Today will give birth to tomorrow, previewed
Tomorrow will birth a new forever, to include
Time as viewed for food, is better not chewed

Been writing for two days straight ^^ 24 pages and writing, do enjoy.

http://scribblesnwriting.webs.com/

What I think of Poetry (freeverse)

Insane, ravishing,
Dashing, mashing,
Wacky, serious,
Reactive, proactive.

There is one thing
That is all of
These adjectives.
That's poetry.

It bellydances like a harem girl,
Shoots like a rugged cowboy,
Programs like a smart programmer,
Enters space like a rocket.

The "It" here
Is absolutely,
Positively,
100% POETRY.

It
Runs
THAT
Way!

Heh, it's weird. I have no problem putting up my fanfiction to three different sites, yet I'm worried of what eveyone here would think...

SilverWolf7's Fanfiction

Here it is anyway Mainly I'm writing for Doctor Who at the moment.

Note: I am not much of a fan of Rose Tyler, so if you are a big time fan of hers DON'T read my Alternatives series and then complain about how they aren't nice to her. Anything else, with or without Rose, is practically safe though Almost.

On the other hand, I love Jackie Tyler...

I have now started writing for Eleven, Amy and Rory.

And now I'll shut up boring you all and go hide in a corner.

Here's my latest poem, please let me know what you think.

http://www.scribd.com/doc/33369704/The-Incident

It's longer now. It's a script.

This is the first complete short story I have ever written. It's a Star Wars fanfic based on a not very well known event in the canon. As the event, known as the First Great Schism is never really shown in much detail and is often only alluded to in books and chronologies, I decided to expand upon one certain battle of the war, the very last battle in fact. Keep in mind that although I am aware that there are a few typos and grammar mistakes, I just haven't gone and fixed them yet.

In order to understand this fanfiction, you need to understand the larger conflict it was part of as well as the people involved and the times. The battle depicted took place about 24,465 years before Star Wars Episode 4. The Galactic Republic had only been founded about a century prior, and the Jedi Order only 7 centuries before that. The Jedi Order was quite strict back then. Students were made to meditate for hours and hours, and were driven very hard. When a Jedi named Xendor discovered that the force could be used for more than what the Jedi said it could be used for, he began to experiment. He made his discovery known to his fellow students, and they too began to dabble in the Dark Side. Eventually, he and his lover, a force using martial artist named Arden Lyn, left to begin their own order. His Followers went with him as did others who were tired of the Jedi Order's strict way of doing things. I don't think Xendor ever told them that he was a follower of the Dark Side. I think he masked it as abilities he had discovered while experimenting. The others learned who to use these abilities and the Dark Side began to corrupt them. They formed a group called The Legions of Lettow with Xendor as the leader and eventually declared war on the Jedi. This was the Jedi Orders first major conflict with dark Jedi. Even during the war, more and more Jedi ran off to join Xendor.

This short story relates the final battle of the War. The Battle of Columnus had no survivors. The only testament of the battle is a datacard that a Jedi named Danzigorro Potts recorded before passing away. This recording was featured in the book Jedi Vs. Sith: A Guide To The Force by Rider Wyndham. I based the plot on the events described in the recording. I also transcribed the recording with only a few minor changes to better fit the story I wrote. I will eventually touch it up a little, maybe add more descriptions, improve dialogue and general writing where applicable. But here it is:

[img][800:630]http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20090823040959/starwars/images/6/6c/Force_Wars-TEA.jpg[/img]

Columus: 24,465 BBY

"I hate the rain," muttered Danzigorro.

"Always the one to complain, hunh Danzigorro?" asked Master Latka Nufrom. He was a Nosaurian from New Plympto, so he was dwarfed by the Human Jedi in his detachment which totaled 5 Jedi. In total, there were 30 Jedi in the entire force sent here to Colomus, the last refuge for Xendor and his followers. As the Jedi denied to allow the Republic intervene. This was their problem, their fight.
"I'm sorry master Nufrom," said the young Jedi. He had reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes and wore a beige Jedi tunic under his soggy brown cloak. Strapped to his back was a sheathed sword.

"Do not apologize. We all hate the rain, Danzigorro." The Nosaurian gestured to the other Jedi. Some were coughing. "Let's go ahead and get this over with so we can go home.

Danzigorro walked next to Nufrom. "Do you know how many Dark Jedi remain, master?"

"I couldn't tell you. But Xendor is here, and really, that's all that matters, young Jedi." Nufrom scratched his crest momentarily. "You know she's here, don't you."

Danzigorro frowned and sighed. "I don't want her to die. I want to find her, convince her. She never was evil. She was impatient with the Jedi teachings, but she wasn't evil."

"Well, let me tell you something, Danzigorro. Just because she wasn't evil then cannot guarantee she isn't evil now. The dark side is like a drug. You constantly want more power once you've taken your first steps towards it. It corrupts very easily. You may not like what you see," explained Nufrom. And just as he finished his sentence, they reached the end of the forest and entered a wide clearing. "Everyone stay on guard!"

The other groups of Jedi were set to come from all sides of this large clearing, for this was where Xendor was. Nufrom, being a Nosaurian, could make his throat phosphoresce. He was to use this ability to signal the attack. But first, he needed to make sure every group was ready at the border of the forest. In the middle of the clearing, a group of about 10 dark Jedi awaited. Surrounding them was a set of three circular trenches, many housing dwelling dug into the ground and campsites. The ever present rain was already causing the trenches to flood, as the drainage systems of the trenches could not accommodate for the amount of rain falling this day. There probably were more dark Jedi sitting in the trenches.

"Alright, everyone unsheathe your swords and have them ready. Now, charge!! !! !" yelled the Nosaurian.

Appropriately, the dark Jedi all fanned out. The Jedi made loud splashing sounds that resounded throughout the battlefield as they ran through the mud, careful to keep their balance. Looking left, Danzigorro saw the adjacent strike team reach the first trench, meeting a duo of Dark Jedi in the trenches. Immediately, the clangs of sword combat and the screams of those who were injured filled the air. Focusing on what was ahead, Danzigorro jumped into the first trench with the other Jedi. The Jedi beside him was mutilated by a dark Jedi wielding a force augmented sword as they landed. With a yell, Danzigorro attacked the dark Jedi. He wore armor over his grey tunic and had a shaved and tattooed head.

"Jedi fools. You have no chance of survival. We have become gods!" screamed the dark Jedi.

He struck with his sword against Danzigorro aggressively, desperately trying to mutilate him. The water down here was knee length and restricted movement. Then, a small Nosaurian jedi, Nofrum, snuck behind the enemy and with his two daggers, jumed onto the man's shoulders and slit his throat, letting loose a spray of warm blood onto the ground and Danzigorro's face.

"Sorry about that," the little Jedi said as Danzigorro wiped his face. "If I had stabbed him with these, he would have only been momentarily distracted.

"No problem. You really helped me." Danzigorro looked around the trench. "The others?"

"They've gone on ahead. There were only two dark Jedi here so I told them to go on. Why don't we head off? We can gather Caltrid's remains later," he said, gesturing to the mutilated Jedi.

"Yeah. Lead the way, Master."

They jumped out of the trench and back to ground level. All around them, battles raged. Already, in such a short time, Danzigorro could see dead Jedi of both alignments. Many meters ahead, five Jedi faced against Arden Lyn and Xendor.
"The Jedi masters are taking care of him. My place is with the Jedi attacking Xendor and his officers. You take care of the other dark Jedi."

Before Danzigorro could reply, the Nosaurian dashed off, bounding over the trenches with little effort. As he neared the second trench, a duo of dark Jedi jumped the edge. Danzigorro was shocked to see it was his best friend Blendri Carathan and her apprentice Cuthallox. Blendri was Human, born on Coruscant to a poor family of merchants. She had light brown eyes and blonde hair, at least when she was at the temple. She had dyed her hair black. Danzigorro had seen her before while she had been affiliated with the Legions of Lettow, but not up close and personal. A new thing he noticed was the new color of her eyes. It was like a planet whose core had ruptured. They looked like two pools of lava. Cuthallox had been her apprentice before she became a dark Jedi. He was a Herglic. The Herglic were a whale-like species from beyond the Republic's borders. He wore a black uniform and a set of armor padding over it. His forehead was adorned with blood-red tattoos.

"Hello, Danzigorro Potts. Long time." She had an insane grimace painted on her once fair skin which had started to become pale.

"Blendri! I don't want to do this!"

"I want to do this. Hesitation is for weak-willed fools. You don't deserve your powers. You don't know how to use them!"

"Yes I do! I use them to help others, not to serve myself, my interests." Sweat formed on his forehead. He wasn't strong enough to get himself to fight her.

"I know there's still good in you. I grew up with you. This isn't you Blendri."

"You're right. This isn't me. At least not the person you grew up with. She was weak." She looked back at Cuthallox, who then raised his sword. "Why don't you kill him? Prove yourself to me."

Cuthallox let out a yell and ran with his sword raised. A red aura flashed around it. Danzigorro stood adamantly waiting for Cuthallox to reach him. As the sword came down upon him, he rolled out of the way. The Herglic was too strong for a parry to stop, so Danzigorro resolved to avoid his attacks instead.

"You're only using him because you can't do it yourself!" he yelled while dodging Cuthallox's attacks.

When Cuthallox struck the ground next, plunging his sword into the wet, compact dirt, Danzigorro took his chance used the force to force him onto the ground. He ran forward and plunged his sword into Cuthallox's back through a gap in his armor padding. Even then, it was hard to kill him. He had to stab him multiple times for him to die. When he felt the Herglic die through the force, he raised his blood-soaked blade and looked at Blendri.

"I didn't want to do this, but he left me no choice."

"He was weak. He deserved what he got," she said, unfazed by the death of her apprentice. She augmented her own sword. "Come now, Jedi."

Danzigorro thought he spotted a hint of remorse. He raised his blade and charged at her, only seeking to injure her, so that he could possibly talk some sense into her. He started to run at her, blade to the side. She arced her saber diagonally, but Danzigorro parried and pushed her of balance. He had forgotten that she had been standing near the edge of the second trench, so she fell in, loosening the ground with her fall. Danzigorro himself slipped. He landed face first into the muddy water. Sensing an attack, he rolled out of the way of an attack and got up. Blendri gripped him with the force and threy him against the muddy wall of the trench. Then, she ran at him, enraged. But before she reached him, she stopped. At the same time, Danzigorro felt his sword jerk. He looked down and saw why. Danzigorro had unintentionally augmented his sword with the force and Blendri had run into the sword. Thus, Blendri had accidentally impaled herself. Desperately, Danzigorro stopped channeling force energy into his sword and tried to pull the sword out of Blendri's stomach, but Blendri grabbed his shoulders and painfully pulled herself towards him. Her eyes had returned to their original color, and her face was kind again. She was bleeding at the mouth and crying.

"You saved me, Danz. You saved me," she said weakly.

Danzigorro began to cry as well. "No Blendri. Please! You're killing yourself!"

"I'm going to die anyways. Please help me pass on peacefully. Forgive me," she said, sobbing uncontrollably.

"There's nothing to forgive Blendri. That wasn't you. That was the dark side itself. You were it's pawn. As is everyone else here."

"We were curious. We were impatient. I'm so, so sorry." She wrapped her arms around him, and with what little strength she had left, she reached her head forward and they kissed. And then, with the last amount of breath in her lungs, she told him how she felt about him. "I love you. I've always loved you."

Blendri passed away seconds later. Danzigorro let go of the hilt and she fell into the water, another casualty of this horrible war. He fell and began to cry.

...
An hour later, the sounds of combat subsided. He couldn't sense anyone else alive. He had remained next to Blendri's body for the rest of the battle. Blendri wasn't the last dark Jedi he fought, for another one came and attacked. Tired and unfocused as a result of his battle with Blendri, the dark Jedi stabbed him in the left shoulder and sliced open his calf, but he managed to kill the dark Jedi before more damage was done. He was bleeding to death, but he was apparently the only survivor of the battle. On his utility belt, Danzigorro had a voice recorder. He unclipped it, deciding to document the events of the battle, so that if he died, people would know about what happened on Columus.

I think I'm the only one left. Xendor is dead. The Legions of Lettow have been vanquished. I kow it's wrong, but I am relieved by his death, as I trust it brings an end to this awful war. For the first time in months, I look forward to tomorrow.
I wonder... I wonder if I might find a spot of sunshine in this terrible rainstorm. Better yet, I hope my senses deceive me... I hope I find a familiar, friendly face... one that's still breathing.
Forgive me, my Masters. My thoughts go astray. I do not mean to dishonor your teachings by babbling. You know I was never good with words. I always wished I could make them flow better. My throat is so dry. And I'm bleeding something awful. I hope I'm holding this audiocard right. [Static.]
Hear my words, fellow Jedi. I, the Jedi apprentice Danzigorro Potts, am the last survivor of the conflict on Columus. There were nearly thirty Dark Jedi I suppose, maybe more, so we were fairly evenly matched. We all split up in groups as did they, and we all killed each other. The battle was fierce and fast. It's so quiet now, peaceful even, but we can thank the Force for all we...
We can thank the Force for...
So sorry. I want to leave you with some important words. I guess I'm at a loss. [Static.]
I'm dying. I'm just going to say whatever I want to say.
I killed my friend Blendri Carathan and her apprentice Cuthallox today, right here on the battlefield. Hadn't seen them since they ran off with my old Master, Jook-Jook H'broozin, to join up with Xendor. Caught up with H'broozin on Corulag and ran him through, I did, but Blendri and Cuthallox kept getting away, one world to the next. All the way to here. Not that I wanted revenge, of course, but... well, all the rebels had to be stopped, did they not?
I loved being a Jedi. Loved it. Wouldn't have changed a thing. But to be honest, after Blendri joined up with the Legions of Lettow, I started thinking. About how long she'd been complaining about the Jedi Order being so sterile. About how bored she was by all that endless meditation.
Understand, I was never tempted by the dark side. Being in the light was never a balancing act for me, it wasn't. Maybe it's because I'm simpler than some, or so Blendri says. I mean, that's what she used to say. But I never ducked a battle, and I never betrayed the Jedi, and I never wanted to do bad things.
To the Jedi who finds this data card, I'm hoping you'll remember this about Blendri. You see, Blendri was my best friend when we were children. She was the one who showed me how to use the Force, even before we knew what the Force was. She was a good girl, Blendri was. A really good person. Maybe she teased me a few times when she became a Jedi Knight and I was still an apprentice, but I knew she was just joking. The reason I mention this is because I don't think she joined the dark side and the Legions of Lettow because she was evil. I think she just got tired of all the Jedi rules, being told what to do, how to behave, all the time. I think it crushed her a bit.
As for the other Jedi who left the Order to join the Legions... I don't know. It seems too easy to blame everything on Xendor and the dark side. Maybe we, maybe the Jedi were partly to blame, too. I'm not good with history, but I know that for more than five centuries, the Jedi didn't have much trouble with anyone. Sure, a dark Jedi here and there, I heard tell. But then along came Xendor, telling Jedi they didn't have to obey orders all the time.
I know it sounds crazy, but I wonder... maybe the Jedi need an enemy. I think... without a common enemy... we... we'll just wind up fighting each other... and ourselves. Does that make sense?
It's getting really cold. I only wish-
[End of recording.]

Danzigorro couldn't breathe any more. He switched of the audiocard, and put it on his lap. The water had been receding, taking his ever-flowing blood with it as it entered the drainage system. He was tired, really tired, so much that he could barely hold his eyes open. He did not resist the inevitable, and closed his eyes. And then he went limp and fell into the mud.