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Post by Bria Ryvon on Jun 23, 2007 21:21:22 GMT -5
The first pages of a brown, weathered notebook are occupied by torn, crumpled and dirty sheets of paper, covered with an untidy scrawl. It is quite clear that they are old, though not ancient. They are not dated, yet the farther you read, the more able you are to tell it's age.
To this sheet of scrap paper- It has been a day since I have snuck onto this transport. I have no idea where I am going, only what is left behind me- a dusty rock of a planet, and the dusty remains of my life. Nothing is left for me there. I suppose that thinking to write on this small bit of paper that I found lying around was a bad idea, but there is nothing else. Nothing but the cold reaches of space.
It has been six years since the disappearance of my father, and also six years since the death of my mother. I was five when she died, and well… it’s best not to dwell in the past. It only pulls you away from the real important things in life.
There’s something I never knew about space. Outside Tatooine, the world is cold. But that coldness is still in my old home, and no amount of blistering sun-heat can brush it away. The strangest thing; that cold seems to have stayed with me since all those years ago. I do not, for all my eleven years, know what it means. I shall only have to wait, wait and find out in time.
Apparently it’s night. Must turn in. Bria
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Post by Bria Ryvon on Jun 23, 2007 23:38:45 GMT -5
To this scrap- The transport has recently landed. I'm hiding on the port, trying not to be seen as they count the passengers. I might have done something illegal to get on this ship, but I don't intend to make illegal expeditions my life.
Or maybe I will.
There is much shouting going on... I wonder what's happening?
Dangit-
At this point, much of the paper has ripped, crumpled, and smeared in ink, showing that it had been hurriedly folded up. More writing appears after this, however.
Continued- This day has now concluded in much excitement. Apparently, I failed not being seen quite shockingly. I really don't mind; in fact, I found being chased by those officers quite exhilarating. (OOC: You must have noticed by now that Bria had a very large vocabulary at a young age)
It ended in a way I didn't expect. One moment I'm rushing high up in the air on one of the many 'cat walks' branching off from the port, the next... I'm flying through air, having slipped from the metal walkway. You'd think that no one would survive a fall like that, but what actually happened made me realize I must be very, very lucky.
I fell on a common city transport.
All I had to do was wait for the transport to land, and I could slip off into a crowd- wonderful- and hide. Already since my leave from Tatooine, things have been warped beyond my belief.
My only hope is now that I can find word of my father. I miss him so much. Bria[/color]
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Post by Bria Ryvon on Jun 23, 2007 23:49:10 GMT -5
This next portion of paper taped onto the journal's pages is slightly less worn than the others, and looks as though it had once been an actual sheet of paper, not a bit of a food wrapper or less useful substance. However, there are many tears in it, seeing as the pen marks are deep, and seemed to have been made in anger.
To this sheet- I. Hate. This. World.
I hate it all! Those Rebels, those- those- Imperials... every... every one of them!
Why am I so furious, you ask?
My father, the only person who had loved me since my mother's death, the only person who I trusted, is gone. Dead. Because of those pathetic, cruel, idiotic Rebels and Imperials! Why did the Rebels order him to attack this so-called Death Star? They sent him to his death! They as good as killed him!
And... those... Imerials... they killed him.
I swear, on the spirit of my father, that I will avenge his death. Forget that I am eleven. Forget that I have no money, no life, no home.
I will avenge my father's death, and kill the ones that did so to him, or perish in the attempt. I am no shopkeeper's daughter anymore. I will be the only thing that will allow me to live- a thief, a thief and a pirate.
And once a pirate, always a pirate.[/color]
The next sheet is in considerable better condition, and does not appear to be as old as the first four. The scrawl is slightly neater, though not enough to make a difference.
To this sheet of paper- It was only today that I found some old writings of mine; I suppose it's time to start up on them again. Well, it has been two years since my last entry... I am now thirteen.
I am no closer to getting my hands on a Rebel or Imperial than I was two years ago. But the anger hasn't died away... I don't think it ever will. The Rebels would never travel as far in as Coruscant, and the only Imperials I've seen have been in patrols, usually no less than ten. Going on against a group like that at my size is just stupid.
I suppose I should mention the reason why I write down my thoughts and not use holograms, seeing as they are more commonly used. I can find scraps of paper around for free, while holograms you need to buy- and I think I might need to use the little money I ste- acquire for more important things. Food, for instance.
I have been living on the streets for some time now. It's not that I mind; sometimes it's actually better, even with the Law trying to catch you at every turn. The land is dark around here, and people make their own rules. Thankfully, around here, you can find weapons cheap. You'd need them.
Strangely enough, I have already begun to build a name for myself. It's small, but sometimes when someone's in need of someone who is good at stealing, small, and, most importantly, goes for the low pay, I get the job. My only hope is that I can get off this planet before too long. Things have been going for a nastier twist.
Must go. Official's starting their rounds again. Bria
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Post by Bria Ryvon on Jun 24, 2007 15:36:03 GMT -5
The next sheet of paper is in the same condition of the previous one. The handwriting is, again, only slightly neater that the rest of the sheets, relief for those who dare to go and read through it.
To this paper- It's been another two years since I remembered that I did this. I am not forgetful, merely... well, yes. I can be forgetful.
So. Four years since my father's death, and ten since my mothers. I long within my heart to avenge my father... but there is nothing. No one. On the better side, I now supply for myself. I am no longer ashamed to say that I earn my living through illegal standards. Anyone who is anything these days seemed to have been involved with illegal activities.
I've been traveling the galaxies, and I really must say, it's better to use public transports than having your own ship when dealing with piracy. No one would ever search a common transport for stolen items or information. I am currently on Coruscant.
Must go. Bria[/color]
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