![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
via http://ift.tt/2FG6Rbg
(<3! Thank you!)
“We’ll come back,” the woman in Rey’s dreams promised. Her dark hair fell around her face and her eyes were clear like the vast desert sky behind her. “We’ll come back for you.”
Rey dreamed of water, blue-green, cold and deep, that went on forever. She turned in her sandy blankets, a small dark blip in the frigid night, and her mouth shriveled with thirst.
She waited– but no one wanted to come back to Jakku. Rey felt every press of acceleration, leaving its atmosphere on the Falcon, like the planet was wrapping grasping fingers around her shins, her belly, her throat and trying to pull her back to the sandy ground.
She knew the Falcon before she knew Han– the heft and span of it, the worn seats and patched-up wiring. She knew Finn before she knew the First Order, before she walked their halls or climbed through their docking bays, faced down their dogs or challenged their king. In every Stormtrooper she cut down, she imagined his face.
Leia she had heard of, the way she had heard of Luke Skywalker, the lost hero, the last Jedi, or the Millenium Falcon. She had pretended her doll, with its white-and-orange rebel colors, had been Skywalker against the Death Star– or she had pretended it was her mother, that she’d been a pilot, maybe, that she’d taken down the ships Rey scavenged for her own lifeblood, that the parts she carried to trade weren’t stolen or found but given, that the behemoths had been shot down out of the sky because a woman wanted a better universe for her daughter. Rey slept better the nights she believed her parents wouldn’t have left her for anything less important than saving the universe.
“We’ll come back,” they’d said. “We’ll come back,” said the woman she dreamed about, who must be her mother, but the years had been so long and so full of sand. “I’ll come back,” Rey promised the clutching gravity of Jakku as she left it, and she never did.
On the island, Luke flirted with the fish nuns, all good farmboy flattery, and tried to teach himself to make green cheese. Rey had not ever dreamed of this man or the stone huts he hid in, or the scowling caretakers of the island, or even of the roots of the old, hollow tree. But she would dream of Luke in the years to come, like he was shouting at her heels as she climbed a mountain, the way she had dogged at his.
Before Rey had gone to find Luke, Leia had stood in the sun with her greying, dark hair and her eyes as clear as the sky that spread out beyond her. She had reached out and taken Rey’s hands. Her voice had been low and kind, all gravel and gravitas. “Rey, I promise you have a home here, with us. You always will.”
Rey had gripped Leia’s hands, the warmth of them, the wrinkles and the bones of them. She had believed her, like she had believed every dream of her mother, like she still believed. “I promise I’ll come back.”
Leia had smiled and Rey had found herself smiling, too, even with that vow fluttering against her ribs like a trapped bird. “I know,” Leia had said. “I know you will.”
Luke sulked on his hilltop, so Rey climbed down to where the sea crashed against pebbles and stones. Give it long enough, and the ocean would turn this rock to sand, black and fine. Her shoes slipped and slid as the stones rolled underneath them and when the waves came in the cold soaked down to her skin.
She didn’t wade too deep, because she could feel the pull of the waves even around her ankles. The water churned at her bare calves, kissed her knees, and she licked her salted lips.
All this water, all the depth and breadth of this wine-dark sea, and she would die of thirst here just the same as in her desert.
“I dreamed of you,” she said, and the waves carried smooth stones up and down the slope of the shore.
Han promised her a job, and left her a ship. Leia promised her a place. Ben promised her he was a monster. Luke promised her her own darkness, he swore he saw it, he turned away and she left.
Finn promised nothing and she wasn’t sure what to do about that except to run to him when she saw him, shedding boulders right and left, and wrap her strong arms around his shoulders. His heart beat. She could feel it now, like she could feel the tides’ whispering, the wind chiming in the foxes’s crystal spines, or the thrum of Ben’s rage. Gravity slipped back around her boulders– lifting rocks, she thought in a wild burst of hilarity, stifling giggles into Finn’s shoulder, and she could almost hear Luke saying it, almost see the roll of his eyes.
“What’s funny?” Finn said, pulling away, and she could feel the healing in his back, the bright-white singing of his nerves, the quick murmurs of skin still knitting back together.
She shook her head, wiping her eyes. “C'mon,” she said, and reached out for his hand, and Leia’s too. The Falcon was in the hills behind them, waiting, like it had been waiting in the sand for her for years, another scrap in a forgotten junkyard. “Let’s go home.”
Rey would not go back to Jakku. She would not go back to the island, not through all the long years that followed. Leia was almost sure there was nothing of Luke to bury and, in any case, they were busy. But Rey still dreamt of it– the stones, and the sea. She had made it no promises, so the dreams were quiet. They were kind.
(Your picture was not posted)
(<3! Thank you!)
“We’ll come back,” the woman in Rey’s dreams promised. Her dark hair fell around her face and her eyes were clear like the vast desert sky behind her. “We’ll come back for you.”
Rey dreamed of water, blue-green, cold and deep, that went on forever. She turned in her sandy blankets, a small dark blip in the frigid night, and her mouth shriveled with thirst.
She waited– but no one wanted to come back to Jakku. Rey felt every press of acceleration, leaving its atmosphere on the Falcon, like the planet was wrapping grasping fingers around her shins, her belly, her throat and trying to pull her back to the sandy ground.
She knew the Falcon before she knew Han– the heft and span of it, the worn seats and patched-up wiring. She knew Finn before she knew the First Order, before she walked their halls or climbed through their docking bays, faced down their dogs or challenged their king. In every Stormtrooper she cut down, she imagined his face.
Leia she had heard of, the way she had heard of Luke Skywalker, the lost hero, the last Jedi, or the Millenium Falcon. She had pretended her doll, with its white-and-orange rebel colors, had been Skywalker against the Death Star– or she had pretended it was her mother, that she’d been a pilot, maybe, that she’d taken down the ships Rey scavenged for her own lifeblood, that the parts she carried to trade weren’t stolen or found but given, that the behemoths had been shot down out of the sky because a woman wanted a better universe for her daughter. Rey slept better the nights she believed her parents wouldn’t have left her for anything less important than saving the universe.
“We’ll come back,” they’d said. “We’ll come back,” said the woman she dreamed about, who must be her mother, but the years had been so long and so full of sand. “I’ll come back,” Rey promised the clutching gravity of Jakku as she left it, and she never did.
On the island, Luke flirted with the fish nuns, all good farmboy flattery, and tried to teach himself to make green cheese. Rey had not ever dreamed of this man or the stone huts he hid in, or the scowling caretakers of the island, or even of the roots of the old, hollow tree. But she would dream of Luke in the years to come, like he was shouting at her heels as she climbed a mountain, the way she had dogged at his.
Before Rey had gone to find Luke, Leia had stood in the sun with her greying, dark hair and her eyes as clear as the sky that spread out beyond her. She had reached out and taken Rey’s hands. Her voice had been low and kind, all gravel and gravitas. “Rey, I promise you have a home here, with us. You always will.”
Rey had gripped Leia’s hands, the warmth of them, the wrinkles and the bones of them. She had believed her, like she had believed every dream of her mother, like she still believed. “I promise I’ll come back.”
Leia had smiled and Rey had found herself smiling, too, even with that vow fluttering against her ribs like a trapped bird. “I know,” Leia had said. “I know you will.”
Luke sulked on his hilltop, so Rey climbed down to where the sea crashed against pebbles and stones. Give it long enough, and the ocean would turn this rock to sand, black and fine. Her shoes slipped and slid as the stones rolled underneath them and when the waves came in the cold soaked down to her skin.
She didn’t wade too deep, because she could feel the pull of the waves even around her ankles. The water churned at her bare calves, kissed her knees, and she licked her salted lips.
All this water, all the depth and breadth of this wine-dark sea, and she would die of thirst here just the same as in her desert.
“I dreamed of you,” she said, and the waves carried smooth stones up and down the slope of the shore.
Han promised her a job, and left her a ship. Leia promised her a place. Ben promised her he was a monster. Luke promised her her own darkness, he swore he saw it, he turned away and she left.
Finn promised nothing and she wasn’t sure what to do about that except to run to him when she saw him, shedding boulders right and left, and wrap her strong arms around his shoulders. His heart beat. She could feel it now, like she could feel the tides’ whispering, the wind chiming in the foxes’s crystal spines, or the thrum of Ben’s rage. Gravity slipped back around her boulders– lifting rocks, she thought in a wild burst of hilarity, stifling giggles into Finn’s shoulder, and she could almost hear Luke saying it, almost see the roll of his eyes.
“What’s funny?” Finn said, pulling away, and she could feel the healing in his back, the bright-white singing of his nerves, the quick murmurs of skin still knitting back together.
She shook her head, wiping her eyes. “C'mon,” she said, and reached out for his hand, and Leia’s too. The Falcon was in the hills behind them, waiting, like it had been waiting in the sand for her for years, another scrap in a forgotten junkyard. “Let’s go home.”
Rey would not go back to Jakku. She would not go back to the island, not through all the long years that followed. Leia was almost sure there was nothing of Luke to bury and, in any case, they were busy. But Rey still dreamt of it– the stones, and the sea. She had made it no promises, so the dreams were quiet. They were kind.
(Your picture was not posted)
