Jawa Diary Entry 22

Entry #22

While Taylor was here, I worked with her to find out as much as we could on that group we are concerned about and I think we got about as much as we can through this research route. Now we will need to check the news on the holonet as often as possible for any signs of their activity.

But today she is heading back to the fleet and I am staying. ChiChi is also here for the next 2 weeks and will be giving me a lift back to the fleet. My room is nice in fact it is bigger than I need. Yet I really feel out of place and have no idea of where I should be or what I can do. I am being cautious to not be intrusive, kind of like walking on eggs.

I went to the hangar bay to see Taylor off and then for a short walk around the place ending up at the training arena. I have seen these matches before but this time watching the sparing matches did not elicit the same response. In fact being around the actively fighting Barabels, who are by nature a more aggressive race, set my nerves on edge and a knot of panic was forming in my touchy stomach. It was time to return to my room and meditate to preempt a full blown panic attack.

Scurrying through the halls, I arrived at my room quickly and it took every ounce of my willpower to open the door and enter the room without throwing up. Closing the door, I promptly sat on the floor leaning back on it and began my meditation ritual focusing on trying to determine the cause of the panic attack. I can’t say how long I remained there or whether I was asleep or in a trance. Some would argue that what came next was a dream and others would say it was a Force vision. But I know it was a memory, a deeply buried memory that was locked in the deepest recesses of my subconscious mind. A traumatic memory that was swept to the darkest corners of the 11 solar cycle old Jawa whose life had been turned upside down. Packed away for almost 19 years, the memory burst out, possessing my body and mind, replaying in vivid detail. I don’t know which brought me out of it, the burning pain in my throat from the bloodcurdling screams being let out, the same screams for help my younger self had voiced in the past or my bloody hands from beating and clawing on the door, a locked door from the past. Or it was the concerned Barabels who entered my unlocked room, holding me back to stop me injuring myself any farther? It may have been a combination of all three.

I was able to whisper out a few words requesting a medic while staring at my damaged hands. And somehow in my disturbed state I knew word would get back to Xakon. Desperately trying to refocus my mind, I blathered out something that but I don’t know how comprehendible it was.

A Jawa's Diary

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