He had a lot to say.
He had a lot of nothing to say.
We’ll miss him.
I hardly knew the man. Many called him Doctor. Most called him Preposterous. I am still acclimating to my new environs but this word does not have a direct translation in Darclon. He was a Pariah of sorts. An outsider. Exile? Maybe. Intellectually without peer or equal – he must have felt very alone.
We wish you well.
You told us how you weren’t afraid to die.
Well then, so long.
I am an outsider as well. I was recruited by a man introduced to me as Spirit. I do not believe there is a direct translation for this word in Darclon. The English language that humans speak here on Earth is complex. In Darclon we call this “breath” or “ghost” – the animating force behind all sentient life. It is the Force which binds and drives us. Had I paid more attention to my philosophical studies I might be more prepared for such vague interpretations. The Monastic Order of Nascent Knights would frown upon my ignorance. And without ignorance there cannot be knowledge. Without emotion there cannot be peace. Without Death there cannot be the Force.
Or feel too down.
Not all martyrs see divinity.
But at least you tried.
Standing above the crowd,
It was my only my third real combat situation. The Order sent a diplomat when a sentinel or guardian were needed. In me my superiors saw a potential to unearth the foul plots of our brethren. The Darclon. I hardly consider us one and the same. Though we share bloodlines we share lineage and we share a common genetic algorithm – I feel shameful in association. My wayward brothers have been swayed by a seductive power and lured beyond the reach of love and kinship. I am but a fledgling in the Force, in the Order, but a great hope has been placed in me and a great faith has been entrusted to my servitude. I must attain enlightenment and it is here, on this planet, where I must do so.
He had a voice that was strong and loud.
We’ll miss him.
Ranting and pointing his finger
At everything but his heart.
We’ll miss him.
The doctor fought bravely. He fought well. And he fought a man named Momentum. He fought dizzying speed that is faster than the eye can track. He fought without fear. He fought for a cause he believed in. Can a man hope for anything more? To give one’s life to a cause and return to the Force for a reason that compels the soul – the spirit – the Ghost into action – that is truly noble.
Interestingly, I came across a curious shard of glass in the battle. It must have fallen off the deranged Sister. I hadn’t paid it any mind but it nagged at me. This fragment – tiny, sharp, unobtrusive – but powerful niggling. Like a splinter in my mind – it resonated with me. I will meditate upon this shard and then I will set my mind to deciphering its mystery. I felt a…harmony…kinship – with this crystalline object – almost as if I could will my mental energy into or perhaps through it. Maybe it would make a good focal point for the sun or a light. Much to ponder.
My spare time is regrettably small and it dwindles with preparations for the ceremony. Earth dwellers dig holes into which the dead are deposited and interred. I will speak. Formalize a meditative prayer and lay the ghost to rest with our shared peace. The custom is endearing, if provincial, and I welcome my inclusion. If they are receptive I will share the nuances of the ghost’s transcendence upon the death of the host.