- Joined
- Mar 13, 2018
- Messages
- 576
- Reaction score
- 321
"Not a lot of people understand why I do what I do. Being a smuggler, sure, that's a broad outer category of what I am. And us sentients tend to categorize things quite thoroughly. But it's difficult to know what I am when I never really say. If you go deeper, I'm not just a smuggler. I'm a burglar, an accomplished hand to hand combatant, a skilled bodyguard, and here and there with a multitude of other random abilities that nobody ever sees. But I'm not writing this as a job resume. I'm here today to answer the deeper question of what I, internally, am. A broken person, first and foremost. Shattered. My home abandoned me, my family, and left me to the dogs. I went through what could only be described as an attempt at chaining me down and making me pledge my obedience for the remainder of my life to a dancer's uniform and the occasional zap from a stun prod. Everyone that was in the same batch of slaves as me broke, sooner or later. Even the ones that I tried to wake up. I was too much trouble, my will to be me, be free and unguided by a singular and unequal slug, utter slime, was enough to warrant fears and dismay. If there's one thing I know now, it's that when I woke up in a moldy bed with a freshly stitched hole in my head, I wasn't what I was only a few years before. And I'm still not. Somewhere down the line, something clicked. All the stuff that happened to me didn't break me. It was the realization that I finally had no boundaries, that final push, that popped into my brain. I went insane. I am insane. I see people, I hear voices. I run from them. Both the living and dead. Me, of all people. I'm the one who's seen both sides and made it out alive. But mentally, I'm still in that dress, I'm still drowning in a frozen lake, I'm still burning alive in an airspeeder. Over and over again. The voices that nobody else hears tell me stories of the better life. My mental state is like many people, all with different ideas and all clashing to take the controls. Nobody knows what it's like to be insane. Not two insane people, even. Everyone is affected in their own way. Insanity burrows deep and modifies your head like a disease. Just like genetics. Not everyone is the same. Which is why I couldn't begin to explain what happens in my head in any language, because every one is basic and undetailed. Too little to conjugate what I feel. So I ride this mount alone. Just like so many others. End log."