Sebastian Mora
Lit & Comp
Personal Short Story
10/10/14
Lord Vader
As the disciple burns into the rubble of his mighty loss, his face disfigures in a mighty extinguished inferno, his eyes crumble knowing the understanding of who he has become. As the fire discomforts his sizzling cuted legs, the fire penetrates like the swerving in a blaze of fire, raging through bones. His screams breath all sith, dark, evil, mostly machine and betrayal among the ones who trusted him. The destiny that rises from his trapped darkside, rises among the empire, a royalty of full command. The short burst of distant sobs of his, hypnotizes all but an ambitioned man not knowing what to be, choose or do;in a sudden stop, he becomes godforsaken, knowing the truth but no connotation to act upon what is real or cautious to his state of well being. Risen upward like a dead beast in a volcanic palace, his body plunders with fluorescent red eyes showing the villain he has now suited into. The surface of his residue crumble the steel bed, perishing the metallic superficial, converting it into slate. He is transported, all but the sith ways are his billow for survival. Pall spreaded over his glare. His coffin, he is just lugged like a corpse. He cries and cries for his newborn son, but laughs of the creation that he has now become. As the ship arrives and whirls his ashes, heat ignites from his soul,causing a malfunction to his force, vanished are his jedi ways, the chosen one has arrived. Constructed and mechanical he is now, wishing he can become more man than machine but ambitioned by the sidious force he has always craved. His eyes engaged upon glass, his whole torso filled with technology that brings him to hell with oxygen, his feet clustered with gargantuan metalized black boots,but all fades away from his new given face. The face of a helmet far more villainized than any demonic apparition, becoming an apprentice of diabolicalness, he is a lord of the sith. Motionless, his tampered eyes opened, he watched as a dark line connected and disconnected over different markers in his life. The pointer stopped over the juncture of his isolated emotions, rejection by a Jedi Order that did not understanding his skill, his passion. The profound eco of his stomps glysens the fear. The wrists of his machinery comfort the handcuffs in a heartbeat and as a lord, his environment becomes silent, more silent than the universe he now prolongs to. He is now breathing, he breaths and breaths knowing he has been given life, respiring with a posture of confusion; a macrocosm of soot his mind is. No more of him is in him, he is a machine. His suit isolates him from the rest of the universe, unable to touch or interact with anything he is now.The suit, his only bare skin that is left, becomes an outward expression of his feelings of rejection and focus on himself. As he speaks for the first time, his voice alters at a mechanical roar, expressing his awakening. His force has now taken a risk, a risk that a traitor can only take to procure power. Power became all but fear to the universe, but to Lord Vader, the evil ways were his only captivity to fearing the loss of power, power is all he ever feared of losing. A jedi he once was, a master he could of had been, but sinful power became all within, he is now the king of death.