Entombed. (Semi-conscious stream of thought/Labyrinth of memory-woven illusions)

[Gildarts]

Who am I to speak of justice, when I’ve killed many people from a long distance away, never giving them the chance to look their killer in the eye? Well, I can’t just run from my merciless past, but I have to trust that I did what I had to do during those times of war, suffering, and unbearable frustration. I’m not sure if there’s any other way than that life, but not killing every threat I face is probably a good start. Though, that’s not me either. Me. Christa Adams. Who is that? What does it mean? Is it merely a name? Is it my experiences and personality woven together in a body that is now forged of stone?

If it wasn’t stone, I’d be dead. Maybe there’s something to say about that. Bottom of this hellish ocean. Fire would’ve suited me better. Fire is who I am. Not ice. Though, I bet my targets would’ve said differently about my heart.

Anyway, regrets remain in the past. They don’t make me, and I won’t allow my mistakes to define me. Not when I didn’t know they would haunt me with remorse. I don’t regret it. Who I was. It is that person who allowed me to survive, to get here. This is good, I’m emotionally building. But I am still completely paralyzed. Helpless, like I’ve felt my entire life. Force can’t get me out of this one. I can’t battle my way out of becoming stone. I wonder if anything will come of waiting out the storm.

Spells are like magic, right? They have to either have a cure or… Uh, they can wear off. Maybe the saline water will even help, like when prisoners urinate on their iron cell bars to rust and corrode them. I’m sure it’s worked in the past though, the idea of being pissed on because I’m a stone didn’t exactly appeal to me.

Bottom. Fucking. Line.

I have to escape.

Or I would drive myself insane. No one could hear my screams, it wasn’t even worth it, not that I was wasting air. Not that it would actually make a sound beyond the rattling of the cage that is my mind. Pissing on the bars wouldn’t work on this escape plan. What the even fuck!?

I felt more helpless and frustrated now than ever before, except maybe the torture. Except maybe the moments I shot my sister and didn’t miss. I always had “great aim” when it counted. And those had counted the most. My own blood was spilt. God, had I always wished it had been me. Who am I kidding? There’s no way to change the past. And I’m not even sure there is a God. If there was, he’d be laughing at me right now.

Well Omni, are you laughing?

I challenged him, because that’s what I do. I challenge things, people, chance, and fate. You always do when you’re pulling the trigger when it can end someone’s life. You challenge yourself to get the job done. I can admit to being a bit of an asshole, but sometimes strength just comes off that way whether people like it or not. Dominance isn’t about making friends and I’m not noble. I’m a soldier down to the bone. I had to become this in order to live.

Beyond the darkness of my evolution, I still have hope. If I can figure out how to get out of here… I don’t know quite what I’d do, but I’d give myself another chance. Reload this game of lives and death and change my aim to match the winds. I would fight more, love harder, I’m not sure if I’m capable of being kinder, but I’d even give that a shot too. So far, up until now, death has been the only kindness I had the power to grant people.

But… What if… I could grant them freedom instead?

Coruscant, the Empire, have always been corrupt. I’ve never fought much for the little guy, other than when it was myself. I don’t know where I’d begin, if I am honest with myself. I’m not even sure if I’ll ever get free. But it will all start with escaping this stone coffin.

I was buried alive, trapped, sent to walk the plank, whatever you want to fucking call it, but I’m here. Within the form of a statue, replaying all my past memories in no specific order, trying to see what’s real and what is fake. Trying to see if I can be saved, trying to know if mine is a life that deserves redemption.

First. I need to break out.

To survive one more time.