Conflict Within

[Morgan Faith]

So long ago, I don't remember when
That's when they say I lost my only friend.
Well they said she died easy of a broken heart disease
As I listened through the cemetery trees.
I seen the sun comin' up at the funeral at dawn
The long broken arm of human law.
Now it always seemed such a waste,
She always had a pretty face;
So I wondered how she hung around this place..




Corellia - Seven Years Ago - The golden rays of the sun weren't so delightful on this internally dark early summer morning. The temperatures were expected to reach the high eighties but Morgan shivered nonetheless as she stood beneath the shaded canopy of a copse of trees to watch the funeral services of her best friend, A'aya I'nissa, dead at the age of nineteen. The priest's voice, though heard thanks to being carried upon the invisible wings of a gentle breeze, sounded so distant and far away to Morgan's ears. Memories - both good and bad - of the close friendship she shared with A'aya came to the forefront of her mind, like an ocean of waves crashing into the shore.



~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The two females met on the first day of classes at the University of Corellia. Morgan was running late for class. While rounding a corner of the second floor hall she collided with another student who was lost, and running late as well. The books were knocked from both of their hands and when Morgan looked up to apologize, there stood A'aya, wide-eyed with shock. "I'm so sorry! Ugh! I'm sorry, here. Let me get those for you," A'aya said with nervous rapidity. But what happened next was like a classic
holovid scene cut right from the pages of a script. Both of the young students squatted and reached for their books at the same time, as if the two had rehearsed the act over and over until nailing it down to perfection, and their foreheads crashed.

Both women winced with the pain produced from the unintentional double head-butt and rubbed the sore spots. The two looked at each other and just burst out laughing, the sound echoing throughout the empty hall. "I'm sorry. I'm A'aya I'nissa." The beautiful ebon-haired young lady introduced herself as she exchanged books with Morgan so the girls each had their own.

"Morgan Faith, and it's alright. It's as much my fault as it is yours." She said as they both stood erect and tucked their books comfortably within the crook of an arm.

"This place is so big! I'm suppose to be in general psychology right now, but I can't find the room. Could you ... ?" A'ayla asked, her voice showing signs of nervousness again as she held up her schedule for Morgan to glance at with hopes of getting directions to her classroom.

Morgan smiled and waved the flimsiplast off. It wasn't needed. "I'm suppose to be there, too. Come on. It's just down here on the left at the end."


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Please bow your heads as the Lord's Prayer is recited." Eyes as black as coal observed the crowd huddled around the coffin, their heads lowered and eyes closed; hands clasped together. And though she saw the actions, Morgan's mind didn't truly register what was going on at a conscious level.

Another memory came forth, this one fading into her mind the way a scene from a holovid might fade into or out of view on the big screen.



~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You're such a nerf!" The two young students burst out into riotous laughter as they gave up studying for the first round of final exams in lieu of spending a night on the town, partying from sun down to sun up in the ill-reputed Treasure Ship Row. Unlike A'ayla, Morgan knew her limits with
alcohol, which was why she quit drinking about an hour ago after having only three snifters of Corellian Spiced Ale. It was her preferred choice in liquor, ever since her mother would allow only a small sip once during the holidays ever since she was knee-high to a Selonian.

A'ayla was drunk and had fallen from her chair, landing unceremoniously on the floor with an audible clattering of teeth smashing together. Morgan was surprised her friend hadn't knocked a few loose, or chipped any of them. As she extended a hand to pull the woman to her feet, Morgan
wondered why A'ayla continually did this to herself. Morgan was well aware of the liquor stash hidden within the floorboards of A'ayla's dorm room but it wasn't until a few weeks ago that she really started to take notice of it being a problem as opposed to an occasional drink necessitated for calming jittery nerves.

After all, it wasn't like A'ayla had a terribly bad life, really. Aside from a distant and strained relationship with her mother, everything else was simply golden. At least from what Morgan was able to ascertain.

A'ayla was a beauty, one that rivaled the famous mythological Goddess of Beauty in Olys Corellesi Mythology. Hair as black as pitch, eyes as blue as the bluest oceans to ever grace a world's surface. Her skin looked soft, smooth, completely flawless. Even the pinpoint beauty mark just to the right and slightly lower than the right corner of her mouth "belonged" there. A'ayla had nice figure, a subtle hourglass outline with curves that flowed perfectly together; and long, slender legs. Morgan had asked her at one point if she ever considered modeling, but A'ayla just scoffed and said there wasn't enough money in the entire galaxy to ever make her want to do modeling.

"Come on, Princess. I think it's time to call it a night and get back to the dorms."

The goddess-like beauty looked to Morgan, then flopped an arm around her best friend's shoulder and staggered a few steps. Morgan steadied the girl, wrinkling her nose at the smell of alcohol permeating through the pores of A'ayla's flawless skin and laden upon her breath. "Yer shusch a party-pooper, Morgan." Her speech was slurred and she erupted in laughter again, spitting at the beginning while trying to hold it at bay.

Morgan was embarrassed by her friend's behavior. "Yeah, yeah. You'll thank me when you get through the hangover you're going to have as a result of this. Come on, hon, let's get you to bed."And she hooked an arm around A'ayla's waist and gently coaxed her to the door.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Gods of mercy, as we mourn the death of A'ayla and thank you for her life, we also remember times when it was hard for us to understand, to forgive, and to be forgiven. Heal our memories of hurt and failure, and bring us to forgiveness and life in our Lords."

Morgan stared ahead, still sheltered by the protective shade of the copse of trees. The sun had crept steadily above the horizon, casting its bright yellow light upon the large gathered crowd. Everyone, except for Morgan, recited the appropriate response to the prayer and the priest continued with the service.

A hand came to rest on Morgan's right shoulder and gave a single squeeze, just a signal that someone was there for her, with her. No words were spoken and she didn't even bother to glance back to see who had approached. She knew who it was by the weight of the hand and the tenderness of the touch.

It was Logan Cates; her other best friend. He annoyed her to no end most of the time, but he never left her alone and would always be there. He wanted to be more to Morgan than just her best friend, but she wasn't interested in him that way. So he'd listen to her outbursts when she became completely frustrated, he'd offer the comfort of a hug and a shoulder to cry on when she just needed to weep. She often thought of Logan as an unwanted growth that had appeared on her side one day, but deep down that wasn't what she honestly thought about him. Yes, he was quite the jealous type and yes, that even led to a few fights between he and a suitor. But he had a side to him that he showed to no one else but
Morgan. A softer side, a human side. One that held emotion, passion, compassion, truth, desire, rage, pain. He bled, just like she did. He was human.

"We shouldn't be here." Morgan finally whispered.

"There was nothing you could have done," Logan tried to assure her in the most comforting and forgiving tone possible. But his intention went unnoticed. Instead it troubled her. She snapped her head around and glared menacingly at Logan from over her shoulder, then growled, "There was plenty I could have done. But I didn't."

Logan just stared into her eyes. Yes, there was plenty that she ... no ... that they both could have done and didn't. Logan knew that Morgan would carry the burden and responsibility for the death of A'ayla I'nissa on her shoulders for eternity. Morgan would never forgive herself and deep down, Logan would never forgive himself, either.

"Here, freed from pain, secure from misery, lies but a mere child, the darling of her parents' eyes. A gentler Lamb ne'er sported on the plain, a fairer flower will never bloom again. Few were the days allotted to hers breath; now let her sleep in peace her night of death." The priest executed the sign of the holy cross and then the crowd lowered their heads again for prayer.

Logan squeezed Morgan's shoulder once more, then left her there beneath the copse of trees. He went ahead to join the others, standing at the back of the huddled masses. Morgan watched him, but again, her mind went back retrieving memories. The more painful ones, as if she needed to feel even more suffering than she already felt.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She said it's cold
It feels like Independence Day
And I can't break away from this parade
But there's got to be an opening
Somewhere here in front of me
Through this maze of ugliness and greed
And I seen the sign up ahead
At the county line bridge
Sayin' all there's good and nothingness is dead
We'll run until she's out of breath
She ran until there's nothin' left
She hit the end it's just her window ledge

"I dun wanna go back to der dormshhs!" A'ayla argued, pulling away from Morgan's steadying arms. "Thar's dis party I wasshh invited to. Le'sh go!" Now it was A'ayla's turn to tug on Morgan's hands. But Morgan didn't want to go to any party. She wanted to get her best friend tucked into bed so she could sleep off the effects of alcohol and then take care of her in the morning, to nurse her through the massive hangover the dark-haired lovely was sure to get. "No, A'ayla. We've done enough partying for one night. We need to get back. Besides, you know better than to attend any party thrown in the Row. Come on."

But A'ayla would have nothing to do with going back to the dorms. She didn't want to spend the next two years on campus. She didn't want to grow up and be thrown to the wolves and expected to make it on her own. She didn't want to be alone. A'ayla wanted someone to take care of her, do everything for her, and just be there for her forever. She was terrified of the real world, of the responsibility, of the vast amount of failures she was certain to experience. A'ayal spat a raspberry at Morgan then staggered away. Morgan started to follow. She intended to just grab her best friend by the arm and drag her sorry drunk butt home whether she wanted to go or not.

But she didn't. She never got the chance to. Correction: she never took the chance to. A'ayla was quickly surrounded by a bunch of guys who looked to be nothing more than one step above an amoeba on the food chain. Two hooked their arms around her, one took the shoulders, the other the waist. They looked stoned beyond coherence and just as drunk as A'ayla was. Only - they hid it far better than A'ayla did.

Frustrated and fed up, Morgan tossed her hands into the air and exited the bar. Logan had taught her how to make herself look completely unapproachable when he found out that she and A'ayla had been patronizing the Row. He knew it'd be pointless to try to stop her, so he pulled her aside and taught her a few things in keeping herself as safe as she possibly could while frequenting the ill-reputed district of Corellia. But, even with the tactics Logan had instructed her on, there was no guarantee that it'd work all of the time.

It was nearly three fifteen in the morning. Not an optimal time to be wandering the dark alleys and streets of the Row by far. But she needed to get back to the dorms and get at least a few hours of sleep before having to spend the day with her mother and grandmother; shopping and brunch. The three females did this every Natunda. Morgan made it out of the Row and back to the dorms without a hitch. By the time she showered and tucked herself into bed, it was close to four thirty in the morning. The sun would be rising soon thereafter.

"So tell me, Morgan. How's school going? It's finals, isn't it?" Pasha asked of her granddaughter. Pasha was an amazing woman. Nearing seventy years of age and the woman had a vitality and vigor that rivaled many of the younger generations. She could keep up with the most energetic of toddlers and outlast many of the teens in regards to energy. Morgan hoped that was hereditary.

"Yes, Nana. Finals finish up this week, actually. I think the semester's gone well. What have you been up to while I've been at school? How's grand-daddy?"

The three women enjoyed a casual brunch and engaged in usual conversation as per their outings. Nana would now go on and on about the antics of Morgan's grand-daddy, tossing in an occasional wink when she was just teasing. Jenna, Morgan's adopitve mother, and Morgan would just laugh or poke fun at nana; then they'd enjoy a few hours at the wildlife park seated on a bench while their food digested, taking in the beauty surrounding them. These outings became tradition when Jenna first

married Pasha's son, Drayson. Bonding moments, but they stuck and now it was the elder two women instilling the tradition into Morgan with hopes that one day she would be passing it down to her own son or daughter. But Morgan felt differently. Something told the young lady that children just were not in her future. She never understood why she had that particular feeling, though.

Morgan returned to her dorm around eight twenty later that evening. The little red light was blinking on the comm unit, indicating that there were messages waiting to be heard. She tossed her entry card onto the small half table sitting against the wall just past the front door then pressed the play button. There was a message from Logan, wanting to know if they could get a study session in tonight. She was to call him back and let him know either way. There was a message from A'ayla's mother, seeking the
whereabouts of her wayward, disappointing daughter. Morgan deleted it, as per A'ayla's instructions upon first moving in. The relationship between A'ayla and her mother was strained, to say the least. It didn't take long for Morgan to understand why.

The next message was shockingly odd. It was from A'ayla. Morgan couldn't be one hundred certain if it was song lyrics being sung, if A'ayla was talking to someone else while totally forgetting that she had placed the call in the first place or what. "Well this place is old. It feels just like a beat up truck. I turn the engine, but the engine doesn't turn. Well it smells of cheap wine and cigarettes, this place is always such a mess, sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn. I'm so alone, and I feel just like somebody else. Man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same. But somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams, I think of death, it must be killin' me..." The message cut off due to the time limit for leaving a message. The recording even stated that the messages should be kept brief, consisting of a short message, the time called, and a number to get back to the caller.

But this message was so unlike A'ayla. Yes, the woman was rather poetic and darkly so, but there was something so chilling about this one. Whether it was the nonsensical words or the tone in her voice, Morgan couldn't be sure. Never before had she ever listened to a message and suddenly feel so cold. A bone-chilling cold that settled deep into the marrow of her thin bones. The call came in a couple of hours ago, according to the time stamp. Morgan, though knowing she wouldn't find A'ayla in the small
shared apartment, went to check her roommates bedroom anyway. Just as she already knew, the room was empty and the bed was still made. A'ayla hadn't been home at all since Datunda, the night before.

The sound of Morgan's feet thudding against the hardwood floor of the apartment-like dorm held an urgency to it as she traversed the small two-bedroom cubby hole and grabbed a jacket and her entry card, slipping that into the front pocket of her pants. A note was scrawled quickly onto the small note-board magnetized to the food unit then her portable personal comm was retrieved from its cradle in the charger. As she stepped out the door, Morgan activated the message forwarding option. Any calls that came in to their dorm room's frequency would automatically be re-directed to Morgan's personal unit.

"Logan here."

Morgan was leaving the campus at a quick pace, shaking her head from left to right then left again, waiting for a pause in traffic so she could cross the street. "Logan, it's Morgan. Have you seen or heard from A'ayla?"

"No," he answered with trepidation. "What's up? Isn't she home?"

Morgan shook her head, as if Logan were right there at her side. "No. She left this really weird message. She hasn't been home since we went out last night. I'm heading down to the Row to see if I can find her."

"I'm on my way." Their communication ended there. Morgan was tucking her comm unit into the front pocket of her jacket when it beeped with an incoming call.

"A'ayla?" She asked anxiously.

After a momentary crackle of static, the voice on the other end came through. "Er, no. I found this number in A'ayla's call list. My name is Naban Archdine. Is this Morgan?"

Morgan's brows dipped deeply. She'd never heard the name Naban Archdine before. So cautiously, she answered, "Where's A'ayla?"

Another crackle of light static came through. "She's really wasted right now. Look, come to the House of Spades, corner of 5th and Tradespine Way. You need to get her out of here and quick."

The call was cut off. She called Logan right away and told him what she was just instructed to do. He'd meet up with her there. He promised that they'd get A'ayla out of there and home safely.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[Morgan Faith]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"That concludes the services for A'ayla I'nissa today. May she rest in peace."

As Morgan stood there and watched the friends and family, professors and classmates, lay a single rose atop of A'ayla's coffin, the faded memory continued to play. This all felt so wrong to her. A'ayla wouldn't be cremated as per the Corellian traditions involved with death. Her ashes would never be compressed under vast amounts of pressure or subjected to the high heat so that her essence would be forever immortalized in the form of diamonds. Her death was a suicide. Suicides were not allowed the
tradition and she was lucky now to be receiving a proper burial instead of a pauper's grave.

Deep inside she felt that A'ayla's death was more properly classified as murder. Or, at the very least, manslaughter, and Morgan was to blame. She could have ratted out her best friend to the proper people. The counselors at school, A'ayla's father, Corsec. But she didn't do anything, except enable A'ayla's drug and alcohol problems by not doing anything; by cleaning her up, making sure she got home safe, even keeping A'ayla's grades up by doing her schoolwork for her more often than not.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Where is she?" Morgan asked of the nearest person she came to when she barged in through the door of the apartment where the party was still ongoing on the fifteenth floor of the House of Spades.

The place use to be a convalescent center way back when the Row use to be a glamorous place to shop and live. But as the Row fell to the seedier types and degraded into a cess pool of villainy and scum, the center was converted into a club whose main activities soon delved into drugs, prostitution, and gang activity.

"You Morgan?" The guy asked as he led the young college aged woman through the throng of zoned out party-goers to a back room. The place was just disgusting as hell. Paint peeling and chipping from the walls and ceiling. Wires exposed, holes in the ceiling and walls. Garbage piling up, food left out all over the place to rot. Rats even huddled near the corners, eagerly eating whatever was on the floor. Morgan held her breath as long as she could and only drew in sips of air as her lungs necessitated it.

She nodded.

"I'm Naban , the one who called you. She's back here. She's really trippin'. I mean, totally spazzing out!"

Logan stormed in just in time to see the back of Morgan's pretty head disappearing down a narrow, short hall, heading to the back rooms. He pushed his way through the stoners and caught up just as Morgan pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms. There, standing atop of the bed, was A'ayla. Blood was spurting from her left wrist and she just stood there, staring down at Morgan and Logan with vacant eyes and a sardonic chuckle coming forth.

"I called, but you never came. You just left me." The expression on A'ayla's face was eerie. Morgan's eyes went wide when she saw that her best friend had just slit her wrist and now had the razor poised over the other to repeat the performance. "But you know? They're coming for me! I won't let them take me! You can't take me!"

Morgan took a few steps forward, edging closer and started to talk to A'ayal as Logan worked his way around to the other side. They both knew that it'd require his strength to tackle the girl and her words to soothe her. "I'm sorry, A'ayla. I'm here now. Remember Nana Pasha? She missed you. I had to take care of her today. Remember? Come down sweetheart. It's alright now. I'm here. Let's go home and get you fixed up, okay?"

Logan was within tackling range when A'ayla spotted him. She whirled a possessed look at the young man, not even recognizing who he was. Hell, she didn't even really recognize Morgan for that matter.

"GET BACK!" A'ayla hissed violently at Logan and swiped the razor down in his general direction. Logan raised his hands defensively and ducked his head, but backed off a step.

"A'ayla! No! Hey, look at me. Look at me." Morgan managed to summon the woman's attention, but A'ayla's look was wild, out of control. There was no blue to be seen in her eyes, the pupil's dilated as huge as saucers, making her eyes appear to be all black. Dark circles hung low beneath her eyes and her skin looked ashen, almost translucent. "Honey, listen to me. No one here is out to get you and no one is going to hurt you. We just want to help you. That's Logan. You remember him, don't you? We're
just here to take you home, sweetheart."

A'ayla was too far gone to comprehend anything that was said to her. She began rambling on and on about people being out to get her, how they were going to torture her and kill her if she didn't get them
the money she stole from them. None of this made any sense to either Logan or to Morgan. And as A'ayla continued to babble on, the words becoming more incoherent as time passed, Morgan flicked a glance to Logan and he nodded subtly.

Just as A'ayla slit her other wrist, a sadistic sigh of pleasure emerged from her cracked, dried lips and she lilted her head back, enjoying the brief sting of pain. The blood spurted, then flowed steadily and Morgan had to cover her mouth to stifle a scream of shock. She heard the sound of approaching sirens in the distance, but this was the Row. No ambulance in its right mind was going to come to this place and no EMT in his right mind was going to dare enter the house of illusion and deadly pleasures. No one was going to come to A'ayla's rescue.

Logan tensed and readied to pounce, for he suspected - and prayed - that A'ayla was too engrossed in the twisted enjoyment of bleeding to death to notice. But the insane girl did notice. With a cat-like hiss, she launched herself from the bed and crashed through the window.

"NO! A'AYLA!" Morgan gasped and tears immediately stung her ebony orbs. Both she and Logan, along with the morbid onlookers that had gathered and packed themselves in like sardines in the doorway, rushed to the window. A'ayla never screamed. She fell in silence. There was a sickening wet thud as her body hit the permacrete fifteen stories below. Blood and innards splattered everywhere, the head split open and gray matter oozed out onto the surface.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Are you alright? You look pale, Morgan." A sad, soft voice pulled Morgan from the vivid memory. She'd been crying and never realized it. She also just now noticed that her body was leaning against the trunk of the tree, stopping her from losing consciousness completely. Her knees felt weak, just like they did that night one week ago when she watched A'ayla throw herself out of a window and plummet fifteen stories to her death.

She blinked a few times, then looked into the eyes of the man who had spoken to her. It was A'ayla's father. He managed a meager smile and rubbed Morgan's arm a few times, concerned for her well being. The ebony tressed female nodded her head a little too quickly and swiped the moisture from her cheeks, then pushed away from the tree. She smoothed out her skirt and straightened the hip length jacket, finishing the preening by dusting off a few non-existent dust particles from the front of it. "Y-yes. I'm fine, Mr. I'nissa." She managed after choking back the lump in her throat.

"She loved you, you know. She always told me how much she liked you, how you were her best friend. Her only friend. I ... I found this in her things. It's intended for you." Mr. I'nissa handed Morgan an envelope, her name penned on the front. It stung, more than any pain could ever sting when Mr. I'nissa told Morgan how A'ayla had spoken to him about their friendship and her feelings for Morgan. She couldn't look the man in the eye, ensnared with the guilt and knowledge that if she'd only done more,
she could have saved her.

The elder man leaned in and pressed a fatherly kiss to Morgan's cheek, then whispered, "Thank you for being her friend." There was nothing more to say. Mr. I'nissa left without looking back and managed to hold his head up even though he just buried his only child, his daughter.

When the crowd had gone and she was alone in the cemetery, beneath the copse of trees, Morgan finally left the solace of the shade. In an odd way, the coffin was beautiful. Deep black in color, certain parts of it accented in gleaming gold, made all the more shinier by the sun's brilliant golden light. White long-stemmed roses fanned out neatly over the top.

Without a single word, Morgan laid the only rose that would stand out amongst the others right in the center of the floral fan. The red rose was a striking splash of color against the other colors; symbolic of a better time; a time when A'ayla was full of life and not consumed with paranoia and addiction; representative of the close bond shared between the two young women.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Corellia - Present Day

"It's been a while since I've been here, I know. Forgive me, A'ayla." Morgan spoke to the grave of her best friend who had died on this date eight years ago. "I'm sure you're aware of the news my parents decided to spring on me a while back. Odd," she said with a soft sigh as she plucked a few small weeds away from the edges of the headstone and dusted the marble stone clean of debris. "it didn't come as quite the shock I thought it should have."

Of course, no one would answer the young mid-twenties aged woman kneeling next to a headstone and talking out loud. Spirits didn't answer and A'ayla wasn't physically present, obviously.

"I wish you were here to tell me what I should do. You always had such great advice to give to everyone else. Too bad you never heeded your own words, hrm?" With the grave looking neater, Morgan set a small vase containing a single red rose in front of the marble stone. The ground was a little uneven there from natural shifting and settling, so she had to lean the vase back against the corner for support.

"These were always your favorite." She watched the dangling ends of the thin red ribbon tied to the narrow neck of vase flutter with the breeze; a breeze that carried a perfumed fragrance familiar to Morgan's nose. For the briefest moment in time, she thought that A'ayla was there with her. It was the fragrance of the perfume A'ayla liked the most and wore all the time.

Morgan sat there for a bit longer then stood and dusted herself off. "I know what you'd tell me. You'd tell me to follow my heart. But that's the problem, A'ayla. My heart is conflicted. What if I seek them out and end up bringing trouble along with me? What if I search forever and never find them?" She was talking about the Jedi, the brethren order she was uprooted from at the age of six for her own protection. It was twenty years ago and the Jedi were being viciously slaughtered.

Enough time had passed that Morgan could no longer remember the face of Master Rikta Vai, but she remembered his name and the sound of his voice. There were even a few memories retained, but now she couldn't be certain if they were once real or if her mind simply made them up at some point while growing up.

Of course, no answer came to her questions. There was nothing but the sun and a breeze rustling the leaves of the copse of trees Morgan had sought solace under seven years ago. Those trees were taller now, their branches broader, thicker, and sporting many more bright green leaves than she remembered.

"Goodbye, my friend. Until next year." She murmured then turned away from the grave site and walked slowly to sit in the shade she had stood beneath long ago.

[Kale]

The cemetery was quiet, but not completely desolate. Several rows away from A'ayla's grave, a small teenaged boy was walking solemnly among the headstones, his head bowed. His path took him among the pauper's graves, the plats large enough only for a vertical burial, marked stones that were little more than bricks of granite. Some were not marked at all.

It seemed he was not quite sure of his destination, but at last he stopped at a sad-looking patch of grass with a nameless marker. But upon closer inspection, there was a symbol on the marker, roughly cut with some sort of superheated instrument, judging from the igneous glint on its edges: an Aurabesh "J".

http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y115/stormfyre/headstone.jpg

The boy cautiously ran his finger along the smooth edges of the rune - reverently, one might expect. But what he did next defied explanation.

He gripped the edges of the stone and pulled with all his strength until it came up from its recess in the ground. Then he began digging at the soft earth underneath with his bare hands, scattering wet soil left and right.

[Morgan Faith]

Peace. That was all she felt at the moment. Surrounded by silence, a gentle breeze toying with the ends of her hair and kissing her cheeks ever so softly, the warmth of the sun as it heated the planet's surface. And though her eyes roamed over the serene beauty of the graveyard - with its meticulously trimmed lawn, flowers, small rememberance wreathes, and other items left at the resting sites of loved ones - Morgan's mind was open to anything and focused on nothing at all.

Morgan.

Eyes as black as saccloth slowly closed, a beating heart remained rhythmic and breathing slowed, but maintained regularity.

Morgan.

An open mind would allow anything to enter. Relaxed as she was, even voices of the past could pass through the gates of consciousness and whisper their suggestions.

Morgan, wake up.

She didn't want to wake up. Overhead, the clouds drifted slowly. What shapes would one find had they been lying on their back atop of the grass while watching the world pass them by?

"That one looks like a fist." A'aya had said, then turned her head to look at Morgan and added, "The fist of Professor Rienstein destroying the essay I turned in." The two young women shared a laugh, then Morgan told A'aya to "just stop, the paper was fine."

The leaves overhead rustled as the wind kicked up a little bit gustier than it had been all morning. Morgan stirred a little as a hair tickled her cheek. Natural reaction took control of her arm and lifted it, then told the tip of the index finger to ease it away.

The clouds became darker and moved across the endless stretch of sky a little faster, as if in a hurry to reach some unknown destination for fear of what might happen at the end if arriving too late. A loud crack of thunder boomed, rattling the windows of the campus building and shaking the ground. Morgan and A'aya lept to their feet and ran for the doors, laughing the whole time.

The air temperature changed. It felt a little cooler against her skin. Morgan. Wake up! Startled by the urgency from the voice in her dream, the black haired female who had drifted off in the shade snapped awake. Something had changed while she dozed, something was different. Thin brows knit gently and Morgan stood, looking around.

What is that? Panick? Fear? Desperation? A few rows over she noticed a figure anxiously pawing at the ground. She blinked away the haziness that remained in her eyes, just to be certain that she was truly seeing what her mind told her she was seeing. Yes. There was someone pulling up tufts of earth and soil. What a strange sight to behold. Why on earth would anyone want to bring back that which was dead?

Morgan approached, calling out, but the young lad must have been completely lost within his own thoughts and might not have heard her. Or, maybe he just didn't think anyone would be talking to him. "Excuse me," she said, just as a handful of soft, moist dirt landed right on top of her foot.

[Kale]

Kale had robbed pedestrians, cart vendors, convenience stores, the occasional home - never anything big, just enough to keep him alive. This was the first time he'd ever robbed a grave.

And as much as he told himself ghosts weren't real, and, if they were, they probably had better things to do than hang around a boring old cemetery, he had a prickling feeling that he was doing something very risky. And when he heard Morgan's voice, he jolted in momentary panic and then wondered why he hadn't sensed her sneaking up on him.

"You're excused."

And then he went on digging.

[Morgan Faith]

Upon his knees, the young lad continued to gouge the ground with fevered swipes of his hands. He paused long enough to say two short words, then went right back to the task. He didn't even look up, or even over to see that he'd just heaped a pile of moist earth to the top of her foot. Morgan's lips pursed lightly and she lifted her foot just enough to give it a bit of a shake, shuffling the dirt from said appendage over either side to clear it away.

The young woman with hair as black as a raven's canted her head and studied the youth. His body language spoke volumns. The way he hunched over, the muscles of his back tense. His focus was so intense, his determination and desperation tangible.

"What you seek is no longer there," she said quietly while smoothing her attire as she took to squatting. "Unless you seek the past, that is." Morgan's eyes drifted from the boy to the progress he was making in shoveling through the ground. Dirt embedded beneath his fingernails and clung to the tiny wrinkles of each knuckle, including the lines that crossed the center of his palms.

"She wants you to stop." Now her eyes slowly retraced the path taken before so they may settle upon the profile of the young man disrupting the dead. Morgan wondered how he would react to her words. Had she truly heard a spirit telling her to tell the boy to stop what he was doing? In a way, yes, she did, but it was more like she 'heard' and felt the thoughts, the emotions, as opposed to literally hearing a disembodied voice calling out from an astral plane.

The only other person who knew Morgan possessed such an 'odd' ability was A`ayla and she was no longer around to rib her friend for being 'freaky'. What Morgan wouldn't give right now to hear A`ayla's laughter and teasing. Now, all she could hope for was to see the eyes of the young boy trying to dig up a past that was apparently buried long ago.

[Kale]

"You don't know what I'm seeking," he said caustically.

His fingertips struck something solid almost six inches beneath the surface. He poked around with his index finger and outlined a narrow, rectangular box in the soil, far too small to be a coffin and the wrong shape to be a burial urn. He dusted off the top of the box and carefully pulled it up by the edges.

The box was heavily encrusted, but beneath the grit there was the unmistakable gleam of old lacquer. There were no exposed hinges or latches.

The boy held the box in his lap and stared at it for several long moments. Then, finally, he looked back over his shoulder to see the spectator he'd picked up.

"What's it matter to you? You don't know who was buried here." He hesitated, and there was a hesitant spark of what looked like hope in his eyes. "Do you?"

[Morgan Faith]

Morgan let the caustic reply slide in one ear and out the other. There was no reason, after all, to snap back or even acknowledge it. In truth, it would probably serve no purpose other than to provoke an argument and that most certainly was not Morgan's style.

So she remained squatted there, watching the boy work feverishly at removing the soil from the gave. In short time he removed a narrow, rectangular box and placed it in his lap. He looked at it for several moments then glanced over his shoulder at Morgan.

She lifted her dark eyes from the item in his lap and met his gaze. He seemed to be rather defensive when speaking to her and Morgan wondered why that was. But this was not the time nor was it the place to explore the possible answers to that riddle. Morgan looked to the boy for several minutes now then shook her head gently. "All I can surmise is that it was once someone who may have looked after you or someone you kept close to your heart." It was the best response she could give to the child, though probably not the one he was looking for judging by the hope that twinkled in his eyes.

She understood his hope, though. Not a day went by that Morgan didn't hope that when she woke in the morning, A'ayla would be burning some toast in the kitchen and the past ten years had really been nothing more than one long and terrible nightmare.

[Kale]

Kale's shoulders sagged a little, and he let out the breath he'd been holding. She didn't know a thing.

"There's only one person who ever cared about me, and she don't have a grave for me to visit. Now, do you have a reason for bein' here, or are you just tryin' to frighten me by playin' fortune teller and speakin' for the dead?"

The boy tenderly gripped the box he'd unearthed. It was plain to see he wanted to open it but was hesitant to do so in front of a stranger.

[Sen Oisel]

Life had changed since those days back on Anaxes. The galaxy is too vast not to get lost in all it's complications without an unchecked and managed life. Eventually a gander into the past will leave more to be unravel then simple and plain. The restless explorer had wrestled with the heavyweights of the known universe, and not a blaster burn stain his graceful features.

In the shine of his sparkling, brown orbs shimmer demise in all it's glory. A ritual had been performed years back, and the only symbol that remained was a tombstone. The gray, engraved in a deep black, dazzle his nerves into a world of fear and angst. He had been so alone without his brother.

Sen had retreated into adventures, meddled with new companions and embedded himself a culture all anew, only to feel alone. The sadness ran deep, pouring through his being as his grave sight danced along the sullen grounds. Graveyards detain any happiness, glee, or fortune in it's charitable supply of misery. Anguish embroil the soil as tree lurched over in their heavenly heights, prepared to falter in the face of the endless pain that the grounds wield.

People died all over, but it was on these grounds that they settled together.

"Frag, frag, frag." The young pilot's eyes closed, the leather of his jacket tight about his body. Corellia was pivotal stop on numerous galactic runs, but the moment seemed far more significant than the world could embody. A power rested in suffering that could paint a picture all people knew.

No language held it in it's bounds.

Off to the side stood one, and dug another. Confusion wasn't the word that fit how puzzled Sen was he observed. A trip to the graveyard turned into jumbled venture with a bundle of emotions.

"What are you two doing?!" He asked, more surprised than angered.

[Morgan Faith]

The disappointment that marched across the boy's features brought a pang to Morgan's heart. She wished that she could have given the boy more, given him some form of hope, or even just a friendly ear. But his demeanor spoke volumes. Obviously he didn't want any of the things that Morgan could and had been offering. Even his rather curtly delivered inquiry said that he no longer wished to be bothered.

Morgan stood. "No reason at all. I make a habit out of visiting the cemetery just to find little boys like you to annoy and frighten." Now it was her turn for her voice to sound a bit caustic. "Good day. I hope you find what you're looking for and that it brings you much joy."

Just as she turned to leave, Morgan came face to face with another who was curious as to what they were doing. Morgan glanced down over her shoulder. "He's playing in the dirt," then she looked back up to the taller man. "I was just leaving."

The ebony tressed woman bypassed the new arrival and went on her merry way, heading back toward A'ayla's grave to say goodbye before heading into the heart of the city. It'd been ten long years since Morgan was last here on this planet and she had no idea even now as to why she returned. The Force worked in mysterious ways and she learned long ago that there were times when it was best not to question it, but to go with it. All would reveal itself in due time.

As she strolled back to her friend's resting place, Morgan contemplated on the possibility that maybe she needed to see the past in order to discover where she was suppose to be going. Maybe there was something here that would ease the restlessness of her inner spirit and bring the internal calm and direction she'd been lacking for a long time now.

[Za'in]

Disappointment wasn't a rare feeling on Corellia. The graveyard was a somber place; the trees even knew this to be a fact. All the green was tinted in darkness, because death was all the earth could feed on. Scorn scorched the cemetery, and regret litter the very air. Fumes of torment brushed about, and the atmosphere grew thick. Space separated the three deathly guests. Time was an uncaring beast that space knew, and it had done its work on one of the visitors. Before long the young pilot sought new ground. Disdain trailed his path as he escaped from the unhappiness, at least for now. The crotchety exit settled in as the grumpy pilot left with a few faint clomps.

The burial grounds were set as a center of the small section of the Corellia capitol. Coronet was fixed in beauty, and the remark of death defiled the dazzling, youthfulness the city exerted. Little life surrounded the large necropolis. No one found the place fitting for exuberant stores; the contrast was far too wide to garner worthy business. Supporter shops riddled the cemetery area, such as flower stores and casket markets. Although people died everyday, the place wasn't busy at all.

Citizens were transfixed on the life of Coronet, not the death of the famed city. Few found refugee in such locations, but there was one. Despite the purposeful and obviousness of the supporter shop, there was always a jokester to ruin the mundane nature. Off to the right of the dead-lands perched an outside market space. Music instruments dangled from post, and house-hold appliances as the homely shop gather no more than one customer. Only a moment separated the patron from his stop-and-go, picking up a kloo horn from the wall before handing over the credit chips.

The man was off, and to the graveyard. Clearly, the shop had been established for survival - not support - but it held all the requirements for it's sole client. The cloak that figured the person's body framed a human, but it was much more. Lips curved around the kloo horn's hole, before he let a calculated blow call at music. The melody developed as he marched slowly through the deceased grasslands. A call of celebration and bliss singed the graveness of the graveyard. Bit by bit, the notes swung through the air as the cloaked man walked through the yard.

A rare occasion indeed, the man had more objectives than one on this visit to the most solemn location on Corellia. Not a word peaked from his lips, only music. The hood hide his face, but it was evident in his sway he was in high spirits. The dwellings didn't shape him one bit…not even a tad.

The graveyard had collected more than just a couple weird occurences today.

Today...just wasn't the day to cry.