Week One: Ben Rating: PG
From TFN: A Drabble is an extremely short work of fiction with exactly one hundred words. The purpose of the drabble is to teach brevity and test author's ability to express interesting and meaningful ideas in an extremely confined space. They must be 100 words each. No more, no less.
He holds onto the thin steel cable with his bare hands. Every whip turn of the speeder, it burns worse as he slides further down. He glares vibroblades at the driver, a Devaronian smuggler, who he was assigned to capture. The Devaronian smiles, all pointed teeth and malice as he pushes the speeder down and to the left.
Ben is tossed away, the friction too much, and flies through the transparisteel window of a mid-level Coruscant apartment. He rolls to a stop, and closes his eyes, cursing his luck.
When he opens them back up, is when he sees her.
With a resounding thud the door closes in his face. Startled Ben watches it for a second, unsure what to do. He takes a step away and despair washes over him. No this is not how it ends. He knocks on the door.
He frowns, and punches in the code to open it, and walks in. She is on the couch, her arms curled around her legs. "Get out Ben."
He shakes his head. "That's not going to happen, Noelani. I love you to much too just walk away." He knees before her, grasping her hand. "Marry me?"
He holds her hand gently, lovingly, careful to not disturb the tubes in the back of it. The steady metronome of medical equipment provides white noise for his thoughts, a symphony for his tears.
Even here at the end, he finds her beautiful. He cracks a smile for her. "I remember when I first saw you, do you?" He pauses, not expecting an answer. "I had crashed through your window. You came running out in that night gown."
With his free hand he wipes away a tear. "I loved you even then."
The beeping subtly shifts into a solid tone.
He escorts her to the door, her hand in his having claimed it while helping her from the speeder. She turns and leans against the door, a coyness playing on her lips.
"Do I get my hand back?"
Laughter shines in his eyes. "Do I get a kiss?"
She darts forward, her lips briefly caressing his, an electric shock of touch and sensation.
Then she pulls away, and her hand slips free. The door opens, and Ben sees the patched window.
"Can I see you again?"
She enters her apartment, and as the door closes, he hears her reply. "Tomorrow."
He watches her still form, as it lies on the pyre. His firstborn son stands ready with the torch. He grasps her hand, wishing once more to hear her part of their banter.
It doesn't come, he supplies his.
"Do I get a kiss?"
He leans down, and his lips gently press against hers.
A tear falls on her face.
He stands, and steps back, as his son steps forward. The yellows, oranges and reds of the flames caress and kiss her, and Ben sobs. His turn again.
"Can I see you again?"
In reply is the crackle of flames.
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