Nearly Lost It
Paintings by Wraith6

Han had many close escapes, but none were so close as when — during his rampage of grief and anger at Chewie's death — he nearly lost the love and respect of his family.

This time even I have to admit
that it was too close for comfort,
that I barely scraped through
bucking and fighting gravity,
metal against metal, gouging
an inferno shower of sparks;
me, a fiery projectile throwing
myself through the gap, ignoring
the gut-churning screech,
the protest of servos over-
loaded, over-stressed; ignoring
the friction searing my skin,
the chill of lonely space
beckoning, whispering
a hairsbreadth away,
prickling at my scalp.

The bolts silent screaming
strained against the over-
whelming urge to surrender
to mindless inertia, to just keep
on keeping on — flying blind.

Blind. Blinded.
Or was it blinkered?
Some might say
just plain stupid.

But that's me
Me, who always
has to push it to
the limit. Me, with
the incredible Solo luck.

Well, I almost lost it this time,
almost lost it all — everything,
everyone — pulled up teetering
on the brink, retarders
squealing in protest;
realised I was aiming
at the wrong target.

But that's how it is
when you lose
your copilot; you lose
your perspective,
and it's easy to shoot
yourself in the foot.

And I came so close,
I nearly lost it all.

But not quite.

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