Disclaimer: All belongs to George Lucas, I am making no profit from this; don't sue me.

Without further ado:

The Not-Quite-Love Letters

Message sent at 0953 hours, Day 13, Month 3, Year 3042

Captain Solo,

I would like to thank you for your selfless contribution in the battle of Yavin 4, as well as your part in rescuing me. The rebellion would be delighted if you should choose to stay and join us in our fight for freedom, as would myself and the High Council. Please consider our offer.

Princess Leia Organa

P.S. It would be greatly appreciated if the incident last night with the holochess table went unmentioned. I would like to point out that I do not normally act in that way. In light of the fact that it is a time of celebration and joy, perhaps we could just forget the whole thing.

P.P.S. If your memory works better than I first anticipated, I am willing to pay credits.

1003 hours, Day 13, Month 3, Year 3042

Sum of 100 credits to be transmitted from account of PRINCESS LEIA ORGANA to a CAPTAIN HAN SOLO.

Journal of Princess Leia Organa

13th Day, 3rd Month, 3042nd Year

How are you supposed to start a journal anyways? "Dear Diary", "Dear Journal"? I personally think it is pointless to address a letter to no one. In fact, I believe this whole idea to be pointless. My therapist's idea, that is. She believes that writing this will help me, help "disperse my anger."

This was how the conversation with my therapist went:

Her: How do you feel?


Her: Okay. You don't want to talk about. Perfectly normal. Any ideas of suicide?

Me: No.

Her: Are you sure?

Me: Yes.

What I didn't say was that I can't get revenge if I'm dead. Why would I kill myself with out revenge?

She then proceeded to tell me to write this. She also said she wouldn't read it, which I thought was a bit nerf-brained. For all she knows, I could be writing nothing. I don't think that's exactly therapeutic.

Why do I have a therapist? You might ask that if you existed, but you don't. So I'll answer. I wouldn't if you were a living, breathing being.

I have a therapist because my planet – my home – has been transformed into a bunch of particles and atoms. Destroyed. If I were a romantic, I would call the particles stardust and live my life believing that what I once had is part of everything now, is floating around me. If I believed in the Force I could take comfort in the fact that my family and friends are one with it. Unfortunately, I'm not a romantic and I can't believe in anything that lets such terrible things happen to masses of beings, so I must continue with my life knowing that my world is gone. It is bits of dust. Bits of dead, microscopic dust that will never have any peace. They will just float around alone looking for the rest of themselves, the missing pieces. Like me.

Falcon Ship Log: 1343 hours, Day 13, Month 3, Year 3042

Me and Chewie are docked at the rebel base on Yavin 4. How we got here is a long story.

On Tatoonie we picked up some bright-eyed kid called Luke Skywalker and an old man who was convinced he was a Jedi warrior named General Kenobi. Goddess knows whose army he was from. Anyways, they wanted to go to Alderaan, so we flew them out there. Easy, right? Except for on thing; there was no Alderaan. It was gone, vaporized by those sith-loving imperials. We got caught in the tractor beam of their star destroyer, called the Death Star. (Imps sure know how to make a person welcome. It really says "Hey, welcome to our ship.")

When we finally got off the damn thing, we were minus Kenobi and plus a princess. The princess of the late Alderaan. She was a prisoner on the destroyer and the kid got some crazy idea to save her. I only agreed because the kid said she'd have credits. I was expecting an old lady, or something, like real life princesses. But this one looked like she had stepped out of a holo-vid, all big-eyed with long hair up – until she opened her mouth. The broad didn't know when to shut-up.

Anyways she turned out to worth quite a lot; forty-thousand credits kind of a lot. We were paid as soon as we landed at the rebel base. One of the little droids the kid has was actually carrying plans for the Death Star. The rebels looked at the plans, and whoosh; they decide to attack the destroyer! Sith, them and their little fighters against that thing, it was the stupidest thing I ever heard. Me and Chewie took off after that, wanting to get out of there before the battle started. I wasn't about to stick around while the rebellion committed mass suicide. But the kid decided to stay. Well, I thought, they can all be martyrs if they want.

Unfortunately, while were preparing the jump for hyperspace, my conscience, which I thought was permanently dead and buried, decided to resurrect itself. I couldn't stop thinking about wet behind-the-ears farmboys and big, brown eyes. And then I imagined them all blowing up. Mis-take!! I turn around so fast I momentarily couldn't see straight. I came back just in time to blow a Tie off the kid's back. Then he blew the Death Star and we went back to celebrate.

Note to self: The Princess is a lot more fun when she's drunk. She even tried to dance on top of the holo-chess table. It was kind of cute.

Revenue from trip: 47 thousand credits.
Plus 100 from the princess for keeping my mouth closed
about the holo-chess 'incident.'