Freedom Rites III
Before the end, I was an artist. I created in paint an impression of the world around, the boldness of my work and the lack of respect for the 'traditional' forms earned me much ire on my native Gemenon so I fled, taking my work and my future to Caprica.
I was never particularly famous or respected but my art earned me enough that I never had to seek out any other employment and that was enough for me.
When the end came I was on the Chiron, making my way back to Caprica from an exhibition in which I had sold twelve of my works. Not the most successful exhibition I had ever done but not the least either.
In the cold, dark and painful months which followed I believed I had lost my art forever.
In truth, perhaps I had, my art is now what it once was.
Where before I created beauty, now I create harbingers, tools with which to wreck death and destruction upon our enemies.
This is no celebration of life, this is destruction incarnate and I revel in it.
Revel in knowing that those guns may one day do the Cylons what they did to us, take glee in knowing what I build may one day take some small vengeance on those who wrecked my home.
Take pride in knowing the small part of have in ensuring our military is ready to kill and destroy.
But maybe… maybe there is still about beauty.
After all, is not vengeance beautiful?
Does not destruction encourage rebirth?
As a forest fire purges and renews a forest so shall we purge the cylons and retake our worlds, reborn, stronger and wiser.
In that, there is beauty, in that there is art.
I don't know who I am anymore.
Before… before The End I was a nothing, a lowly serving girl, scrapping enough cubits back each month to feed and house myself with a small sliver on one side in the likely vein hope that I would one day save enough to go to college.
Now… I am a Colonial Warrior, a Marine.
I serve my people, help keep them safe... or that's what they tell me.
I don't know and I don't want to know.
Don't want to remember the burning figure of the cafes owner dropping into the basement where I was collecting some sauces, don't want to remember the fear as the building above me burned, dropping ash and debris all around me.
Don't want to remember crawling my way over burned and still steaming bodies to escape, don't want to remember what I found when I reached the surface above.
Don't want to remember being found lost and screaming four days later by five beasts wearing Navy uniforms or what happened next.
I should be dead, I wish I was dead… a part of me already is and I can feel the great gaping, pus-filled void its loss has left behind. But I survived and was 'rescued'.
And now, I serve.
I serve because it's easy, I have orders, I follow them, I have little need to made choices for myself for they are made for me. If I am lucky, the day will come when my service is ended forever and that small glimmer of hope, of a potential for peace is all that keep me moving, keeps me responding.
No, I don't know who I am anymore, don't want to know and don't want to think for thinking only brings out memories and pain. Let others do the thinking, the deciding, I am done with it.
It easier this way.
The worst day in my life wasn't the day the end came, it was the day my Doctor told me I would likely never had children. That there was a defect and I wasn't releasing my eggs as I should.
That I should learn to live with the hand the Lords of Kobol had handed me and reminded me that artificial insemination was for heathens, for the godless, not for the those who worshipped the Lords.
I hid my curses in my heart that day and like a viper they tore at my breast. It was possible to get artificial insemination even on a backwards a world as mine but it would be known and at many of the temples, you would be turned away.
Safer if you must to have it done offworld and not come back.
I never had the money for that.
And soon, the Lords took my lover away as well meaning I couldn't even adopt for that required a stable household, a father and a mother.
The curses grew more bitter in my breast and I wasn't always as good at keeping them to myself as many would have considered prudent. I honestly don't think I cared.
Then the end came.
Billions dead, fleeing, an uncertain future… and yet, for me it was a blessing.
For not only did I escape, but I escaped to the one ship which had more orphans then any other in the fleet.
Though not of my breast and loins, I had my children at last.
I try to remember what life was like before but I can't really.
I remember a laugh, a smiling face, and angel's eyes.
I remember a voice, deep and weary, eyes tired but with a twinkle in the corners.
I remember hope, love, I remember dreaming of the future, planning on being a Viper pilot or a greengrocer. I remember thinking of all the wonderful things I could do, the places I could visit once I reached my majority.
I remember seeing.
The last thing I remember is a brilliant flash and then, I remember no more, see no more.
Now, I know voices, kind but often weary, I know sounds, the Vipers flying overhead, the machinery of the factories, the rumble of voices in the streets. I know the feel of another's hands on me, always guiding, always controlling.
I know accepts both familiar for before, and those strange and new, Tau'ri.
I know taste, smell, sensation, sound.
I don't know sight, not now and with it, I know no independence, no life of my own. Every moment I step out of my shelter I have to do so under guard, protected from those around me, I move under another's sufferance.
I should be studying, preparing for exams, chatting with the other kids in the schoolyard; I should be running and playing, preparing for impending adulthood.
I can do none of these now and never will again.
I long for what was to be once more, I long for even the slightest control over my life to return to me once more, I long…
I long for mother, who never had an unkind word, for father, who even when his mind slipped into the past, into the riots, always had a hug for me.
I long to see them once more.
But its beyond me, I will not see them again until the Lords choose to claim me and I weep for what cannot be.
But I do not weep alone and a voice interrupts, a Tau'ri voice, brisk but compassionate. It makes me want to weep more but with the voice strange strings are placed in my hands and following, a strange soft wetness nudges my hand, followed by the sensation of fur.
The voice continues to speak and in a moment, a phoenix soars in my heart.
I do not own nor do I claim ownerhsip of characters and or concepts from Stargate SG-1, Battlestar Galactica or any other non-original works contained within