Running.

A strange terrain underfoot.

The feeling of an army chasing me.

I was being pursued by the enemy.

The only sound was that of my ragged breaths and the wind in home ears. The world was silent, but I knew I was not alone. I had to run, to leave, to get as far away as possible.

I was reaching speeds I thought nearly impossible for a human. The large plants raced past me, too blurry to make out individually. The world seemed slower that it really was.

I heard the threateningly close hum of an enemy speeder get louder as it neared my position. I continued sprinting, but the futility of the race occurred to me: I could never outrun the machines.

Still, I pressed deeper and deeper into the foliage. The thickness increased. I felt the amount of life that surrounded me, and I immediately felt guilty about the thousands of organisms I put in harms way. I knew there was nothing I could do about that.

The familiar clanking sounds of the droids' run shocked me out of my thoughts and back to my task. Thorns pierced my cheeks and vines threatened to trip me. I slammed into sharp leaves, some most likely poisonous, as the claustrophobia of the forest seized me.

It was darker than I had imagined a forest could be. The distinct shades of greens and blues were difficult to make out. I had no time to slip on my night vision goggles.

Then, I slammed into something hard.

The massive fungus was nearly invisible to my unenhanced humanoid eyes. That did not necessarily make it hurt any less.

I rubbed my head and added a bruise to the list of minor injuries I had already attained.

There was no point in running any further. The droids would last several more hours before their power was drained, but I was running on and adrenaline and a prayer. I had been on the run for days.

"Put your hands in the air!" I heard the mechanical voice of the mechanical creatures.

When my hands remained at my side, I heard hesitation from the droids. "We have you surrounded!" One of them said unassuredly.

My hand reached to my belt and grasped the metal cylindrical object that was my life. I heard the satisfying sound of ignition, a sound I had grown to associate with battle but also comfort.

A deep yellow glow illuminated the forest, and I leaped into action.

|_|_|_|_|_|_|_|

I felt like I was falling. As I awoke from the dream, I scanned my surroundings, not fully remembering where I was.

Then everything came rushing back to me as quickly as the formation of a sandstorm.

My name is Arrai Skywalker.

I am at the Jedi Temple.

I was rescued with my brother from slavery on Tatooine.

The facts lined up.

I remembered the last two weeks with a haze. For a while, I was in the Temple's infirmary being treated for my illness. Somehow, the Healers had cured me, though they did not tell me how, specifically.

The room was clearly for guests, and, despite my age, I qualified until the Council decided what to do with me. I had been in a padawan's room earlier in the week. She was giving me a tour of the Temple and wanted to show me how Jedi lived. Their spaces were small. It made sense; the Temple had to house thousands of Jedi.

Compared to the hut I used to live in, thought, the padawan's room has felt like a palace.

The bed was larger than any I had ever seen. As I crawled out of it, the wonder of the Jedi Temple continued to amaze me. I had roamed its halls and seen the statues and felt the powerful beings inside the place, and it never ceased to astound me that there were places like this, and yet it was more than I could have ever dreamed of.

There was a mirror in the room. I stared into the glass. My reflection stared back. My night dress was heavy, which was comforting in an odd way.

Seeing my full brown hair in a massive heap and my pale skin nearly glowing from lack of color, I was always shocked at the wicked blue eyes that I could've sworn belonged only to my brother.

I was too young to care too much about my complexion, but my frailty unnerved me. Time seemed to pass far more quickly on Coruscant, and I often forgot to eat. My sleep patterns were irregular, and the hours I got were too interspersed and random to count. The planet moved more quickly than Tatooine, and I had yet to get used to the shorter days.

I peeled my eyes away from myself and got dressed. Some of the older Younglings offered to share their clothing with me, but I felt guilty about taking from these children who already had little. I had been told that a Jedi has little material possessions and that he/she is willing to share everything except their lightsaber(s), but I did not feel right taking things from them.

Queen Amidala had visited me during her short tenure in the Senate a few days ago. Anakin had been unfortunate enough to miss her, but she brought me gifts, including some of the latest Naboo fashion for children my age.

A knock came at my door. At first, I expected it to be Anakin. He tended to come around about this time every morning to walk down to breakfast with me.

Instead, it was a Jedi I had grown quite familiar with.

"Good morning, little Skywalker," Master Plo said. His voice was always serious and had little expression, but I had learned to tell when he was excited, like he was then. "Will you walk with me?"

I nodded. I understood him just fine, but speaking Basic was rough. There were so many rules that I had trouble wondering how anyone could speak it naturally.

For some reason, my mind relapsed into my dream. The droids. The forest. The light. I shook it off, forgetting it.

I walked down the corridor with Master Plo, not knowing that my life was about to change forever.

[A/N:

A spark shook her violently as it traveled to the deepest roots of her mind. She shuddered. Could it be? she wondered.

She thought it not plausible that such an idea would even dare to creep into her mind, much less infuse her with a writing spirit!!

And what, might you, the beloved reader, would this idea be? Pray tell us, Art!

Why, the idea of first person narrative, of course!

The author cringed as she reread the narrative, wanting desperately to revert back to her old ways.

Stop, commanded her conscience. You have made a character relatable, feelable, interesting. Is that not a good thing?

As she reread it again, she thought that, perhaps, this could be a possible solution to her conundrum. Would people really enjoy her works if they were told more easily?

She asks that you comment and vote on said chapter your opinions on the topic. Do you enjoy it more? Does it make you feel closer to the characters?

The author sighed in relief as she hit the publication button.

Perhaps, she thought wearily, I should be more open minded.

Peace, love, and
-Art