» Beauty

~ by

It was the same thing, day after day. Same boring job. Same boring home. Same boring wife. Same boring kids All day and every day, it was the same thing.

Day after day.

I kissed my wife on the cheek and ruffled my sons' hair, just like I always did before heading out to work. I flashed a smile to my family and grabbed my briefcase, always neatly standing next to our shoes. A small part of me wished one of the boys would spill his drink or do something stupid - anything to have a change of pace.

But no, neither of them threw his breakfast nerf at the other playfully or purposely blew down the straws of the glasses of blue milk to cause a nice, big, bubbly mess for mother dearest to pick up. They just kept on munching.

Jeez. Were they always this dull? Or am I too busy with my boring career to notice? I shook my head, waved goodbye to the back of my family's heads and headed out the door. Just like I always do.

As I hop in my speeder, I breathe a heavy, self-hating sigh. How did I let myself become so... boring? Man. I didn't wish this repetitive life on any poor soul. Perhaps I did something evil in a past life. Hell, forget about it, old man. Just go to work, do what you're paid to do, and provide for your family.

I started the engine and muttered several expletives to myself. I hated this life.


"GO GO GO!"

My white armored hand snapped forward, ordering the clone troopers under my command to charge ahead. Our boots crunched over the debris of what used to be a wall as our rifles let loose with extreme prejudice against the fleeing remains of a would-be Separatist uprising on the lush planet of Primus.

Apparently wanting to be Mr. Defiant Hero, one of the retreating men turned on his heel, screaming profanities. His hands shot towards his sides and yanked out two blaster pistols, twirling them around his index fingers like he was frellin' Jango Fett.

Oh, I hate show offs.

Before Mr. Defiant Hero could get a shot off, I gave him a piece of my mind as I blasted off a piece of his mind. I hopped over his body, taking potshots at the uncoordinated mob running away. Typical. Loud and passionate bark - weak, pathetic bite. I had no pity for these mere armed civilians.

They had the courage to attempt an uprising but didn't have the guts to push the odds for what they believed in. Cowards.

An escape shuttle rose into the air.

"Hold your fire, boys."

I didn't need to order them to do so, for we could all hear the signature sound of Republic gunships swooping in for the killing blow. All it took was a single pair of rockets, leaving trails of exhaust in their wake, to obliterate the ship. My troops gave ear-splitting whoops of victory as they stood triumphant in yet another battlefield.

Any soldier of any time or of any galaxy would inevitably see the galaxy as he is moved by the higher ups to and fro to essentially kill. We had no problem with it. Well, for the most part anyway. Personally, everything was so... random. Chaotic.

We were never in one place any longer than we were needed to be. After that, we were off to some other environment to do our job. I didn't mind my duty - it was why I existed, after all. But I just wished we could stay in one place for just a little longer.

The way things were, jungle, desert, urban environments and countless others became a continuous blur of marching, shooting - just in different places every damn time. Just when I get accustomed to a given place, we're ordered off. And each time, being the leader I am, I keep my mouth shut because I have to set an example for my boys.

Fierfek, what was the point? Did any of these pointless missions make a significant tip in the scales of this war? Victory after victory, it didn't seem like the enemy even cared as they threw more droids at us to shoot.

Where's the glory? More and more it seemed like an occupation rather than something to proud of. Best not think about it, soldier. Stop thinking and do what you're told. A sudden transmission flowed through my helmet speakers. Surprise, surprise.

We were being moved.


As I exited the repulsorlift, the first feeling I get is that of disappointment. The new chairs our boss ordered haven't arrived yet. Has my life stooped so low that I've come to be excited at the thought of slightly more-padded office chairs? What happened to the good old days, when I'd get utterly drunk and do something stupid and laugh at the holorecording of it later with my best buddies?

What happened to buying a drink for some cute lady looking for a good time? What happened to the noisy one night stands? What happened to the head-splitting hangovers?

(Preferably in that order.)

I took some semblance of comfort that my pals were likely in my same position. Oh, back in school we make enthusiastic remarks of being buds forever, but time has a way of tampering with friendships. Inevitably, we all got married and moved on, scattering ourselves across the galaxy.

No, don't blame this on time, old man. You let this happen to you. You let yourself become... boring.

A young, teenage mail carrier came by my cramped, unorganized cubicle. Fierfek, his face is so oily it could lube an entire starship.

"Here ya go, sir," he said, his voice cracking.

He handed me this month's issue of Who's On First?, a tongue-in-cheek news magazine. How sad. This was most likely going to be the highlight of my day.

Oil Face continued on his way. I can hear the thumping beats of what was this generation's apparent excuse for music through his blaring headphones. Man, what is with teens and putting the volume up so high? The damn things are on their ears, what more do they need?

Oh no. I'm becoming old. No, I've become old. An old, disgruntled man, ranting about younger people. I buried my face in my hands as my denial breaks away and I accept that I'm just some average, ordinary man, destined to grow old and boring. I can only hope my boys don't put me in one of those retirement homes when they grow up.

I sighed and started my tedious job of vanquishing the piles of paperwork on my desk. Coruscant may look all pretty and shiny, but this place was one hell of an exception.

"I need a vacation," I muttered to myself, placing the first of many forms into my finished pile.


"Alright, you heard 'em, boys, let's hop to it."

My company marched behind me as we left the massive Assault Ship. She had landed here on Coruscant for repair and supply. After the countless weeks of non-stop fighting, her hull had been scarred and scorched; the ranks that once crowded the troop bays now had a visible dent in quantity.

"This war has enough dead heroes," I said under my breath.

We continued marching in formation away from our battle damaged home away from home. "Home" - what a joke. The sheer concept of us having a home was laughable. The longest place we've ever been would have to be Kamino. Being shipped off Kamino was like a rite of passage of any clone, like a bird finally flying from its nest.

Still, a part of me missed the spotless white corridors of Tipoca City. After all, it was the only place in my accelerated life that I've ever been at for an entire year.

Every clone's nightmare was dying of old age or being excused from duty. Fighting was all we would ever know; the thought of not being able to do what were literally made for was completely horrifying. Perhaps the fast-paced way of life wasn't too bad.

Even so, it's been said that all soldiers complain. With every right to do so, I figured; I had used that privilege quite abundantly in the past week. I thought about all of these things as the company boarded a convoy of Republic gunships awaiting to ferry us to another Republic Assault Ship.


I glanced down at the chrono on my wrist. One more day of work was over. I lazily got out of my chair, leaving the neat imprint my rear had made on the seat over...? Kriff, how long have I been working here? Twelve, thirteen years? Well, that's just damn wonderful.

I slip into my speeder, start the engine and head on home. My fingers drum to the beat playing from the radio. Nice mellow tune. Then, spontaneously, as if out of divine intervention, everything was suddenly much more vivid.

The bright lights of Coruscant suddenly seemed to shine brighter than any of the other nights I had passed this block. Of every imaginable color, the bright shapes illuminated everything in a hypnotic glow. It's somewhat difficult to operate the speeder while being awestruck by the lights.

It was as if I was always aware of this place, but never realized how beautiful it was until now. How did I miss out on all this? All these years and I've never noticed how amazing this simple street looked? For the first time in a long time, I smiled out of genuine happiness. Silver linings, old man. Be grateful you've finally opened your eyes.

My demeanor suddenly changed, I sat up in my seat as I saw a long line of those Republic gunships flying towards me. With its troop bay doors open, I could see the white armored men that made sure I had a tomorrow.

Had I been my former disgruntled self, I'd have scorned the clone troopers. Not for what they fought for, but because they simply had action in their lives - excitement. I would have stared in envy as they inaudibly shared stories of audacity and skill in their suits of armor, no doubt dented and scratched from battle.

There were always those wobbling, chaotic camera feeds on the HoloNet. One grainy, white blur would wave forward and dozens more followed him into soaring red streaks, usually making the cameraman flinch and lose focus. Others would show dynamic shots of men standing upon piles of the fallen enemy. These two basic images were shown prominently in just about every environment imaginable.

Was an exciting life really something to envy? These folks had to go through so many hardships on a daily basis. For a moment, I wondered if any of them dreamed of the life I had: quiet, stable, and nothing unexpected.

Widening my smile, I had finally opened my eyes to just how lucky I was. I made a small salute with my index finger in the general direction of the soldiers. One of them returned the gesture.

"Keep it up, gentlemen," I said aloud, even though I knew they couldn't hear me. "You do your job and I'll do mine."

Whether or not my lifestyle was that of action and adventure, I was grateful I had a life to begin with. Repetitive and dull, I had no regrets about the way I lived. My time of fun had come and gone, and I was okay with that. I was a husband and a father, and soon-to-be grumpy old man; no man needn't believe himself to be a failure if he can find the beauty in things.


It was so beautiful. The lights... there were so many lights. I had never been to Coruscant before, but was now so filled with happiness at the sheer sight of it all to care. It was like an extension of the stars, stretching from the heavens and all the way down below me into the planets depths.

I forgot of my disdain of being moved and moved from place to place. Here I was, flying through the epitome of grace and elegance as if I were an insect weaving through a chandelier.

Republic citizens buzzed around us, going about their lives. Even though they were all whizzing past us, I felt every one of them. Their presence filled my soul with a special warmth I'd never felt before. These weren't brothers in arms, these were civilians. Their opinions of us or the Republic were irrelevant - we were their loyal, steadfast guardians. Their lives were in our ivory gauntlets.

They were why we were born. They were why we never stayed in once place. They were why we fought.

They were why I fought.

As a man flew at us at an incredible speed, I managed to catch the man tapping a salute to us in appreciate. I returned the gesture. Had I been my former disgruntled self, I would have grimaced in contempt at the nameless, random person saluting us, as if in mockery. I would have loathed the fact that he was undoubtedly going somewhere stable, somewhere he could stay.

But I had opened my eyes at last. I took supreme comfort in that even if I died tomorrow, I managed to witness this amazing place and accept my place in this galaxy, and finally understand why things were the way they were. I scoffed at myself and wondered if all the other clones experienced this clarifying epiphany.

"Beautiful, aren't they, sir?" one of my troops said, indicating the lights with a subtle wave of his hand.

My eyes instead focused on groups of civilians walking around below on a street.

"They sure are."