Secret Chapter 7
By Karen
December 2010 

Depression, I have found, is worse than any other emotion, especially when alone. Depression is a killer. You stop caring. You stop feeling, thinking, seeing, or being aware that the rest of the galaxy is out to get you. You don’t care about eating, or bathing, and just sleep all the time, if the nightmares aren’t haunting you. It sucks your soul into this big black hole with no escape, that is, without help. About three months ago, when I had a rather bad moment of depression, it nearly cost me my life. I was hungry, hurt, sick, alone, confused, and unable to find the energy or the will to get myself some help. I asked myself what was the point?  I was going to be captured and that was good as dead, so I might as well die by my own method: a slow and torturous death. I had cried myself nearly to sleep. I was too exhausted to move and too emotional to sleep. I was willing to die in a dark street with not a soul knowing I was there, whimpering in pain. A hand or two or even more came, being gentle, cool, soft. I slept and woke up in a warm bed, in the home of some stranger who had taken pity of me and brought me back to health, both physically and mentally. But I could not accept the help for long, ashamed and scared that I would be discovered. So I ran during the third night of my stay there. I then left the planet the next day, using a stolen ID and a ticket to board a ship, hid out in the back, and was carried off to another strange planet so I could continue my miserable existence.

Today, for the most part, had been a depressing day. I couldn’t sleep due to the fact I was too excited about making easy money from my art and being able to live again. I got up early, groggy, but I didn’t care. Then I had to wait forever for the landlord to come and open the door, as she muttered some sort of curse about the time and noise I was making. I didn’t eat any breakfast, thinking I was going to make so much money that I would be able to afford something really nice to eat for lunch. I spread my art out and began to work on my next piece; a child playing with a ball in the nearby park. The town was still pretty much silent. An hour passed and a few people came out to start their morning. No one paid attention to me or my art. Another hour went and there was still no interest. During the next hour, when the walking traffic had picked up and the sounds of the town had reached buzzing level, a few peopled looked at my work, but no comments and no offers.

I was beginning to lose hope and confidence when the man from the day before showed up, but alone. He made some polite excuse about how his friends couldn’t come, but they would try for the next day. He looked at each picture carefully and made a low ball offer on one of them. Keeping in mind what the bar tender, Davon had told me, I stood stubbornly at eighty credits. When the man sensed I was now more educated on art in this market, he laughed at me and said I was lucky that I got one piece sold and I would never get another one if I demanded such high prices. He walked away, head held high and mighty, leaving me with a sinking feeling of fear and doubt.

True to the man’s words, I sold nothing. I skipped lunch as well, thinking I might be able to get at least one sold if I stuck around for the meal crowd. Nothing. Just nothing. No interest. No wondering eyes. No praises. No one cared. I would starve at this rate. I was trying to keep the panic from rising. I was realizing how alone I was and how I was so foolish to think I could make a living off of art. I had no experience in selling art and it seemed no one cared for my talent, a talent that had received so many good words and awed faces in classes and school sponsored shows. How could art school love me so much, but the public reject me so?  I didn’t understand it.

One might wonder how I could act this way on my second day. I suppose it was my pride. I wanted to prove myself so much and even though it was too early to call it, I felt like I had been shut down and pushed out. I was going to be stuck to running, stealing, and away from society forever, never allowed a chance to show my talent. I was a failure.

My stomach was beyond starved. Two days of good meals had spoiled it into thinking there was going to be a steady stream of meals to expected. It was not happy to hear that the two days of filling meals was just a brief daydream and I would have to go back to the living-off-of-nothing diet again. Hunger really destroys one’s spirit.

Depressed, hungry, panicked, I headed to the bar. The place was packed. Even the tables in the shadowy back were filled. Old men, young, gruff workers, a few teenagers trying to act grown up took seats around the beat up tables, pouring various colors of alcohol into them. I wasn’t sure why, since it was a bit too early, but it was. I had a hard time getting to the bartender, who was busy making drinks, chatting, and preparing food. Although I sat right in plain view, he didn’t notice me, greet me, or in any way knowledge me. I tried to be patient, but when depressed, one just doesn’t have the normal patience level. I sat for a long time, being annoyed at the fact he was talking to some drunk, low life scum and seemed to be more interested in him than he was with me. Was I just some pretty face?  Did he just want to flirt with me?  Or did his dear wife tell him to look after me and he really didn’t care for a mere art student?  Was the advise he gave me was pure flattery?  Could a man like him mean harm?  Did he just want to play around with my ego so to watch me crash and burn as I had done so many other times? My dark thoughts were turning darker with every passing second.

A drink was loudly placed in my brooding face. A golden ale reflected the lights over head well. Since I didn’t hear anyone talk to me, I ignored it, figuring it was probably for someone else.

"Are you going to sit there and pout all day or can I see some of your new work?"

I raised my head to see him standing, looking straight at me. There were people talking, some loudly about the price of fuel around me, but the tender’s attention was placed solely on me. I shrugged.

"Bad day huh?"  He looked at me with slightly sympathy eyes. I ignored him and refused to take his feelings.

"Ya know, not every day is like this. Sometimes my bar is a cold and dark place. Some days I don’t make enough to buy my family a meal. But I don’t sit around and brood. I tell myself that is why I save and why I try to make the most of it when the place is crammed, like it is today."

I reached out and took a sip from my drink. While I don’t really like beer, this night was the night for it. It was a bit warm and had a nice taste to it. I took a deeper sip.

"Getting drunk won’t help you either."

That cracked me. I spit back out that at least I would feel better.

"I wouldn’t bet that tomorrow."

I ignored him and kept drinking.

"Why don’t I get you some food and we’ll talk."

He didn’t wait for me to answer, or not, but went ahead and started fixing me and three other guys some sort of meal. In the mean time, he ran about, filling and refilling drinks, holding four conversations at once, and warned some dude in the back who was too drunk to stand, not to drive his speeder.

Before I knew it, there was a plate of hot steaming food that filled my belly happily. My mood slightly rose, but I could not rid myself of the fear.

There was a stir of commotion when two storm troopers came in. I became aware of them when I noticed the buzzing energy of the place seemed different. It seemed near the front something of interest was going on, so I turned around and looked. My big mistake. I froze in mid sip and started to duck my head out of trained reflex. I looked hastily around me, hoping for some dark corner I could slip away in and avoid this nightmare. The bar had also shifted its focus on the guards and had gone so still in fascinated interest that if I was to move, I would have stood out even more. So, like most animals do when in this predicament, I stayed still.

The guards looked around before they spotted one person, next to a wall, right underneath a lamp. The poor fellow. He should have known better. He looked like a scared animal, caught, trapped, and realizing he was doomed. He trembled as the guards closed in on him, but did not make a run for it, unlike what I would have done in his spot. The two guards put stun cuffs on his badly shaking hands, which emit a mild, but still painful shock every time you try to move your hands. The end result is a lot of pain and if you work at it, you can stun yourself to unconsciousness. He was escorted away, looking as though he was saying his last prayer to the spirits and it took a minute before the building resumed its normal noise level.

"Miss?....are you ok?  Miss?  Is everything alright? ……….Miss?"

The nagging voice in my ear brought me back to the present. I shook my head. Davon was looking very worriedly at me.

"Are you ok?  Do you need something?"

I muttered a no to him. He didn’t understand.

"You are white as a ghost. Are you in some sort of trouble?"

Trouble?  Oh simple trouble I wish. I wish I had actually done something, something illegal to just be in trouble.

I told him no; just that I didn’t have much love for the guards.

"No one does. This town might be one of the most peaceful ones on the planet or even in the galaxy, but we fear the empire just as much as anyone. We are just so lucky that the empire has no interest with us. We apparently don’t have any Force sensitivities, or at least registered ones. There is a small base some ways from the town, but you may have noticed there aren’t a lot of guards and they are rather bored. Nor do we have anything of value, other than arts and crafts."

I couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious. I dearly hoped he was serious because that would explain some things. Yet, then again, that fact made me feel worse because I was putting the whole town in danger. Though if he was joking, then I wondered if he knew, or suspected. There was just no way to know. And asking or hinting to him was out of the question.

I tried to relax my stressed body and act as if nothing had happened. It didn’t help that everyone’s topic had turned to the storm troopers and all the problems and hype of the empire. I didn’t engage myself with anyone. The bar tender went back to his multi-tasking way and did not bother me for the rest of the night. For once, I didn’t mean being alone in a bar full of people.

The night wandered on. I lost myself in self reflection of my most recent events. Emotions drifted through me like water in a lazy stream. The room rose and fell in volume. The bar tender made good money. I made my drink last, lavishing in the slightly drunken state that I was in. Time was slowed dragged by the hands of the universe, aging each one of us a different way. The world outside this bar went on, caring none of what laid inside of my head and heart. Here in this bar, I was alone with my thoughts and feelings. And when the last drop had trickled off the rim and into my dry mouth, I leaned back and closed my eyes. The fact that I was sleeping in a bar didn’t bother me. I had slept if far worse places, like near a leaking sewer drain or a junk yard in the pouring rain.

"Come on, wake up. The pub is closing."

A hand shook me awake. I started out of my drunken stupor, swearing I had not quite fallen asleep. The bar tender held out a hand. I refused it and tried to sit up, but when upright, I felt very much off and unsteady.

"Easy there darling. You better just sit down for a second and gather yourself."

I was starting to sit even before he had finished his sentence. I half noticed he took a seat opposite of me.

"Surely an art student like yourself knows that you are going to run into days like this. There’s something more you aren’t telling me…what’s wrong hun?  Mad at your parents and can't go home or something?  Got a powerful boytoy that is making your life hell?"

Oh I so wish!  Why?  Why?  Why couldn’t I just be home?  Why must I be this way!

Tears leaked out of my eyes. I was so heartbroken. I wanted to tell him. I was a freak and he should know!  He shouldn’t be so generous with his time or food. I was lying, denying, hiding the truth from him and it was I who was so wrong.

"Oh no, no, hun, don’t. Don’t cry. Here, I can walk you back to…where ever you are staying. Just don’t cry."

He half picked me up and we stumbled out of his door and into a taxi he called. When we arrived at my place, he walked me to the front door and left me to drunkenly find my bed. The lady at the front looked at me, but said nothing and let me through. One would think that one drink wouldn’t have done this to me, but I rarely drank and the mood I was in just made the effects even worse.

I crashed into bed, dressed and everything and slept everything off.

Yours truly,

Ouch