How dare you! How dare you mourn my passing before I am gone, or worse yet, leave me to the wind as if I never were. Many great things have fallen under my hand, transpirings that will not so easily be forgotten. Empires have I spawned and destroyed with only a wave of my palm and a few soft words. This galaxy belongs to my kin, and my kind to me.

I have lived countless epochs, aeons upon millennia, and never has my time been so dire as now. You fail to understand the natural workings of my physiology, for if you did not, then many a thing would become instantly clear. Trust me when I tell you that there is no place in this reality for anything but the most devine and capital.

Even now, you have no clue. My meanings are lost on your feeble mind.

Tomorrow I will awake, as I have for a billion billion days, and I will remember all that I have seen in crystal clarity. I could tell you now the lock combination on my first hover-cycle. I have the memory of a thousand life times, and the expiriance of an equal number of professions. My knowledge stretches beyond the greatest learnings of sentience.

I remeber the first Jedi.

There was a time, child, when the mysterious ways of the Force were infinatly more unspoken then they appear today. A time before the word 'force' had any greater ramifications then those most simple definitions. The sort without a capital "F" at their head. My people were numerous then, and we prayed upon those beings with any understanding beyond the simple and plain. Beings with the luck. The soup, child. The soup.

We are fewer now, and the luck is less pure... But there was a time. There was a time...

I remember my greatest years as if they were just yesterday, centuries of pure soup and exhilaration in the hunt. The galaxy was young then, as was it's mother... our mother... and so we fought amongst ourselves for your fate. Great wars above the measure of the Sith or such raged across the galaxy while your pathetic ancestors still swam in the primordial ooze of their creation. Figuratively, speaking.

You can imagine our surprise when the soup began to evolve with you. It was with much astonishment that we watched as you learned how to wield the soup to accomplish amazing tasks. At first you were scared of your own abilities, but that did not last long for soon you came to depend on it for survival... for your very existence.

How ironic that the more it changed some of you, the more desirable it made you to us.

Much then as now, the soup saturated everything in the natural galaxy, though it could only be harvested in a few forms, in the living. And as you came to understand that, we were still thousands of years ahead of you. We became elite, picky. Our feedings were a matter of taste, not necessity or hunger... not always. Still my kind were many, and we continued our harvest.

Fate, it seems, had different plans.

The secrets of our creation are guarded dearly, and will forever remain. So, even as our numbers began to dwindle, yours only continued to expand. Reaching beyond the limits of your planetary boundaries, you spread across the galaxy too swift to imagine. Always have we lived in the shadows, but as the centuries passed we were forced deeper into hiding... though, perhaps forced is the wrong word. If I were to explain it in a way that you could understand, I would then have to kill you...

Humerous, no?

Eventually you would come to an understanding of luck and the soup. An understanding that launched you into an age of learning. Such a shame that your understanding was so wrong then, and so wrong now. In a moment of clarity, your brightest minds exclaimed "The Force", and the pesants rejoyced.

How sad your understanding of the soup, how short-sighted and limiting.

So, even as some of you dabbled in the 'good' you could do with your newfound gifts, others in your numbers would dissent against the light. Thus would be born the Dark Side, your bad luck. And with the discovery of light and dark, negative and positive, your greatest minds would nail the final coffin in their limited understanding of the soup...

How dare you. How dare you resurface, after centuries of hiding, and claim superiority. What right do you have to come here, and flaunt your so-called power and might. You are nothing but a myth, you do not exist. Your power is weak, your influence non-existent.

What may have once been, no longer is. You have forfeited the battle, you have lost the race. We have survived, we have dominated, we are the triumphant. We are numerous, you are few. We are powerful, you are weak. We are the authority, you are the enigma. You are a fairy tale we tell to children, a story used to keep the gullible at bay, a bribe to gain a free drink.

Your reputation is bloated, your power nothing. This is our time, our place, we are the power. To come back from a millennia of hiding, a millennia of lurking, a millennia of sulking, and proclaim yourself high is the apex of arrogance.

We declare you invalid, we throw down your power. Go back to your lurking spot, you tale, keep behind us you amusing story. We will tolerate no threat, we will recognize no fulmination.

You no longer exist.

Your former glory is thrown down, replaced with something bigger, better, and in every way shiner. What you may have accomplished in a million lifetimes we have accomplished in a dozen lifetimes. We are numerous, like the stars in the sky. We bend the elements to our will, the stars follow us at our beck and call. With our innovation we cross the galaxy in hours, we destroy planets in micro-split-seconds, we heal deadly wounds in hours.

You are invalid.

You no longer concern us. While you were sleeping, we awoke. While you were resting, we removed you from power. No longer do you hold sway over us, we are the power now. We are the gods of our desire. We determine our destiny. We will not be frightened by the stories of you.

Go back to your cave, we want you no longer. We are sufficient, we no longer need what was once honored, we want nothing to do with the traditions of an age gone by.



Go, for we need you not.

Gather round, ye braggarts, and I will tell you a tale. I call this story...

Ignorance be Bliss

Once upon a long, long time ago, onn'a planet far, far away, thur lived a man. Now here were a man o' strong morals, an' narrow sight. A man he sewed his own eyes shut 'cause he was afraid to see, for if'n he ever did see the world he'd be just like e'reyone o' us.

Ye see, boys'n girls, he were afraid of the real world, and what it would be like if'n he were to really look. So he dreamed up some answers ta ease his curiosity, an' clung to 'em tight. He held 'em so dear that he came ta fear the real world, that which'n he could see... and that which'n he couldn'.

It got so bad fer 'em that he were forced to up'n move away from the city. Move way away from all the cities, an' all the peoples. Up in'ta the moutains he moved, and found 'emself a nice little cave ta live in. An like a real hermit he was.

He had folks who'd check in on 'em, now'n again. Ta make sure he were eatin' an' such... An' every time someone'd bring 'em a tidbit here or there, he'd rant about a devine somethin'er'other.

Ne'er occured to 'em that folks was just worried fer the poor sick @#%$. An' even this were'n enough fer 'em, 'cause eventually people started to ask why he done it, an' all that... An' he can't answer on account o' clutchin' so tight to his dang book.

Even when folks'd up there an' sit with 'em for a while, he'd be all off his rocker about this'er that. The evils o' the world, the evils o' men, an' such. Forget that it were the goodness o' man that were keepin' 'em alive.

Time rolled by an' a few harsh years closed the trails up ta his mountain so folks couldn' up an' check on 'em. Nope, they hadd'a give up on the old fool an' hope somethin'd bring him down from the mountain...

Tha' jus' weren' ta be. Few years later I got up there meself, ta check things out ch'know. See if he were still kickin'...

An ya know what'n I found?

Nothin' but a pile'o bones an' this daft book. Old coot wrote it all down...

Imagine that.