Ben Solo

XIV

The nightmares were worse that night.

It started off alright.

He was on the Falcon, with his mother and father, and he was still a young boy.

They told him to sit down, since they were about to come in for a landing.

He didn't recognize the planet, or maybe he did.

It looked plain, like any other desert planet.  Then he saw the two suns and could pinpoint what it was: Tatooine.

He hopped down the ramp and onto the sand, slipping around in it.

There were no towns in sight, just an endless expanse of sand ahead and to every side.

Ben sat at the top of the dunes, and turned when he heard a noise.

The Millennium Falcon was leaving him.

Leaving him behind on the planet. 

He slid down the dune, screaming for them to come back, that he was still there.

Ben stumbled and fell, sand getting into his eyes.

He stood and ran, blindly, until his feet sank deeper and deeper into the sand.

He blinked the sand from his eyes and saw that he was in a sinking sand field.

Struggling, screaming, he tried to wade his way to harder ground, but he only sank in deeper.

Just before the sand covered his eyes, he woke up.

Ben curled into a ball on his bed, shaking.

He didn't ever want to sleep again.  Every night, they were the same.

Different settings, same idea.

Abandonment.

It was only an hour until sunrise, he had slept a good portion of the night.

That surprised him. He thought the nightmare had started as soon as he fell asleep.

But maybe he could go and do some training.

If he left the barracks, he would make too much noise.  Each of the barrack doors opened with a light hiss, but the large one was loud.

So he just stood, and did some handstands, pushing himself to stand longer and longer.

How much of being upside down could he handle?

He held his legs aloft for nearly twenty minutes, before falling sideways onto his bed and into the wall.

Ben froze, hoping no one had been woken up.

No one came.

He gripped his head, the blood rushing to his feet.

He flexed his toes, to get feeling back into them.

Only thirty minutes left, after he had gotten feeling back into his whole body.

He yawned, and decided that maybe he could help Onya make breakfast.  She was usually up before the rest of them, cooking.

He changed his clothes and slipped out, trying to sense if she was up.

Ben waited outside of her door until she came out.

She jumped.  "What are you doing?"

"Can I help you make breakfast?" Ben whispered.

"You may."

They slipped out of the barrack door, Ben wincing at the large noise.

Onya taught him how to fry the roots that were a common occurrence in their meals.