Metal City - Hai Ina Ia Mai Ana Ka Puana

Anakin Skywalker - The Teenage Years.

One day, Anakin Skywalker was walking through the corridors of the Jedi Academy. The sun on Coruscant shone down brightly through the massive windows of the cylindrical building, and Anakin was mindful of his thoughts. He'd caught himself - just the other day - staring at another young boy in his form. The boy's smooth, brown skin and piercing blue eyes were things that Anakin could simply not force out of his mind, and the stirrings that he felt beneath his robes were a constant reminder of the dark destiny that awaited him.

He was thinking about the dreamy young man, imagining him whispering softly in his ear, caressing his broad, hairless chest - raking his fingernails across the smooth expanse of muscle, stopping only to tweak the nipple, drawing a gasp of breath -

- when, out of nowhere, a foot lashed out, tripping Anakin over. He crashed to the ground, skidding across the polished wooden floor, and skinning the palms of his hands. He immediately felt tears stinging his eyes, and he leapt to his feet.

'Who did that?' he demanded angrily, 'Who?'

A group of boys standing to the side shrugged, giggling all the while.

'Which one of you was it? It had to be one of you. Tell me!'

'It wasn't us, dude. You mustn't have been looking where you were going.' a swarthy young Padawan announced, snickering.

'Oh, yeah?'

'Yeah.'

Anakin looked at the ground. He sighed. Maybe they were right.

For the rest of the day, though, he felt troubled. As though everyone was looking at him. Master Yoda chortled to himself - which was something the old Jedi rarely did - but Anakin surely sensed it in the force. Every time he turned his back, he felt Master Yoda's mocking thoughts.

By lunch time, things were simply out of hand. Anakin wandered away to the Jedi Cafeteria to buy a cheese and vegemite roll, a carton of strawberry milk, and he planned to sit - as usual, on his own - and read some Sylvia Plath.

Just as he sat down and pushed his straw into the milk carton, he felt a boot on his back. He flew forward, his face landing next to the glad-wrapped roll which sat on the desk.

Anakin spun around, and saw a chuckling Padawan. He was big - not as big as the young boy from his dreams - but intimidating just the same. Anakin pointed at him angrily, wiping a tear away with his other hand.

'You have just made me very grumpy.' he said.

'I was just doing as I was told, Faggakin.' the boy laughed, picking up Anakin's roll and unwrapping it.

'Give me that!' Anakin snarled, feebly snatching at the roll - which was dangled just out of his reach. 'That's my lunch!'

The boy laughed, and booted the roll across the Jedi Cafeteria - as a hundred pairs of Padawan eyes locked on Anakin, who cringed in shame as their laughter began to swell.

'Why are you calling me Faggakin?' Anakin said gloomily.

'Because.' the boy replied, matter-of-factly. 'Because, you're a great big homo.'

Anakin gulped. Could the boy have been right? He thought back to the previous evening's restless sleep - how he had clutched at the sheets, imagining the feelings surging through him, as he was filled up again and again with the love of his fantasy man. How he had woken Obi-Wan, who ran into his room with worry, because he'd been moaning with such passion and fervor.

'Anyway, Faggakin. I was just trying to help. So, I kicked you.'

'I don't understand.' Anakin said, scrunching up his nose, 'Who told you to kick me?'

The Padawan laughed.

'YOU did.'

He reached over Anakin's shoulder, and peeled a 'Kick Me' sticker off his back, holding it in the air for all to see. The other Padawans burst into spontaneous applause, whooping and jeering wildly.

The boy picked up Anakin's milk, and - calmly - tipped the carton into Anakin's lap, causing an even louder frenzy of applause.

Anakin had simply had enough. He stood up, and picked up his book of Sylvia Plath, his lower lip quivering, tears running down his face.

And, as he walked away, he sensed something. In the force. He whirled around, and faced a thick, pink finger - pointed at his crotch.

'Look!' another young Padawan screamed, 'He's PISSED himself!'

Anakin looked down at the strawberry milk dripping from his crotch. He sighed, and began to brush it away.

'And now he's trying to JERK OFF!'

The force was strong in Anakin, and he closed his eyes - reaching out through the force. His pants slid slowly down, travelling towards his ankles, and sliding out from beneath his feet. They floated in the air in front of him, and he clenched his fist, using the force to wring the milk out onto the floor.

Anakin's eyes were closed, so he had no idea that just as he began to wring out his trousers, his fantasy Padawan - the erotic golem of his dreams - had entered the room with a comically-oversized loaf of french bread. He paused in front of Anakin, and grinned.

'I don't mean to be forward, dude.' the boy said, as Anakin was startled from his trance, the pants dropping from mid-air to the floor, 'But, I'm not sure Master Yoda would approve of pants-free eating. That is.. not the Jedi way.'

Anakin winced, feeling the cold winds of Coruscant whipping around his bare legs.

One day, he would be the most powerful Jedi of all. And they would pay for this indignity.

Posted by David at December 25, 2005 11:59 PM | TrackBack