Recollection Berchest

Written by Sailor Berchest

When I was seven, I decided I wanted to be a writer. I'd already passed the veterinarian, teacher, and the princess phases. My parents were very rich, so being a princess wasn't anything special. It didn't seem as wonderful as the other girls made it seem so it really didn't last long.

Wanting to be a writer did. I filled memcard after memcard with bad poetry about animals and flowers and rain. I accompanied them with even worse sketches. I wasn't highly aware of boys, so they never featured in my childish masterpieces.

During that year - it was probably closer to two - I amassed a collection of over 400 memcards. They were carefully dated, labeled, and then organized into boxes by month. (I've always been compulsive about my data.) They serve, in part, as diaries. I would write down everything I could about the day because I figured it would be important for my biographer to see how I'd grown. I was almost obsessive in writing down how I felt and reacted to things everyday - and then I stop.

It's not a gradual stop like I got bored with the idea and moved on to something new. No, this is a sudden break. I stopped writing because something happened that I couldn't put into words. Something so awful that the last line is "PLEASE DON'T LET HIM GET ME."

Every time I opened a notepad or picked up a stylus to write in my diary, all I would be able to think about was... well, what happened. It was right there on the edge of my stylus... only, I couldn't write it. I could express it in words. I didn't have any words left that would convey everything. I don't even think that I understood fully what had happened. Children are like that sometimes.

I'd not run out of words, but they'd been stopped by an event I couldn't write about. I couldn't use any of the words because I couldn't let them out because of the things I felt they'd say about me.

So I didn't. I stopped writing, put my notepad and my stylus in the last box, and turned my attention away from writing and languages and grammar classes. I turned, in fact, to math and computers. Computers don't need your emotions to interact with them - unless the AI is badly written - and numbers don't need your feelings to compute. All they need is your cooperation. And I have always been good at cooperating.

I did very well. I wrote a few papers here and there, but the thought of writing made me sick to my stomach. The doctors prescribed anti-nausea pills. Which worked ok. My writing got me A's, but I did not deserve them. It was not my best work. I felt like I was suppressing. I was, I guess.

During the four years it took me to convince my parents to let me leave Bakura - we'd lived there since I was five - there were six more entries in my abandoned diary. Each of them was identical to the previous, save for the time stamp. I suppose that even though I couldn't write about it, I felt there needed to be some kind of record.

Berchest was the only other planet I could remember - and Berchest University had a good Computer/Sentient Personality Interaction concentration in their computer department. Also, I could claim I was living with an aunt. I was able to jury rig a system where my parents never got her comms. Instead, they were routed to me and I mocked up a good reply. I also intercepted my parents' comms to her. It wasn't hard. Looking back, I could have done it better.

It's a strange planet - Berchest. A long time ago, it was a major center of touristy and trade. The cities all huddle by the sea with most buildings being carved out of the red-orange crystal deposits left by the oceans. I lived in Callus sej Leloo - the capitol. There's a particular section of the city that's bounded by the river. The rich live there. For once, I did not. Instead, I found a little apartment and lived by myself.

It was an incredible experience. The apartment was at the top of a building - an older one, so the crystal's tint was much darker. I could see faint light through the walls. There was nothing I loved more than to stare out my window at the city's pulsing glow. It is gorgeous.

The ocean and the river were both nearby and I would often swim in one or both between classes. I got the nickname Nimar (which means little seadragon) because I'd often come to class dripping wet.

Berchest's past as a tourist city lives on in the present. The underworld is highly educated and well run. Casinos and bars are cleaner than most other planets - run more cleanly. The places still reek of humanity - and there is a strict social structure. I learned all about it in one of my classes from a lab partner. She was beautiful. Her hair was thick and golden - it swayed when she walked - and her skin was light purple. Her body had the most perfect dimensions that I can ever remember... she was a stripper.

My parents had always told me that sort of woman was a trashy lowlife, but after meeting her, I had my doubts. She encouraged me to try out for one of the clubs where she worked. I think she must have put a good word in for me, because looking back, my antics were pretty pathetic.

The short version of a long story was that I worked nights and went to school days for my senior year. I graduated sixth in a class of three thousand, seventy-nine. My friend graduated 18th. We lost track of each other after graduation. Part of me thinks that it might have been on purpose as I look back... it certainly was not then.

I told my parents that I sold advertising for a living and dropped their surname because I wanted to make my own way in the world. In truth, I did it to protect them.

At my graduation, I saw my entire family in the audience, so proud. My entire family. I hugged them and they congratulated me. My aunt had died the year before, so there was no need to tell my parents about that little lie.

The most important part of this is that my whole family was there. Even... the... one...

It is hard to talk about even now. I don't want to put it into words, and since this is my diary I do not have to. All I will say is that I killed him.

No, that's not all I'll say. I feel like I need to make some sort of justification. I didn't set out to kill him. I didn't even want to see him. But, after everyone else was gone, he cornered me in the kitchen. I pretended not to remember him, and asked if he'd left something here. He responded that he had and began to advance on me.

There are details that I do not want to share between these two paragraphs.

I stabbed him with a kitchen knife. In the gut. It didn't seem to phase him much because he didn't stop. I tried to pull the knife out and stab him again, but he'd grabbed both my hands and restrained me.

Even though I was strong, I was not strong enough to fight off a frenzied man half again my size. All I could do was pray that he would stop and that he would die. That was the only thought in my mind after a few moments - him dying. Clutching at his head, screaming as his brain fried and leaked out of his ears.

I opened my eyes to dead weight. His body had gone limp and he was just lying there, half-undone. There was utter shock in his wide open eyes, but no life. I started screaming and can't remember when I stopped.

My parents were stunned at what had happened, but expressed thankfulness that it hadn't gone any farther. They were always the clueless sort. He'd not been invited - being the black an'tre as he was - but he'd found me and come anyway. I think I know how he did, and that scares me a little.

Years later, I'm still not over any of it. It haunts me, just behind my consciousness. I still dance and I still do pinups - I've stopped doing movies. They're really not fun - but, I'm a little more careful.

It was years later that I found out about the next noteworthy event. There are apparently guardians of planets called senshi. They protect elements (why do elements need protection?) and fight to destroy evil. I'm one of them. I have to mention this, because I have to mention that I killed another man.

I've only killed men. Does this mean I hate them?

After I found out about being a senshi, I was forced to move again. When I left Berchest, it broke my heart. I wish I could have stayed. I had an ominous feeling about leaving for Coruscant... and I have been right. I hate this unclean planet with its dirty rain and buried surface. I live in a run down embassy that also hosts a creepy garden and strange hidden passage. It's not ideal. It's far from it. There's so little I can do to make it like a home. I tried. I filled it with electronics and with nice things. But it's still a dirty old embassy.

I've only met a few other senshi. Inga is a Bothan. Ilié is a famous actress on Naboo. Caden is a Vice Admiral in the Coruscant Navy. And Argent... well, I don't know much about her yet, but she sure is interesting.

There've been a few incidents that the 'Senshi Force' have had to respond to. Nothing major... save for the incident with Caden. With Naoya.

I'm glad that I can write about some of this, at least. It's strange to try and start up a diary so long after I'd given it up for good.

The reasons why are... complicated. I guess my mother would say that I've 'met a boy', only that implies romantic attraction and there is none. There couldn't be - not only is he in love with another man, but he's our sworn enemy. (That sounds so ominous. He said that he's only the enemy of those that deserve it... but he's Caden's enemy and she is on our team. That makes him mine, as well. I think.)

He said a lot of things that I regret hearing. A lot of them rekindled the... pain (I think that's the word I want. I'd prefer one that was stronger) that made me stop writing in the first place. I've been thinking about it. It's infuriating to have a private place like that invaded by an outsider. But...

I don't know.

I'm of two minds. Part of me needs to write it down and have something I can point at when people ask. Part of me wants to keep everything a secret inside and never let anyone know. Part of me wants to curl up in a corner and cry.

I picked writing today. I feel like my head's on straight again, and that there is a little more hope than the used to be.

It must be raining somewhere.

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