A/N: We all believe the story as we have seen it. But what really went on
with Darth Vader? How did he really feel? Some of his claims may shock
you, and some may not seem quite so shocking. But he's just revealing what
was really going on in his head..what his real motivations were. Eeeep,
scary!!! Hehe. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or anything associated with it. Any changes made in the generally accepted plot lines of the story are not valid..simply because Darth Vader's version of the story may be a bit twisted..
Darth Vader goes to Therapy
It was a day like any other. I stood before the window of my office, tightly clutching a folder that was overflowing with papers. Because I was at the top floor of the clinic, I could look out and see the roofs of all of the surrounding buildings. The one right outside my window was so close, I figured it would only take one little jump for me to make it across. You have no idea how many times I have actually considered such an escape - I can see myself now, running carelessly from roof to roof, feeling the cool breeze flow through my hair. No psycho patients to worry about, no bizarre problems to solve. Why, oh why did I become a therapist?
I opened the folder, which concerned my next appointment. A male patient, who had apparently undergone several operations to supply himself with mechanical limbs, was concerned about the dark path his life had taken. He was also afraid that his family was going nuts. It did not seem to be an uncommon tale.
Boy was I ever wrong.
The warm summer sun, which had been shining so cheerfully before, was suddenly masked by a shadowy cloud. My office became engulfed by a depressing sort of darkness. As I placed pillows on the leather daybed, my assistant called from reception to inform me that my patient had arrived. I laid the folder in my lounge chair, and stood beside the chair as I waited.
Heavy footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. Each step became increasingly loud, and eventually I could feel my office shaking from the intensity. I wondered why my patient had not taken the elevator. It was a ten-story building, for heaven's sake.
I was surprised when I heard not a knock at the door, but simply a deep, powerful voice that bellowed, "Let me in, and be quick about it."
A bit stunned, I regained my composure and made for the door. I opened it slowly, for I was quite afraid of what I might see. Sure enough, a tall, dark figure stood before me. Not only was he dressed in black, but he wore a black mask which I thought resembled a skull. I saw no eyes, simply two black circles which shined just the same as any other part of the mask, and for a mouth I saw a formation that looked very much like some sort of vent. He looked more like a machine than a man. The document in his folder said he had a history of mechanical limb transplants. I didn't know that every part of the body was considered a limb.
"So you're the therapist?" his voice boomed.
"I certainly am, Mr....um....is it Vader?" I replied rather hesitantly.
"Darth Vader, if you don't mind. I believe that respect is best shown through the utilization of one's full name," he said.
"Very well, Darth Vader. May I take your, uh, cape?" I asked, trying to be polite.
"Most definitely not!" he shouted, "this cape is the symbol of my notoriety, the very depiction of my great power! And besides, I think it looks rather snazzy."
I nodded, feeling quite confused. I motioned for him to take a seat on the daybed, which he did, surprisingly, without any comment. I then picked up his folder from my lounge chair, sat down, and prepared to begin the session.
A/N: Well, we have not yet been able to investigate the inner workings of Darth Vader's twisted mind, but trust me...it's worth waiting for. So please review, and I'll post the next part soon!
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or anything associated with it. Any changes made in the generally accepted plot lines of the story are not valid..simply because Darth Vader's version of the story may be a bit twisted..
Darth Vader goes to Therapy
It was a day like any other. I stood before the window of my office, tightly clutching a folder that was overflowing with papers. Because I was at the top floor of the clinic, I could look out and see the roofs of all of the surrounding buildings. The one right outside my window was so close, I figured it would only take one little jump for me to make it across. You have no idea how many times I have actually considered such an escape - I can see myself now, running carelessly from roof to roof, feeling the cool breeze flow through my hair. No psycho patients to worry about, no bizarre problems to solve. Why, oh why did I become a therapist?
I opened the folder, which concerned my next appointment. A male patient, who had apparently undergone several operations to supply himself with mechanical limbs, was concerned about the dark path his life had taken. He was also afraid that his family was going nuts. It did not seem to be an uncommon tale.
Boy was I ever wrong.
The warm summer sun, which had been shining so cheerfully before, was suddenly masked by a shadowy cloud. My office became engulfed by a depressing sort of darkness. As I placed pillows on the leather daybed, my assistant called from reception to inform me that my patient had arrived. I laid the folder in my lounge chair, and stood beside the chair as I waited.
Heavy footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. Each step became increasingly loud, and eventually I could feel my office shaking from the intensity. I wondered why my patient had not taken the elevator. It was a ten-story building, for heaven's sake.
I was surprised when I heard not a knock at the door, but simply a deep, powerful voice that bellowed, "Let me in, and be quick about it."
A bit stunned, I regained my composure and made for the door. I opened it slowly, for I was quite afraid of what I might see. Sure enough, a tall, dark figure stood before me. Not only was he dressed in black, but he wore a black mask which I thought resembled a skull. I saw no eyes, simply two black circles which shined just the same as any other part of the mask, and for a mouth I saw a formation that looked very much like some sort of vent. He looked more like a machine than a man. The document in his folder said he had a history of mechanical limb transplants. I didn't know that every part of the body was considered a limb.
"So you're the therapist?" his voice boomed.
"I certainly am, Mr....um....is it Vader?" I replied rather hesitantly.
"Darth Vader, if you don't mind. I believe that respect is best shown through the utilization of one's full name," he said.
"Very well, Darth Vader. May I take your, uh, cape?" I asked, trying to be polite.
"Most definitely not!" he shouted, "this cape is the symbol of my notoriety, the very depiction of my great power! And besides, I think it looks rather snazzy."
I nodded, feeling quite confused. I motioned for him to take a seat on the daybed, which he did, surprisingly, without any comment. I then picked up his folder from my lounge chair, sat down, and prepared to begin the session.
A/N: Well, we have not yet been able to investigate the inner workings of Darth Vader's twisted mind, but trust me...it's worth waiting for. So please review, and I'll post the next part soon!