Painful Past (Part 1)
Posted on 18 Mar 2017 @ 1:25pm by Ambassador Soral Varro
897 words; about a 4 minute read
{ON}
Soral Varro’s quarters
Varro had just finished his shower and redressing his wound. The doctor had been clear on her instructions. He slipped into a shirt and some jogging pants he’d replicated.
Feeling a bit off he headed towards his living area. He’d managed to set up a mini meditation space even in this Klingon bucket. It wasn’t big, just a crate that was overturned and a few candles and incents. He’d been surprised that Klingons even had that aboard but he’d met a man who was half Vulcan and half Klingon. It had been an interesting conversation.
Varro sat down and lit the candles and incents and watched as the smoke curled and rose. He took a deep breath letting the smell penetrate every fiber of his being. He sat cross legged in front of his makeshift altar and closed his eyes.
Slowly his breath deepened and he felt himself pulled to that place of rest and relaxation.
Within minutes his mind filled with thoughts and it became clear that he’d not get any meditating done today. Sighing he rose and headed to the small desk that had been provided in his quarters. He picked up his personal PADD, another item he’d acquired aboard, and hit the record button. “Varro personal log. Another day, another meditation that didn’t happen. My mind has been racing. It has been interesting.”
He stood, walked over to the replicator, called up some tea, and went back to sit down. “I cannot believe that I am not longer on that hell planet. I am glad to be back in space and as soon as these negotiations are over I plan to go to Starfleet and tell them of everything that happened. I feel as if I am at war with myself. There is that part of me that knows that helping is the right thing to do but the fire from my mother’s side of the family burns and I find that I am angry at what has happened, angry that I, and my Starfleet companions were kidnapped by this planet of hell and are now in this position. It feels as if…”
He stopped himself. He sighed and pressed the button that would delete the log. He wasn’t ready to face those feelings, instead he settled on familiar demons.
Varro got up and moved to the bag he brought with him. It was small, he’d strapped it to his body and gotten it on board. Reaching inside he pulled out a familiar photo. His hands traced the faces on the photo. “Marcus,” he whispered.
Feeling suddenly weak, Varro sat down on the bed. He laid back and let the darkness of sleep claim him. Since Marcus’ loss he’d slept a lot. Oblivion was much preferred to waking life but even in sleep, on this evening, he’d be haunted by the past.
Varro walked into the room and shook his head. He smiled, something that came easy to him when Marcus was around. “What are you doing now?”
Marcus smiled. “It’s a Gratitude Tree.”
Varro’s brow furrowed. “A what?”
“Well on Bajor they are having the Gratitude Festival and I thought I’d make a tree.”
Varro laughed, “Must you create a tree for every festival? I mean you just had the Telerite Torpa Festival tree.”
Marcus smiled and walked over to Varro pulling him into an embrace. “Life, my love, is meant to be celebrated. It’s meant to be taken by the horns and molded into what you want. Celebrating the beauty of these festivals to me is important. It’s one more thing that I get to share with you.”
Varro smiled and leaned in placing a gentle kiss on his lips. “You will always have me Marcus.”
“I know that but Varro I am human, I am older and you will age much less quickly then I. Vulcans live well into their 200s and beyond, El Aurians for God knows how long. I…” He turned and walked away to place another bit of paper on the three. “You will watch me get old and die and I don’t want that. I want you to find someone else well before that.”
Anger surged through Varro. “Damn it all to Hell Marcus! We have had this talk. I want only you and when you pass I will never, I repeat never find someone else.” He turned and stalked towards the door. “I’m not having this conversation again.” He left the room not knowing that his anger towards Marcus and the harsh words he’d just said would be the last he’d say. Marcus would leave the next morning without waking Varro as he always did and would go to work but would not come back from that trip…
Varro sat up, sweat glistening off his chest and back making his shirt stick to his skin in a way that made him feel as if the very breath was being forced from his lungs. He stood took off the shirt and tossed against the wall. Falling to his knees he held his face in his hands and wept.
{OFF}
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