Writing for the Empire

    Graphic from StarWars.com Web site: http://www.starwars.com/news/star-wars-reads-2016

STAR WARS FOREVER: Last year, we learned about the most excellent "Star Wars Reads" week that is an annual event each October for five years running. 

Here's a link to some activity pages for this year's celebration: http://a.dilcdn.com/bl/wp-content/uploads/sites/6/2016/08/SWR_2016_Activites.pdf

Last year, the kids each wrote an original Star Wars-inspired story for an Empire Writes Back challenge at The Museum of Flight. 

They decided to write stories again this year. 

Annabelle took her inspiration from the droid star of "The Force Awakens," BB-8. We talked about it, and figured there must have been several BBs before 8, and so she wrote a Seuss-inspired story about the droids who came before.

The BBs Before

BB-8 is a phenomenal robot,

courageous it is, and as fast as a shot.

As droids go, it isn’t much of a talker,

but it held the key to finding Luke Skywalker.

It trekked across planets, and zoomed through space,

aiding the Rebels, it held an important place.

It’s easy to work with the droid BB-8,

and all who have met it think it’s pretty great.

But you haven’t heard of the ones who came first,

the other BBs were certainly much worse.

Solid and sturdy was the first, BB-1,

but the noises it made were not very fun.

It crashed and it rattled as it rolled around.

Its owner hated that atrocious sound.

Noisy droids are no good when you’re sneaking about

on a rebel mission, and trying to scout.

Instead of quietly hiding, it went CLICK-CLACK,

and soon fell victim to Stormtrooper attack.

BB-2’s A.I. was less-than-stellar.

Its master asked questions, but it refused to tell her.

Even other droids thought BB-2 was rude.

They believed the small droid had a large attitude.

So they decided to jettison the bad bot.

It was floating in space, and believe it or not,

soon it was caught, flying just past a border,

Into the territory of the evil First Order.

An annoying droid fit right in their scheme.

The First Order recruited the small, mean machine.

BB-3 got a virus. It was no surprise,

when BB-3 wasn’t working, it visited sites.

On the web, BB-3 wasn’t careful enough.

(You should always check before you download stuff.)

It started to fidget, and sparks went flying.

Motherboards overloaded, its circuits were frying.

Trojans and malware all over its system,

it tried to debug, but always missed them.

First Order Spyware is what it downloaded.

The next day, like the Death Star, it went and exploded.

BB-4 was quite smart, but much too slow.

When asked a question, it failed to load.

In fact, one time it took so darn long,

by the time it answered, its friends were all gone.

BB tried to speak faster, but to no avail,

it had frozen on Hoth, and was stuck in the hail.

Preserved by the ice, it looked like brand new,

but when it thawed, water  had seeped in, too.

It started to stutter, and shiver and shudder,

BB-4 shut down, and now it’s just clutter.

The droid BB-5 was a fun friend to all.

It loved being played with; you’d always have a ball.

With cool things like gadgets and gizmos galore,

it was super snazzy rolling ‘round the floor.

The kids loved interacting with the small round robot,

They watched movies, played games, and had fun a whole lot!

It was swell to adventure with the spherical droid,

because when you were with it, your problems were void.

But one day his lights started flashing all wildly.

Nothing responded, to put it quite mildly.

Alas, 5’s motherboard had just up and died,

It would not turn back on, it was totally fried.

BB-6’s debut seemed a little too rushed,

and in the process, its gyroscope was crushed.

Poor BB-6 couldn’t even roll around.

You would always find it where you put it down.

A droid like a statue, and not a bit lighter,

is no good if you’re a roving rebel fighter.

Though not mobile, BB-6 gave good advice,

in fact, it was quite a nice little device.

But a mobile droid is simply a must,

so it was abandoned on Jakku, where it now collects dust.

BB-7 was great in so many ways,

but sadly, its tour of duty lasted only two days.

Cocky and brash, and a show off, too.

It was always crowing, “Look what I can do!”

One day 7 tried to make a big jump,

and ended up landing in a garbage dump!

It was salvaged for parts, only yielding a handful,

a kind of destruction that no droid could handle.

So 7 was replaced, and soon was forgot,

and that was the end of that boastful bot.

So that’s the tale of the first seven BBs,

the ones not good as 8, as you see.

But BB-8’s grateful for those who came first,

because even the best can learn from the worst.

Time and progress march on, and that’s just fine,

for someday, that means, we’ll get a cool BB-9!

 

CJ's story was inspired by how Stormtrooper Finn left left the Empire behind, casting off his armor and joining the Rebels.  

The Man Behind the Mask

by CJ

Here we go again. Just another day at the office, trapped in a tin can with an army of a hundred faceless soldiers headed to some desolate outpost. These villagers aren't even going to know what hit them. And why we hit them doesn't even matter. It's certainly not their fault. At the end of the day, we're all just pawns in the First Order's evil plot for galactic domination.

Hurtling through solar systems, stuck in this prison of a starship, my hatred for the First Order grows with every passing moment. But it's something I must silently seethe over. I dare never speak out about my true feelings - how much I despise them, and myself for that matter. There’s no room for dissension or questioning in these ranks. Independent thought would mean execution on the spot.

As I sit contemplating my reason for being here, I remember that my life has been taken from me by the First Order. With every day, I find new reasons to loathe my captors. At the moment, one thing that's bugging me is the way my body feels in this hellish suit of armor. This getup terrifies those who see it from the outside, but believe me, being on the inside is no picnic in a meadow on Naboo.

Every day, I am forced to encase myself inside these Clone War hand-me-downs. Oh sure, the supervisor tells us with a painted-on-smile, “An upgrade is coming soon!"  Well, that's what they told the Empire's Stormtroopers thirty years ago. We all know there’s no intent of fulfilling their hollow promise of better armor. They don’t actually give a tauntaun’s tail about any of the troops who give their lives for the First Order's dubious goals.

This putrid helmet is tight and sweaty to the point I become nauseated. The lenses in my helmet are just as black as the space surrounding our ship, or as my soul on a miserable day like this. And the lenses are a bad joke. They’ve been mercilessly pelted by the sand of countless desert planets, becoming thrashed in the process. The armor compresses my chest to the point where breathing normally is all-but-impossible. Forever lightheaded, I've come very close to passing out too many times to count. Wearing this armor for hours on end every day kinda makes it feel like having a hutt forever parked on your chest.

And this armor gets as hot as the inside of one of Mustafar's molten volcanoes. Every single mission, within seconds, sweat starts sliding from my head all the way down to the bottom of my boots. There, it drenches my woven wampa socks. By the end of the day, I don’t know who smells worse, me or some filthy Wookiee.

   

I can’t help but wonder how many other stricken souls have sweat in this suit, and I wonder, where they are now? Maybe they're peacefully living out their lives with their loving families, sitting by the campfire, swapping stories on a serene forest moon like Endor. Maybe they get to tell their kids and grandkids about their days under the control of the evil First Order and how they broke free from its tyrannical grip to become heroic freedom fighters.

Yeah, right. Who am I kidding? Now that I think about it, the armor was probably harvested from the bodies of soldiers left for dead on a forgettable battleground.

There is no honor in this army. We’re intergalactic laughingstocks. I’ve seen all the memes about Stormtroopers, the countless people making fun our shooting skills, and the claims that we’re all just hive-minded losers. They have no idea. This is not the life I chose. This is a fate that was forced upon me, at gunpoint, while still but a boy. ...

The familiar voice crackles over the ship’s speaker, barking orders about readying our blasters and serving the Supreme Leader. My squadmates begin mindlessly rushing towards to exit of the ship. I sit, with images of the past, present, and potential futures swirling in my mind.

Slowly, so slowly, I stand and disarm my blaster.

It’s time to twist fate, to take control. I’d rather die today with a sliver of dignity than slowly lose what’s left of my sorry soul over an eternity.

Now I’m running down the ramp, knowing it will be the last time. My last seconds as a Stormtrooper. I’m either going to die right here on this planet, or I’m going to escape to a new life entirely.

May the Force be with me.