I have a strong urge to cry.
I have vague memories of a better place. Not much, just the calmness, the dark and warmth. Now everything is harsh.
I know I have to be here, but I can’t remember the reason. What have I done wrong? Why did they tear me out of the peace and put me in this cruel world?
I cry out, but my voice is weak, so I open my eyes instead. It hurts and it’s not even pretty; blurred spots of white, and grey, and green, and some smaller, yellow, far from me, but it’s not enough to catch my interest. I blink, and cry again, trying my best to be louder now.
Someone comes in, I can hear their steps on the tiles. I turn to look at them to demand to be put back where I came from, but the spots suddenly starts to move around and I leave the room on something that is... rolling under me.
I cry, and I keep crying, insistently, until I arrive to another room. It’s orange, or – no, I believe, they call it peach. Peach and white, and the thing under me stops.
There is a scent, I don’t know, yet it’s familiar. And calming. Someone leaves, and someone else grabs me. They lift me and they bring me close to their face. I move instinctively, and put my hand on their cheek. I’m clumsy, but they laugh and their voice is gentle and soothing and...
A soft hum.
It’s someone else, a deeper voice, but he sounds calming too. I see him leaning closer and I turn to focus on his face now, but it’s still unclear. So I reach out to touch his cheek too, my hand dragging over something coarse and I pull back, almost scared for a second. I want to cry again.
He laughs, and takes me from the one who held me. I cry out, trying to resist weakly, but he lifts me to his chest and cradles me gently. I lay my head on his shirt. It’s white and it’s boring, but he smells nice.
He takes my hand and tugs on something that seems to be stuck around my wrist; he holds it a bit further and reads it.
„Twenty-one inches and seven pounds. Born on the fourteenth of June.”
He lets go of my hand and lifts me to his face again, and this time I’m braver. I reach out again, and doesn’t pull back when I touch that coarse, pricky thing on his cheek.
I feel like I know him. Or at least I will.
„Welcome, Kylo Ren.”