A Beautiful Star Wars Fanfiction Piece By Me

For a while I've had a txt file saved with this little piece of original Star Wars fiction, and I have decided to finally release it into the world. Hopefully I will be allowed to write an incredible officially licensed Star Wars novel soon, based on this very good work that I have done. Anyway, please enjoy my tale. You will probably cry.

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Chewbacca had always been a powerful force of nature. Admired and respected amongst his peers, he was also very alluring - although generally those around him didn't mention this out of politeness. Nevertheless it was well understood, but the world of Chewbacca and those around him was about to get a bit of a shock.

Princess Leia was sipping on a strawberry milkshake. It was what she usually did on a Thursday afternoon. No matter what was going on, that was her designated milkshake time, and no one could get in her way when she had milkshake on her mind. She was thinking about her son, Ben, and wondering wistfully if he missed the milkshakes they used to have together, before everything went bad. Of course, he wouldn't be caught dead indulging in a delicious strawberry milkshake these days. He was too busy being evil, and as everyone knew, the proper drink of evil was Dr Pepper. Leia wondered if perhaps she could win her son back from the dark side with a really excellent, Jedi-approved strawberry milkshake, but it was just wishful thinking.

Kylo Ren was out chopping wood by the frozen lake. That was his favourite hobby because it helped him get extremely super mad ripped, but also because it was a great outlet for all his angry feelings. He knew that SOME people he was related to had a preference for taking their feelings out on children, via doing a bit of murder on them, but Kylo Ren preferred to brood alone. Whilst wielding a big axe in his muscly arms of rage, of course.

Chewbacca had similar hobbies, but his usually also involved screaming at whatever the object of his attention was. It gave him extra strength, or at least he thought so. On this particular day, Chewbacca had donned some small denim shorts. He was considering starting a fashion blog. There wasn't much representation in the blogging world for wookies, and he had been really getting into denim and studded belts lately.

Rey, a girl who liked scowling and wearing grey, was out scavenging somewhere and just thinking about what it would be like if her parents turned out to be porgs. She knew she had some uncannily porg-like qualities, such as frowning in a very adorable fashion, and a tendency to flap in perplexment. Yes, she thought, I bet my parents were porgs.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

December Memories: Bridges (My Passion)

These are yet more pictures from my enjoyable family Christmas experience, and these, I have realised, are heavily dog focused. So enjoy the dogs.

This is Moussa and Millie. They are top rated dogs belonging to my aunt and uncle. The greatest dogs. I love this picture so much. Look at them! They're sitting! Ahh.

You know what dogs love? Bridges. Yeah, they love a good bridge. And so do I. Clomping along a small wooden bridge - what could be better? Nothing. Do not suggest anything that might be better. Nothing is.

We were faced with yet another bridge - can you believe it? We bridge fans were very happy on this day (me exclusively, bridgefan1337).

Here's my aunt anticipating how many bridges we may be yet to discover. The look on her face is one of sheer bridge-related joy.

Of course, when you're getting a little tired of bridges, you can go in a cave. That's what I always do.

Life is beautiful. Go in a mysterious dark hole. That's my advice.

December Memories: Horse & Fashions (Not Horse Fashions, I'm Sorry)

I met a horse, recently, during December, and you know what? Horses are very cool and I don't often get to meet them. I want to meet more horses. Can someone bring some horses to my house? It's no problem, okay, just bring the horses. Thanks.

They love to eat grass, and I respect this because I used to eat (or rather, chew, for some reason) grass as a child. It's not delicious, but small me was compelled. I'm not saying I'm part horse, but, listen... you never know.

Here's me with Millie (dog). I may have become a ghost in this picture. Don't worry about it. Dogs don't mind and neither should you. Mind you own business quite frankly. If you were a ghost I wouldn't judge you, so you know. Just keep that in mind.

Here are some of my family members disappearing into the trees, as they love to do.

This picture of my aunt holding large polar bear is extremely good. Lifehack: do this.

And here is a picture of Christmas dinner. I like the crackers................................ nutcracker crackers.... good. Also I wore the little thing around the Lindt teddy bear's neck as a bracelet for the rest of Christmas day because I am truly stylish. Welcome to my fashion blog.

December Memories: Dogs & Polar Bears

I took a bunch of pictures over Christmas and I had a nice time going out for walks and hanging out with dogs. It's strange, maybe, that I have never had a dog. What kind of excuse for a life am I living? But luckily other people have dogs. Thank god.

There's something about walking along a forest path with three dogs that does feel like the most right thing to do at any given time. Let me be there with the dogs at any moment, emanating a mysterious glow in the woods, with dogs. That's the goal. That's the dream. But also what's good, is having a huge teddy bear.

My grandfather knows this true fact, and so possesses only the largest and best cuddly polar bears. There was a good moment on Christmas morning when four of us crowded round taking pictures of these two bears with two glasses of bucks fizz. We are all photographers. Don't disturb us when we are engaging in our prestigious and necessary craft.

Speaking of incredible photography that transcends all human understanding with its brilliance, I took this picture on another late night dog walk, and there's something about the light and the sky that I really like. Grainy, pointless images, are of course, my passion. But you know... it's that particular night time serenity. The deep blue of the sky. The shadows and dark trees. The threatening glow of a nearby streetlight. All things good.

Check out the river, too. It's pretty good.

I Hate Suitcases

I recently came back from visiting my family in Scotland for Christmas, and foolishly I had taken my suitcase, a small and trusty old thing given to me by my aunt and fitting cabin bag size requirements perfectly. It always feels quite big to me despite other people looking lovingly at it because in their minds, this is a baby suitcase. For babies. But to me it's sort of large. It's all the space I'd ever need. And the bigger suitcases frighten and alarm me. They are monsters, looming above me like that huge plinth thing that all the apes gaze at in 2001: A Space Odyssey. The monolith.

The thing is, my suitcase is really at the limit of what I can handle. I realised this on my way back home this time when I felt just how sore the underside of my knuckles were getting from dragging it. When I hobbled up stairs with it, leaning so far to one side that I was sent a cease and desist by the estate of Michael Jackson. When I made a very tragic attempt at lifting it towards the overhead space on my flight to Gatwick and could barely manage lifting it to my hips. This suitcase is beyond my range of athletic ability.

Thankfully, I don't struggle all that much with it in the grand scheme of things, and kind passengers will help me to lift things, which is nice, but what if the wheels break one day and I'm left with the sheer horror of having to drag it across the floor like a dog dragging its bum across a rug, but without the joy (for the dog)? And really, this suitcase is heavy and bulky enough without anything in it that I don't feel that comfortable using it at all.

The most damning thing about suitcases, however, is the bruising. I have a habit of being mildly yet agonisingly injured while travelling. On my flight to New York last year I walked so hard into the tray in front of my seat on the way back from the toilet that it really hurt to lightly touch my thigh for days. In Berlin in January of the same year my new plastic braces had an unfortunate stabby bit that gave me an incredible ulcer, making eating torture for about a week. In Iceland in February 2016 my boots, which had previously been fine, took the opportunity at that moment to decide to rub the backs of my ankles into bloody hellscapes, which stung for the entire holiday.

It's been fun.

At least I've always enjoyed those trips regardless of my physical suffering. But the sheer amount of leg bruises I have this time from various minor suitcase collisions, and the weird bruisy sensitivity between all of my fingers' phalanges that I have from pulling it behind me, have convinced me to abandon the suitcase for good.

No more shall I suffer. I'll take a backpack instead. A pack for your back. It's better. I hope I remember to never use a suitcase, to never even look at a suitcase again. No thanks! I'd really like to avoid all the strange knocks and bruises, and also that time I caught my little finger in the extendable handle's telescope. Awful. Suitcases are cancelled. No more suitcase.

All I really need is my passport and a small bottle of white wine anyway, right?