Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Revised Version

Rewrite ideas for Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker

After the fall of the Empire, the Rebellion has, mostly, disbanded.  Generally, there is peace and rebuilding and finding new ways of life for ex-Empire employees.  There is, however, one core band of Rebels who remain, and who most people think of as crackpots, or, at best, deluded and unable to let go of what drove them for so long.  Everyone else is happy to have their lives and freedom back from forces beyond their control.

In this remaining core of Rebels are Poe, Finn, Princess Leia, and others of the former inner circle, but even some of these people are wondering why they continue to train and fix ships and live like they're in hiding.  Princess Leia, however, has some information: there is still possible trouble.  There is a legend... (most people laugh at it).  The legend is of the origins of the Sith, and that there may be a spiritual war beginning with an insidious infiltration of "Dark Side" converts.  There are ancient, hidden, fogotten Sith shrines all across the galaxy, but there is also the rumor of a planet where they began.

Rey, meanwhile, is still struggling with Jedi training.  The only other Jedi is Princess Leia, and she is gravely ill.  Rey sits for lessons, but must train on her own.  There is great pressure on Rey to be good, but she can't seem to get the hang of it.  They want her to teach, but she dislikes teaching.  They want her to do some of the "traditional" Jedi tricks, but she's not really good at them.  She feels lonely, while also wanting to be alone (as she had been for so long).  She doesn't even get to hang out with BB8, who is helping Poe and Finn fix up the Millennium Falcon.

Rey also has a secret that becomes more and more intrusive: while meditating, if Kylo Ren is also meditating (or in meditative state, like before sleep), they have visions of each other.  They are brief at first, and disturbing for them both.  As time goes on, however, they realize the visions cannot be stopped, and while they try to come to a "you meditate at this time and not MY time" agreement, they both find themselves searching out each other's company.

Kylo Ren is also feeling alone.  Disrespected by his greatly diminished military staff, he struggles to remain as dark and imposing as his grandfather, Darth Vader.  Where once he really admired his grandfather's ability to impose fear, Kylo Ren's meditations on the mutilated mask change to sadness, even while Kylo pieces back together his own mask.  His underlings expect him to have grand plans, but he is unsure.  There are some generals or other advisors, though, who have heard of a legend...

Poe and Finn discover that the Empire has started investigating the legend of the Sith, too, and they now lend it greater credence.  They present Leia with the information, and she says there is only one way to find this legendary planet: by using the Force.  Leia gives Rey an important mission: take a ship, and use the Force to try to locate the Sith shrine planet.  Everyone goes through a lot of trouble to outfit a decent little ship.  Other Rebels doubt her powers.  Some Rebels (maybe Poe and Finn) want to complete this mission themselves, but it is impossible.  It is the job for a Jedi.  Rey keeps her self-doubt hidden.  Rebels try to prepare for a battle and travel to re-enlist former members--follow the adventures of Poe and Finn and BB8.

Despite trying desperately not to communicate with Kylo Ren, can't seem to help it.  He can't help it, either, though he is suddenly very cagey about giving her information about his activities.  Rey manages to find some minor shrines where she can feel the Sith power growing as she moves from planet to planet, shrine to shrine.  She also notices some indication that at some shrines, someone else was recently there...

While finding the shrines helps Rey's confidence in her Jedi abilities, she still can't stop "visiting" Kylo Ren.  She catches him working out.  He catches her bathing in a lake.  One night, on a quiet jungle planet, thick with plant life, she gives him some information about herself, and asks him for more.  He still refuses, and they fight about it.  She yells at him.  He freezes... He heard a sound.  He looks back at her, horrified.  Her anger drains away, and she looks at him, horrified.  He yells.  She actually hears it.  "We're on the same planet!"

They each leap up, igniting their lightsabers, looking around in a panic.  They each creep out of their campsites and end up crashing through the jungle towards one another.  They meet, on opposite ends of a clearing, lightsabers glowing, stars a riot overhead.  They walk slowly towards each other until their bodies are in sight.  They are deeply confused.  Kylo Ren turns off his lightsaber.  Rey turns off hers.  They narrow the distance between them, and revel in the reality of the moment.  Smells, warmth, and physical being.  Lit only by stars, they kiss.  They force themselves away, backing up, then turning and running back to their ships.  They leave, going different directions.

In the morning, Rey gets a coded message from the Rebels with a warning and an addition to her mission: the Empire has sent Kylo Ren himself to find the Sith planet, and she must kill him.

Kylo Ren also receives a message from his own people: the Rebels have sent their only Jedi to find the Sith planet.  It is Rey, and he must kill her.

Poe and Finn are having terrible troubles even being believed, much less recruiting anyone.  They can bring in (or at least try to) C-3PO, R2D2, Zorri Bliss, Lando, Chewbacca, the cool tiny repairman, and whoever else seems important who isn't in already.

Rey tries not to contact Kylo Ren, but eventually gives in.  Kylo Ren, however, adamantly refuses to meditate, and avoids other triggers however he can.  They continue to planet-hop, narrowly missing one another.  Rey gets angry and also refuses to try ever again.  She finds herself on an inhabited planet with a mix of kinds of people.  There is an ancient temple, they say, but it's out in the ocean.  She makes friends and tries to forget Kylo Ren.  Kylo Ren must, because of his wholly owned reputation, avoid all contact with anyone, and he lives rough.  After a lovely evening, the people show Rey how to get to the temple and warn her of the danger, and won't she let them help her, etc.  She takes a boat and makes the dangerous journey.  The people can watch through binoculars from shore.  They are happy she made it.  They see the temple.  They see her going into the open-air part.  Someone shouts, "There's someone else!  On a stolen boat!  It's... someone from the Empire.  It's... Kylo Ren!"  The people are scared for Rey, who they know must fight and kill her opponent, or be killed.

The temple's small island is badly deteriorated from the sea and from neglect, so it is dangerous to stay.  Rey must meditate, though she doesn't want to, to find her next traveling point.  She lays hands on the temple, and hears behind her, "So we meet again."  Rey spins, igniting her lightsaber.  Kylo Ren removes his.  Turns it on.  They stand, in agony.

The crowd on shore is either watching through binoculars, or listening to the play-by-play from those who have them.  "He is there!"  Boo!  "She turned on her lightsaber!"  Yea!  "He turned on his!"  Boo!  Pause.  "What's happening??"  "Um... Nothing."

Rey     "I have to kill you."
Kylo    "I know.  I have to kill you."
Rey     "I know."
Pause
Rey     "They're watching."
Kylo    "I know."
They fight.  It's the mother of all fights.  Gorgeous.  Emotional.  Dramatic.  Almost as if they are dancing.  Almost as if they know what the other will do.
Shore   "Who's winning?"
Binoc   "I... I don't know!"

They fight and fight, and Kylo Ren can see they are very well matched, but he is much bigger and stronger.  He worries about her.  He (purposefully) drops his guard.  She (accidentally) stabs him with her lightsaber.  He falls to the far side of the island, barely managing not to fall into the raging sea.  To the people on the shore, she has dealt a killing blow and has leaped down to be sure to finish him off.  Rey has, instead, leaped down because she is horrified.  Out of sight, she has turned off her lightsaber and flung herself to his side.  She pulls him to a safer spot and looks at his wound.

Kylo    "Don't.  Let me die.  Go find the Sith planet.  Win!"
Rey     "No, don't die.  I can't... I can't let you die.  I can't...  I love you."
Kylo    "I...love...you..."

Kylo passes out and Rey is frantic.  She rips open his shirt and sees the deadly wound.  Not knowing what she's doing, not caring that it shouldn't work, she presses her hands to his skin for the first time and she calls up all the forces of the Jedi and the Light.  Where her powers wouldn't do all the "tricks" of traditional Jedi, she can heal him.  His wound knits closed.  She weeps over him.  Finally, his eyes flutter open.  They have unbridled joy for one moment together before realizing what has been done.  They both sit, frozen in horror.  He has been healed by the Light.  She healed a follower of the Dark.  They both confessed their love.  Suddenly, a giant wave smashes his stolen ship.  Rey leaps up.

Rey     "I must go."
Kylo   "I... Rey..."
Rey     "Ben..."

She says his real name for the first time, and, for the first time, it seems to suit him.  She rips herself away from his gaze and flees on the only remaining boat.  He is left to figure himself out.

The Empire has heard about Poe and Finn's mission and they are now having a harder time of it.  Poe and Finn have also heard: Kylo Ren has returned.

On an Empire ship, Kylo Ren has, indeed, returned.  He is reminded that only getting to the Sith planet and securing the power there will the Empire rise again, with him at the helm.  Without this power, no one will follow the grandchild of the destroyed Darth Vader.  Kylo Ren is reminded over and over that this is the only way he will ever reach his true power, and the only way he will ever be anyone at all.  He gives them the location of the Sith planet.

Poe and Finn hurry back to the remaining Rebel stronghold to report.  Rey is already there.  She, too, has the location of the Sith planet.  The Rebels have been planning what to do, and are ready.

Hott Stuff

Her legs went all the way up to her hips where they stopped abruptly.  They also went down to her feet, which stuck out nearly as long a distance from her ankles as her knees.  Her hair was a long, luxurious sable, kept neatly in a box under the stove.  It smelled like warm hair when she baked.  Her entire apartment was a work of art, mostly collage.  She intimidated men, which was an unusual hobby, but she was good at it and didn't want to get out of practice.

What’s the difference between religion and spirituality?

"Brother Carlyle," the monk cleared his throat and shifted in his bare, wooden chair, "lives alone."

The reporter was beginning to get annoyed, but tried not to show it.  "I understand that, but why did he choose to separate himself?"

"He didn't, Miss."  The monk was newer, that is, he became a member within the last ten years.  Most of the monks were quite old, but this one could still be considered young.  She arched one eyebrow and he continued in a whisper, "Brother Carlyle was sent away."

Now we're getting somewhere.  The other brothers, friars, monks, priests, or whatever they were, kept giving her the runaround, but eventually, Tia Teagarten always got her story.  She leaned in and matched the monk's volume, "Why was he sent away?"

What do you look for in a role model?

In Grand Park's Magician's Corner, mages were allowed to busk, license prominently displayed, of course.  Licenses were cheap, but not easy to come by as there were a limited number given each season.  Auditions were held every year, and everyone had to reapply, even the veteran performers.  Sometimes they didn't get in.  Competition was fierce for those spots, and some years, fights broke out in the audition lines.  Magicians were known to have disappeared after not getting in, too.  Sometimes they reappeared other years, and sometimes... they performed the ultimate vanishing act.

Holly loved to take her lunch breaks from Nova, the upscale clothier, in Magician's Corner.  Grand Park was only a five minute walk from Nova, which was in line with the other major clothiers on Parkview Avenue.  She was a relatively new salesgirl in Gloves, brought on when Messiah Blanchett wore long, elegant gloves to King's Court.  Messiah was always fashion-forward.  But Holly had been coming here far longer than her most recent job.  Her grandfather had been Maurice and Magnificent, back in the day, and performed here in his youth, before he hit the big times, which was decades before Holly was even a glimmer in her parents' eyes.  She had adored Papa Maury and followed him like a puppy.  Holly learned a lot about magic, the art of performance, and magicians.  She still kept in touch with most of them, and they waved or said hello or stopped by to show off their most recent creations when she sat on the steps of Benedict's Statue to eat her bagged lunch.

Today was the third day, however, that Holly came with butterflies in her stomach, hoping to catch a glimpse of a new magician.

If an alien came to earth how would you show it love?

For more than a week, the nights had been sweltering, the air thick with humidity and not a hint of breeze.  The evening news kept predicting blessed rain, but always at the end of the ten-day forecast.  No matter how close the days crept to the prediction, the rain stayed out of reach.

Naomi wheeled her TV cart to her farmhouse's front window and sat outside to listen to the gentle babble over the sounds of crickets and peepers having sex in the fields and woods that surrounded her for miles.  A gentle stream would usually be heard, but that had dried up close to the start of this unholy summer.  She lay back in the hammock strung from the house to a pillar of the wide porch and wished for a breeze.  Tonight would be another night out here, she thought.  Is it ridiculous to drag out a fan?

The thin, white, over-sized shirt she wore for pajamas was already clinging to her back and chest.  Living alone and so far out in the countryside, her house not even visible from the little-used road, Naomi thought maybe she'd go without, but her natural modesty wouldn't let her stray any further than the already daring nightwear.  She decided on a bowl of ice with a washcloth plus the fan.

Just as she swung her bare feet to the wide-planked porch boards, her television flickered and went out.  Naomi stood still to take stock.  The light in her kitchen was also out.  Conclusion?  She thought in her careful, scientific way.  No fan for me.  People with air conditioners loved to hog electricity, despite the warnings of brownouts and blackouts, and now look where it puts the more environmentally conscious.  In the dark.

Naomi let her eyes adjust.  She plotted out her route to her favorite flashlight, to the linen closet for a washcloth, and finally to her freezer for the quick removal of one tray of ice.  And a metal bowl.  She'd set it on her chest and absorb the chill until she had a bowl of water, but at least she might be able to sleep.  Before she implemented her plan, she was lured off her porch and on the dry dust of the path before her house.  The stars, without any light pollution, were brilliant, and she could see the long, dusty arm of the Milky Way.  It fascinated her as it always did, even though studying the stars was a part of her job.

Pageant Question 34: If you could un-invent an invention, which would you choose and why?

My boyfriend is from another dimension.  True story.  He appeared in my bedroom, naked and screaming.  If that's not a fantastic way to start a weird relationship, I don't know what is.  It happened like this:

Me: sleeping, twisted in my ancient Hello Kitty sheets and comforter, drooling onto my pillow.

The sound and feel of a giant vacuum pulling all the air from the room, followed by a loud *pop!*

Han (my boyfriend): writhing on the ground in pain, sucking wind as hard as he can and letting it back out in a hair-raising scream.

My parents: moved to Vegas and left me the house when I graduated high school two years before, so I was alone.

My neighbors: tiredly expect my life to be weird.

Han, which is a ridiculously short abbreviation of his real name, has been living with me for a few months now.  I call him my boyfriend, but that's what I have to do because he lives here.  He is not, technically, my boyfriend.  I don't have anybody who could really care, but, still, it's easier to say "boyfriend" than to explain why this dude lives in my house and is with me all the time.

339

It was a hot day, and people were lined up outside the Dairy Queen ten deep.  Suzie could see them, and she hated them all because she wanted ice cream so badly.  Last summer, she had made it a rule not to be seen eating outside, after that little brat pointed at her and bellowed for all to hear, "Mommy, look, that lady is making herself fatter!"  It was the curse of the overweight to be self-conscious public eaters.  It had been three years since Suzie had dared attempt a buffet, not wanting to see the sadness in the eyes of the slim, Chinese maitre d who saw his profits going down her gullet.  The shame staring.  The averted looks of horror.  The guilt upon her that made Suzie simply want to eat more until her blubber would flow and absorb all those self-righteous jerks who dared to judge her.

338

Jane stumbled into his arms at a business party and didn't see him again for five years.  The party was a stereotypical office holiday gathering.  The bosses wore their suits and generally stood together looking important and drinking steadily.  The bosses' wives stood in their own cluster, wondering who their husbands were sleeping with.  The secretaries dragged their awkward boyfriends or husbands, introducing them while hanging hard on to their arms.  A few oddballs hung around the edges, like Jim from the mail room; Dave, Jordan and the other Dave from IT; and Jane, the temp.

332

"Tessa Beneveau may be a beautiful woman," complained Decker McBide, "but she is no lady."  He finished cleaning his six shooter, refilling the chambers with his custom made bullets.

Winston James smiled, his feet crossed on the desk between them, "But Decker, she is very beautiful."

Decker clicked the gun's cylinder home and sighted his weapon before dropping it back into his leather holster.  "This time, I don't think it'll be enough."

283

The candlelight softened his weather-worn features and deep wrinkles until they were only suggestions.  Shadows still haunted his deep-set eyes.  "I am old enough to be your father," he whispered, his knobby, long-fingered hands curling into fists on the table.

"But you're not, Tam."  Cara moved her own hands, not particularly young, but made so in comparison to his own, towards his.  Tam stiffened and made to pull away, but hesitated.  Cara reached further, and he let her lay her hand upon his.  Tam's fist tightened and she felt him quiver in his seat.  The other patrons of the inn's tavern forgotten, Tam let her unfold his hand.

267

Kell's fingers held her chin, tipped up to see eye to eye.  Lane blinked and her mouth went dry for Kell's eyes seemed to hold the world.  His dark, swooping eyebrows were always so expressive, and now they showed caring beyond that which she had ever experienced.  Eyes, wide open, taking in and showing everything.  The moment stretched and held and Lane would go back to it again and again in her memory, wondering what had become of Kell.

209

The silence of the warm evening after driving for so long ran in their ears, and the natural cacophony of crickets and frogs slowly became discernible, as did the clarity of the night once the lights from the car went dark.  Soon, the lightning bugs were the brightest points in the dark.  The stars above shining brighter and brighter as their eyes adjusted.  They picked their way carefully into the field, he tucking the car keys carefully into his jeans pocket; she carrying the picnic blanket.  Silently, they agreed upon the spot, and helped each other lay the blanket over the tall grasses.  Their bodies flattened the blanket into a square room, walled and roofed by nature.

157

Dust clung to his clothes and in the lines on his face.  The air conditioning in the diner had been running full blast to combat the dry heat outside, but the stranger didn't seem to sweat.  As was usual, the diner's regulars turned to stare, not hiding their evaluation of the new man.  Plus for nodding, minus for heading to the restroom before sitting.  To Vera's mind, however, that was two plusses.  When the man returned, he looked fifteen years younger and five pounds lighter with his face and hands washed.  Vera poured him coffee, and he nodded his thanks, his eyes looking straight into hers.  It was Vera who had to pull away, and she felt an odd rush.  Normally, she might feel uncomfortable with that sort of attention, but not with this man.  Vera didn't know if that was a good, or a bad thing.

95

The outdoor concert smelled like beer, sweat, perfume, and cigarettes. Occasionally someone steeped in weed wandered by, but the security cracked down on that hard, so it wasn't much of a problem for Julia who was surrounded by bodies. Slowly but surely she was moving closer to the stage.

It was a small city, but they had managed to get some formerly big names to do their Friday night concerts. Everyone came out, though for different reasons. Most came out no matter who was performing. Julia knew anyone under the age of thirty attending this concert was here to find their friends and to be seen. A great many came just to drink and ogle the teen girls. Around the outskirts were the very old and the infirm, bobbing their heads and being grateful they weren't indoors on such a nice night.

Julia, and most of the people down in front, were actually here to see the band. A fifty-something lady dressed head to toe in jeans was screaming the words and swaying, hands in the air, her eyes locked on the lead singer. Whenever he appeared to look her way, the lady would wave two thumbs up, hoping she had been seen. Julia stepped around the woman into the red light bathing the first fifteen feet of the crowd.

Even after more than twenty years since this band had filled any auditorium, it was still a dream of most of the older women, and a great many of the men, in this audience to be noticed. To be tapped on the shoulders and have a backstage pass pressed into their hands. To be asked to stay after the concert because the lead singer wanted to see you, personally.

Julia swung around a grey-haired man with a goatee who was boogieing down despite his ample beer belly. The band was just crashing through the final chords of one of their best remembered classics. The singer conducted the drummer's crashes, pumping his fist again, again and again before spinning to face audience, triumphant and beaming. The crowd screamed and hooted and waved. Julia pictured the fifty-something woman, her red-rimmed mouth open and thumbs thrusting to the sky.

The singer grabbed his microphone with his left hand and looked out, then down. His wide smile faltered as his eyes caught those of Julia, surrounded yet somehow alone, bathed in light from the stage.

66

People always as me if I'm a model. Being a woman over six feet tall in stocking feet will do that. I know, it's also because of my long wavy auburn hair, penetrating grey eyes and porcelain complexion, but I don't think of those things. I will always think of myself as ugly; as I was before the horrific car accident.

It happened mere days before my high school graduation. I was happy to finally be done with all the horrid teasing, bullying, embarrassment, mockery, tripping in the hallways, snickering behind my back, drawings of my cross-eyed, pock-marked face on the blackboard. I did brilliantly in school, partly because of natural talent, but mostly because all I did was study; I had no social life. I was ugly and troll-like. Then I was hit by a car and it all changed.

I spent over a year in recovery, getting operation after operation. Now I'm hot and guys won't leave me alone. I'm also a shape changer. That came after the accident, too. Apparently, it was in my genes somewhere and being whacked by a vehicle at high speeds activated them.

Sometimes I wish I could have it all taken back. I don't like the way men stare at me. Women, too. Maybe I'll finally give in to Stephen and join his modeling agency. Maybe I'll mangle my face and try to be who I was: nobody. But until then, I'm tall and I'm hot, and I'm not used to it yet.

(**Thank you to Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel for inspiration.**)

35

The sewers were running full today meaning it's raining up there. I get good stuff when the sewers are fast. My net always comes back with something interesting. Already today I've gotten a chair, two books, four decent magazines, a Styrofoam head and, my lucky luck, a wallet with $54, some credit cards, driver's license and a family picture.

I'm drying them all out in my quarters. I have a great section of the tunnel--all to myself, too. Nobody goes out this far, only me. Just in case, though, I've set booby traps and signals to let me know if someone's coming and I managed to rig a door with a lock. I even figured out how to tap into the nearby subway's electricity. You can't believe the luxury you can make for yourself in the sewers.

I sit with the wallet under my red lamp. Though the money really will come in handy once it's dry, it's the family picture that draws me. Frederick M. Spalding stands with his family. Frederick requires corrective lenses to drive. His family is dressed for the 1980s and his wife grins gummily for the camera. His two children gaze slightly off to one side and are frozen mid-giggle at something the photographer is probably doing with a stuffed animal. Frederick is looking straight at the camera lens. He is not smiling. His face is smooth behind the oversize glasses. Frederick is staring from the Sears studio in 1988 through to me, still damp from my fishing expedition, in my sewer home, over twenty years later. Frederick M. Spalding. Can you feel me staring back through time at you?

17

I know it's a cliche, but seriously, Paris in the springtime really is beautiful. It's warm and sunny. Everyone seems to be carrying a bouquet of flowers and the city's famous cafes are ready and waiting with their little iron-legged tables draped with crisp white linens, waiters unobtrusive and poised to serve. I had ever been to Paris in the spring until the day I ran away from home.

It sounds like I'm some uber-smart teenager who secretly saved my babysitting money, figured out how to get a passport, and snuck off to the airport, ditching my parents and the remainder of high school just to live the life of a tragically misunderstood artist in France.

First of all, that never works; girls like that turn into tragically diseased prostitutes. Second, I'm not a teenager. I'm in my thirties, and I don't feel particularly smart. Especially alone in France. I did manage to figure out the passport thing, secretly save money and sneak off to the airport, but I was ditching my husband and the remainder of a flawed marriage to live the life of a... well, there's the thing. What am I? Tragically misunderstood, no doubt, by everyone I left behind. Except for one person. The one to whom I just sent his own one way ticket to Paris.

Hint: not my husband.

11

Bartholomew cut a fine figure on the dance floor. He was elegant in a dark blue suit, cut to accentuate his broad shoulders and trim hips. The man glided more smoothly than even my rotten cousin Melinda, who unceasingly bragged about her extensive dance lessons. Even while floating effortlessly across the room, he managed to remain the epitome of a man. It was at that moment I understood I needed to make him mine. The only trouble was, he was betrothed to another, and I to yet another. Small concerns, however, when love is involved.

I may have fibbed when I said the "only" trouble. The other trouble was that Bartholomew and I had never formally met.

If I gave the impression that not having actually met Bartholomew was the final trouble, I do apologize because there is yet one more, teensie tiny trouble: I was suspected of killing his grandfather, though I assure you that I did nothing of the sort. The elderly man simply died in my presence; I had nothing, directly, to do with it.