(TM) 253. Awe
Awesome
Awe. A feeling of reverence, wonder or dread. Possibly a combination of all three.
So many things you've seen in your lifetime. So many even in just the few years since the word came that your home worlds had been decimated by the Cylons. Sights whose scope and majesty fully deserve the labels awe-inspiring, awesome.
Massive nebulae, lit from within by storms or the radiation of birthing stars. A very few fragile, blue-green worlds, isolated pockets of life defying the sterility of space. Brutal interstellar battles, destruction glittering and flaring in the silence of hard vacuum. An aging star going nova, lighting your way in its death throes.
And none of it, not even the most soul-affecting of splendors, can move you so much as the awe roused by your people and their dogged fight to simply keep going. Military and civilian, men, women and children doing whatever it took not only to stay alive, but to keep each other alive. Long hours drowned in hard work and exhaustion ... the past three years have been a testament to humanity's will to live, for each other, for something larger, but most of all to live.
(Ships vanishing off the DRADIS as they jump from Ragnar across the red line, a Cylon raider carrying a Colonial pilot almost written off for dead, constellations gleaming overhead in the Tomb of Athena, a functional Viper coming together under the hands of his deck crew, pinning lieutenant's insignia onto a Cylon who offered humanity her loyalty, Pegasus diving in to rescue Galactica over New Caprica. Another pilot returning from the dead, and another for the second time ...)
That any of them, let alone most of them even made it this far is a frakking miracle.
You've watched their struggles, inner wars to match the outer one. You've seen Lee's self-doubt and frustration gradually give way to his determination, his certainty of the value of human rights even in the face of threats to human survival, and his ability to lead. (Dad .... It's gonna be okay. I'll take care of it.) Saul Tigh's battle against his inner demons turned into a fight to remain a Colonial officer in spite of his very nature ... how could a Cylon be so human? (I am one of the Final Five. D'anna will back down if you threaten to flush me out an airlock.) Laura's fierce, unbending will only won her a brief reprieve from her cancer, but her unrelenting drive to guide the people of the Twelve Colonies makes a mockery of any thoughts of pity for her illness. (Bill ... this is it. This is everything we have been working for.)
And Kara ... neither her own self-destructive impulses nor even seeming death could snuff out her fire. (Something's orchestrating this for a purpose .... Call it whatever you want, but it seems to want us to find Earth with the Cylons.)
She did it. Along with three of the Final Five, she gave you the way to Earth, where you stand now.
Blasted, irradiated, dead Earth.
You can see it in the eyes of those around you; this place that should have inspired reverence and wonder holds only dread. The refuge you've struggled toward for three grueling years is instead a wasteland. Can humanity's will to live possibly survive this?
Can yours?
(This is the end of the line. We've got nowhere else to go.)
Muse: Admiral William Adama
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica '03
Word count: 491 (not including direct quotes)
Awe. A feeling of reverence, wonder or dread. Possibly a combination of all three.
So many things you've seen in your lifetime. So many even in just the few years since the word came that your home worlds had been decimated by the Cylons. Sights whose scope and majesty fully deserve the labels awe-inspiring, awesome.
Massive nebulae, lit from within by storms or the radiation of birthing stars. A very few fragile, blue-green worlds, isolated pockets of life defying the sterility of space. Brutal interstellar battles, destruction glittering and flaring in the silence of hard vacuum. An aging star going nova, lighting your way in its death throes.
And none of it, not even the most soul-affecting of splendors, can move you so much as the awe roused by your people and their dogged fight to simply keep going. Military and civilian, men, women and children doing whatever it took not only to stay alive, but to keep each other alive. Long hours drowned in hard work and exhaustion ... the past three years have been a testament to humanity's will to live, for each other, for something larger, but most of all to live.
(Ships vanishing off the DRADIS as they jump from Ragnar across the red line, a Cylon raider carrying a Colonial pilot almost written off for dead, constellations gleaming overhead in the Tomb of Athena, a functional Viper coming together under the hands of his deck crew, pinning lieutenant's insignia onto a Cylon who offered humanity her loyalty, Pegasus diving in to rescue Galactica over New Caprica. Another pilot returning from the dead, and another for the second time ...)
That any of them, let alone most of them even made it this far is a frakking miracle.
You've watched their struggles, inner wars to match the outer one. You've seen Lee's self-doubt and frustration gradually give way to his determination, his certainty of the value of human rights even in the face of threats to human survival, and his ability to lead. (Dad .... It's gonna be okay. I'll take care of it.) Saul Tigh's battle against his inner demons turned into a fight to remain a Colonial officer in spite of his very nature ... how could a Cylon be so human? (I am one of the Final Five. D'anna will back down if you threaten to flush me out an airlock.) Laura's fierce, unbending will only won her a brief reprieve from her cancer, but her unrelenting drive to guide the people of the Twelve Colonies makes a mockery of any thoughts of pity for her illness. (Bill ... this is it. This is everything we have been working for.)
And Kara ... neither her own self-destructive impulses nor even seeming death could snuff out her fire. (Something's orchestrating this for a purpose .... Call it whatever you want, but it seems to want us to find Earth with the Cylons.)
She did it. Along with three of the Final Five, she gave you the way to Earth, where you stand now.
Blasted, irradiated, dead Earth.
You can see it in the eyes of those around you; this place that should have inspired reverence and wonder holds only dread. The refuge you've struggled toward for three grueling years is instead a wasteland. Can humanity's will to live possibly survive this?
Can yours?
(This is the end of the line. We've got nowhere else to go.)
Muse: Admiral William Adama
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica '03
Word count: 491 (not including direct quotes)