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September 23, 2014
This oneshot follows on from a previous entry to a Fanonbending Contest called. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with both these "oneshots," but there's some sort of cohesive story forming in my mind.
Emrah raised her lips, tearing them apart. Slowly her tongue came out and lapped the chapped lips, providing nothing but a slither of a scathe. Tear stains on her cheeks evaporated into the vast, open sky like whispers spoken by the sneaking cat along the night-clad fence.
The heat was unbearable. It tore her brown skin open and seared the weak flesh inside. She could smell herself cook atop the Si Wong sands. She wanted to cry, to scream, even to run. But the sun had burnt out all her energy. Her eyes, scarred from the hauntings of the previous night, were dried up and searched the heatwaves apathetically for salvation.
There was nothing out there. Not even a bone, not even a solitary blade of russet grass waiting for its clouds to come. She was absolutely alone in an empty desert, diminished by the heat that poured down, that trickled down her back like raindrops. That was the one constant left. It was what her father had described as the 'Forever Hot.' It was something she never understood, some strange lore that was shared amongst all the sandbender tribes. The story told by her father played out in her head all day, she'd mutter along to his voice that would drum her footsteps through the dunes.
She could barely breathe the dry air; there was no cool wind, nor a hot wind to sweep her by that extra centimetre. She could not go any further. There would be no safety out there. What was she thinking walking out into the Si Wong? She should have stayed with her village, let the firebenders kill her quick fast. She should just collapse, ignore the will of her legs and topple down.
Become the bones that would mark another wanderer's journey.
Become the desiccated body of a lost child, the artifact of a Hundred Year War.
But her heart was still beating. And her legs were still walking at a shuffling pace. There was still a life to fight for, and a justice somewhere, a refuge. Emrah would always walk, she had promised herself she would that night in the lookout.
There was something out there. Maybe a bone, or a whole bush of russet grass. A cool wind or a hot wind, more firebenders, other ones like her. The scourge of the Si Wong would not hold her dying breath, not like this. The heat would not be in vain.
I am the Forever Hot;
The bones and grass,
The sands, the rot.
I am the Forever Hot;
A walking girl forever hot.
For the collective works of the author, go here.