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|More from Sparkstoaflame||Alternate universe||PG-13||NA||No update page|
September 3, 2013
the souls that we have marked
(we have all made mistakes, and mistakes are hard to forgive and forget...)
i try to catch my breath again
i hurt much more
than anytime before
i had no options left again
This is the moment when a girl named Korra begins to die a slow death.
It is a gradual and sad ruination that is worthy of any tragic hero, and perhaps the Water Tribe native could have counted herself among those who died these rather melancholy deaths, except for one small tiny fact that no one (if there had been anyone to give rise to this case, for that matter) could possibly ignore—the teenager is anything but a hero.
The story can start in many ways.
But the short life of a terrified, blue-eyed girl and her disrupted conscience only truly ends when she decides to launch herself off of a cliff, because—
A blue, vaguely familiar spear held at her neck as she trembled in fear.
"Kill your parents."
The blistering certainty that is "Korra murdered her family as well as everyone else at the age of thirteen" announces itself with much fanfare and pomp in the crumbling, smoking ruins of the village and promptly takes a fragile little thing known as "Korra's heart" along with it before mercilessly stamping it underfoot in the slushy ice. A soft and gusty wind appears to sigh as it creeps across the ruined mess of charred, shattered wood and burnt skins, of scattered weapons and small black iron cooking pots. It gently lifts a few remnants of gray, crumbling ash up into the air, caressing it along its invisible folds as it wisps away towards the aging sun.
No, fate has not been kind at all to the young blue-eyed girl, who at this current moment is wishing for something to keep her from staggering into the steaming mush that used to be fresh white snow below her boots. Her mocha-colored hands shake violently in their dark blue mittens while large cyan orbs blankly stare out into the distance, into space, tears spilling out from the very corners of her eyes before making their unhurried way down the sloping contours of her facial features, traveling to their final destination that just so happens to be in her lap.
She remembers very little of the actual incident that was the cause of the complete annihilation strewn in front of her, except for the point that she was the one who laid such utter destruction to this place, but she doesn't really care to remember why she did so or even how. It will, after all, only bring waves of fresh pain tearing through her folded, shivering body, made frail from quite a while of emitting weird sounds that were halfway between a sob and a choke.
Somewhere, deep inside of her, Korra knows that it's completely pointless and stupid to keep on crying while keeling over in the snow to do so, because no amount of hearty bawling will bring those who have passed on into the Spirit World back, but she's terrified and lost and weak and stupid and what else is she supposed to do other than sob her heart out?
This is the point in the story wherein Korra finds a sudden and brilliant revelation in the word that is suicide.
"You spirits-damned coward. Good for nothing, that's what you are. You never want to face the problems you caused. You always have a choice between a solution and escape, and you choose to run away every single time. You hide behind your title as the Avatar and use it as an excuse to do whatever you want, and when the results of your petty little antics are clear, you leave others to clean up the mess, even when there are none. So no one can question you, just because you're the Avatar. You're the Avatar, so whatever you say is automatically law. At least Avatar Aang stood by to defend his home before he was killed by the Fire Nation. What have you done lately that makes you worthy of note?"
Korra just shrinks away and throws up a wall between the small part of herself that has not turned completely insane and the large one that has completely lost its mind.
Hence, launching herself off of the edge of a snowy cliff.
Maybe she's dreaming, but she thinks that she hears the wounded howl of a polar bear dog that sounds remarkably like Naga, as well as heavy footfalls planting in the snow behind her.
Air—she can feel its cold and sharp gusts parting around her, breezes stroking her exposed, cold face, murmuring in her ear that it's alright, everything will be okay—(but it won't be)—
Earth—its solidity detectable as she whizzes down, down towards the raging sea, rocks breaking off from the cliff face and following her sharp descent down down down—(this seems appropriate since she has obviously lost her grip on everything)—
Fire—the element that is absent in the world around her but very there in her soul, eating away at her because of what she's done with it, gnawing through her heart, and she is dimly aware that it will always be an integral part of her, reminding her of all the damage she has caused, drowning her in the past unless something permanent snuffs it out—(but memories can never truly die)—
Water—ah, water—Mother Sea and Father Moon, who gave her life, brought her into this world as a bawling baby, although no one knew of this curse that had been forced onto her—(it's fitting that she'll die by the sea's hand, then)—
—that's when she hits the roiling, tumbling mass of white-capped waves that crash against the icy cliff face above her, and she doesn't fight it, although instinct tells her to waterbend the hell out of there while she can (but that would ruin the point of suicide, wouldn't it?) although said water is slowly trickling its way into her chest, choking her, drowning her from the inside—
—until it isn't, because she has no control over anything anymore, and her vision is encroached by blinding white—
—the last coherent thought she has is that everything has gone terribly, horribly wrong.
For the collective works of the author, go here.