The third drabble I have written for this series. Conjured up in about five minutes at 1:00 in the morning.


Aang

(I know it looks easy, but in all reality, it's anything but…)

His life.

Working as the Avatar was anything but a walk in the park—always the peace treaties, go here, sign this, placate these people, wipe out that rebellion.

He was in love, though—a very particular woman had stolen his heart. And, he liked to think, he stole the very breath out of her lungs right back.

(I need you to think for a second…)

Oh she was beautiful. Oh she was perfect. Smart. A talented bender. Had quite an attitude once you got her going. But what would the monks think if they saw him now…? He had taken a vow of chastity—never marry. But how could he not, when he was so obviously in love with this woman?

He remembered the day the monks had taken him to get his Airbending tattoos. He was but a child then, barely twelve, when usually the procedure was performed at fifteen or sixteen…

He bled for days after that.

And they left him alone in a room, assuming he was content to sit and lie about and stare at the wall, when in reality he was anything but.

(All I wanted was a little company.)

His young, empty footsteps echoed morosely through the Temple—rotted vegetation clung to crumbling statues. The wind whipped around, sighing heavily into the ears of the earth; she groaned in response.

But nothing in the Temple responded. Nothing living there groaned back.

He scratched at the wall, and his hand came away black and sooty. Memoirs of a people long gone—of HIS people long gone—and how mind-numbingly lonely it was, being the very last Airbender.

And, Aang realized with a horrified shake of the head, he was more terrified of the loneliness than anything else.