A/N: So here we are. I don't think this has been done yet; everything pre-Avatar I've found involves adult characters arriving at Pandora (or Jake in Venezuela…). Being the future elementary-education major that I am, I decided to write about Earth through the eyes of some of our favorite characters… as children. Chapters are in chronological order (meaning that Grace, as the oldest, is first, then Max, then Norm, then Trudy, then Jake & Tommy). I'm not writing Selfridge and Parker or any of the other RDA guys 'cause I don't like them. I may come back and add them after I finish with everyone else.
All units of time are Earth time, since that's the setting of this fic.
THIMBLES! And on with the fic…
Saran VD
Dear Children of the Earth
Grace Augustine
January 30, 2115
Grace Augustine removed her oxygen mask as she stepped inside of the rusty little building that she and her family called home. In her arms, she held one of her most prized possessions: a dilapidated fourth-grade science book. A pen was tucked behind her ear.
"Mom, I'm home!" she called out, clearly annoyed with her location.
Julia Augustine, a red-haired woman in her early thirties who wore a raggedy old dress with a dirty apron, peeked her head out of the tiny kitchen. Her flour-covered face broke into a smile at the sight of the ten year old. "Hey, Gracie, dear," said Julia, emerging and wiping her hands on the apron, making them dirtier than before. "How was school?"
Grace rolled her eyes at the stupid nickname. "It was fun. We talked about animals. Wild ones," she added as clarification. "Not the kind we harvest." Grace's brown eyes went misty at the thought. "Ms. Betriz said something about el-e-phants," she said, pronouncing the foreign word carefully. "She said that we hunted them to almost extinction even before Africa was fully modernized. Then they all died." There was genuine sadness on Grace's little face. "They were one of the first. Them and rhinos. They were both called pach-y-derms. But there aren't any pachyderms left anymore. They were all gone almost seventy years ago."
"That's very interesting, Gracie," said Julia, who clearly didn't care at all. "Do you have any homework?"
Grace nodded happily. "She gave us some reading on pachyderms. She said we might have a quiz tomorrow."
"Well, then, run along to your room and do it."
Grace obeyed, walking briskly to her closet-sized bedroom and shutting the door behind her. There was barely room for her bed and dresser in the room, but Grace still adored it for one simple reason: Grace's room was one of the few rooms in the house that had a window.
The window was covered in dust and dirt and smog, but Grace could've cared less. Whenever the tiniest bit of sun penetrated the pollution, you could bet that Grace's little face could be seen in her window as she soaked up whatever UV rays made it through the glass.
Now, Grace flopped onto her bed- a retired military bunk- and opened her textbook. Books were rare these days, for paper was becoming harder and harder to come by. More and more people began putting the information online to be accessed via the transparent screens-that-were-actually-computers, aka the CompScreens, that had become so widespread in the past decade. Grace didn't like reading on the CompScreens, though. They were transparent, and it was hard to see them unless you held them up to something that was a solid color.
She slowly opened the book, turning the yellowing pages until she reached what she was looking for: Chapter 12: Pachyderms.
The first thing that the book told her about these strange creatures was that "pachyderm" wasn't an appropriate scientific term.
Naturally, this didn't sit well with Grace, whose eyes narrowed as she read. If it isn't accurate, why use it? She knew that the stupider people in her class would be confused, and they'd use the word "pachyderm" in class and lose points from Ms. Betriz. However, she also knew that no one would really care about the inaccuracy of names of long-extinct creatures. In Grace's mind, though, their extinction meant that they deserved more respect.
She took the pen out from behind her ear to make a note for herself. It took her some time to find space to write amidst the reminders she had written on her arms throughout the day, but she found space on her wrist. After writing, "Look up real names for pachyderms," in a bracelet-like manner around her wrist, she turned her attention back to the book.
It took Grace maybe ten minutes to finish the eight pages that needed reading. Bored, she scooted to her headboard and stared out of her window at the streets.
Their little apartment was street-level, perfect to allow Grace to watch the people walk about. There were many of them, all wearing their oxygen masks to keep the smog out of their lungs. They all walked quickly through the graying streets, each one looking rather melancholy. It made Grace want to scream with annoyance that so many people had done so much to make life "better" and were now regretting it. They had killed their planet. Why?
Eyebrows furrowed, Grace was wrenched out of her thoughts by a cry from the front door. "I'm home!"
The anger in her eyes melted away, and she ran to the front door and flung herself at the tired man who had just entered the house. "Daddy!" she cried as she burrowed her face into his jacket. Her father worked tending the plants at one of the greenhouses, and he smelled of dirt and soil and plants. It was a smell that Grace found relieving, to say the least. A nice break from the smell and sight of smog.
"Gracie!" called her father. Grace didn't even object to the nickname as she hugged him; he was allowed to call her that. Alan Augustine hugged her back with one hand. The other held a box that had been wrapped in tin foil, of all things. "Happy birthday," he said, kneeling at her feet and presenting the box to her with a flourish.
Grace's brown eyes got wide. She had heard tales of the old days when people could afford to give out trinkets on birthdays. Ms. Betriz had told them about birthday parties in history class, when friends and family gathered together and ate cake and gave the birthday child gifts. But the disintegrating economy had made them obsolete.
"For me?" she asked, tugging at the end of one of her long, red plaits in eager anticipation.
"It's not every day that my daughter turns eleven."
Julia left her station in the kitchen and joined the rest of the family in the entryway. "Bread's in the oven," she said. "What do you have in the box, Grace?"
Grace was slowly and carefully peeling the foil away from the box. She handed the wrinkled sheet of metal to her mother. "We can reuse it," she said, not taking her eyes off the box. She slowly and carefully removed the lid.
Inside the box, nestled in leaf litter, sat a plastic flower pot. The kind that the greenhouse used to grow seedlings before they were ready to be transferred to a bigger space. And inside the plastic flower pot sat a tiny little plant, barely two inches tall.
"I found that growing with a tomato plant," Alan said as Grace slowly removed the gift from the box. "I think it's a dandelion. There'll be a pretty yellow flower growing there before you know it. All it needs is some water and sunlight."
Grace just continued to stare at it. Except for the little grass that still grew in a few areas of the city, Grace had never seen a plant up close and personal. The little green plant was full of promise. Part of her pointed out that dandelions were weeds, but she didn't care. Weed or not, it was green. Green and growing, which was a lot more than she could say for a lot of things.
"Thank you," she said, her voice a whisper. "Thank you so much." Holding the flower pot like it was some sacred object, she carried it into her room and placed it lightly on her windowsill.
For the next two months, Grace watered the dandelion religiously. She took daily notes on its appearance and growth. It grew from two inches tall to almost eight inches, with leaves that fanned out with a diameter of about ten inches. It seemed to brighten up her bedroom, especially when, one bleak, March morning, she spotted a bud.
Grace had practically squealed with delight as she took a note in her journal. A flower, she said to herself as she grabbed her oxygen mask and bounded off to school for the day. Just think, a flower in my room. I bet I'm the only one with a flower in my room.
As much as Grace had wanted to brag about it, she didn't want her dandelion stolen. The little plant was her secret. She wasn't going to share it with anyone.
When Grace got home, she dashed to her room first thing. She stood beside the dandelion in awe.
The little bud had bloomed while she was at school. A sunny flower, maybe an inch across, now stuck up cheerfully, seeming to smile at her.
Grace didn't take any notes that day. She didn't bother. She just stared at the little flower, looking up at it with every sentence she read.
The blossom gave her some kind of hope. If a weed could grow in her bedroom, shouldn't it be able to go outside? Perhaps her father would show her a way to plant it outside that weekend. Satisfied, Grace went to bed that night thinking only happy thoughts.
But all good things must end. By the time the weekend rolled around, the blossom had gone, leaving a little puffball in its place. Saddened, Grace carried the plant forlornly out of her bedroom and showed it to Alan.
"What's up, Gracie?" asked Alan, looking up from the notes he'd written about his plants.
Grace held the dandelion up a little higher.
"Oh, Grace," said Alan, noticing the tears that were threatening to overflow. "Come here. Let me show you something." He grabbed them each an oxygen mask and led her outside.
They stood on the sidewalk in front of the building, Grace protecting the plant with her arms as well as she could.
"Grace," Alan explained. "The white things are seeds. Back when these grew all over, people would blow the seeds into the air and make a wish. If they blew all the seeds away at once, then the wish would come true." He made eye contact with Grace; two identical brown eyes staring at each other. "Would you like to try?"
Grace nodded, inhaled deeply, and removed her oxygen mask. She exhaled heavily onto the puffball, and wished as hard as she could: I wish I could be somewhere greener.
A head of dandelion fuzzies took to the air. Grace looked at the stem that remained of her precious plant and smiled just a bit. The seeds could still germinate. And her wish would have to come true.
There was still a chance for things to be good again.