Written for the Pro-bending Circuit | Round 2
Task: Write a story from the PoV of a baby and his/her thoughts of his/her new parents
Prompts:
Easy: (word) feathers
Medium: (smell) baby powder
Hard: (restriction) No dialogue
Team: Laogai Lion Vultures
Position: Earthbender
Word Count: 855
Babies don't really get to choose what they see, or what they eat, or what they do, or where they go, and that fact would have greatly annoyed Korra, if she had any capacity to feel annoyed at all. The thoughts of newborns rarely went past ideas of good and bad. Things were simple like that.
Things filling her ears were bad - physical things worse, but sounds as well. A little sound was alright; it made her not feel so alone, and usually she would join in with a gurgle or chirp. Ruckuses were not as welcome, and she would cry with tenfold strength, for if noise was going to fill the air, it might as well be hers.
The noise would usually bring her parents to her side. Her parents were good. They were the bearers of warm embraces and clean clothes, good food and kind voices. And they did it all very happily, for they were happy together and happy with her. Things were simple, and they looked for little else than what they already had behind their house's walls. Though Korra, even from those earliest days, had always seen more.
Her mother and father were good, she was sure, because it was always around them; a tiny, paper-thin sliver of light, that floated around the like a little blue kite.
The little blue kite, of course, was Raava, though Korra knew not what blue or kite or Raava was, just that the swirling light was good.
It floated by the drips of water that sometimes fell from the roof of the house. It twirled around the candle on the table, but it never threw any shadows. It nestled into the cracks of the stone walls and seemed to sleep.
It sat by her cot and talked to her in some language without words, for if it had talked with words, Korra would not have been able to understand nearly as well as she did. It kept her company, and there was a familiarity in it, as if she and the little light had been doing this for eternity.
It liked to swirl around her parents. When her father lifted her into the baby powder scented air, it sat gently on his head, and her laughs would come in part from his strange, new hat. When her mother walked in, it would float by her side with the same softness of feathers falling. When they walked in together, turned on the radio - Korra liked that noise especially - and danced just for the sake of dancing, Raava danced with them.
This is good. And this is love. this is light, and this is peace, it seemed to say, and Korra understood that in her own way. Things were simple like that.
When she could start to toddle, things were still plain good or bad, but now she was able to seek things out and decide which one they were. That usually meant grabbing things with pudgy fingers and sticking them in her mouth, which settled the question quite quickly.
Her parents smiled when they saw her reach her hands up to catch nothing, or at least, nothing to them. Always just out of reach, the little blue kite still flew around her head like a halo. That was good, for Korra hated being alone, though she rarely ever was.
She had many was a woman, with a painted white face and a golden crown, who wore green brighter than any she'd ever seen. There was a man in russet reds, hair white as snow and eyes golden. There was one cloaked in yellow and orange, with a smile so bright it calmed her even in the darkest of nights.
She had never seen them before in her life, but they were as familiar to her as her own two hands.
If ever she found a lonely moment, if ever she woke up in the middle of the night to darkness, they would be there at the side of her cot, watching over her. They sometimes spoke, but she was too young to even try to understand, though it all must have been good, for she always felt content.
They were good. Though never as warm as the sight of her parents, and not nearly as constant. Other thoughts swelled in her mind as she grew, and the little blue kite and her strange visitors were passing breezes lost in the cl. Things grew less simple; even as just a toddler she knew things went beyond just good and bad, and in this world their images faded into the background. Though she grew to forget those moments, their names were always just at the tip of her tongue, their stories just at the back of her mind, like a well of oil under the surface just waiting to be struck.
Korra hardly noticed the loss. Her parents were there, warm and gentle and good, and that was enough for her. Though the little blue light failed to show, peace and love were never lost. Her parent were just a room away, after all.