This is less of a one-shot, and more of a tribute to what could be called the worst day in American history. 9-11. I got this idea when I was watching a clip of the Towers falling down in flames and I think I died a little inside. In the video I watched, a grown man broke down and started sobbing. What happened wasn't fair. It wasn't right, but it happened. It happened and we can't go back in time to change it. But we can look forward to the future and make sure nothing like that ever happens again, by acknowledging that it did occur and remembering those who died. And we can promise those people who gave up their lives, that their deaths weren't in vain. It's the least we can do, to never forget.
Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar the Last Airbender
The first three years that marked the Air Nomad genocide, there were no memorials. Everyone was too caught up in rebuilding what the war had destroyed. Most of them didn't notice the two fateful days that had massacred a fallen people. No one visited the temples that were littered with scraps of scorched cloth and bleached bones.
It was the fourth year, though, that the world finally took note. There were no Air Nomads-except for one. There were no flying bison-except for one. And each capital-including the new Southern Water Tribe one-strung up orange and yellow flags. The children painted on false blue tattoos and ran through the streets of their respectable cities, chanting blessings to the long-dead.
The Southern Air Temple-the most haunting off all the ruined temples-was temporarily holding a group of young heroes. They had stopped the war as mere children, but they were grown now. They were living the rest of their lives in peace.
A young man, only sixteen, gingerly held up the milk white skull of a child who had died before he could even begin airbending. A baby. This man, the last of his kind, touched the base of the skull and closed his eyes. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and he gasped. "I'm sorry," He whispered. It wasn't his fault, but it might as well been. He was older and he had survived. This boy, this little child, had not.
It wasn't fair.
None of this was fair.
Flames, beautiful, beautiful deadly flames shattered the windows of the nursery and spilled on the black tufted heads of the young children crouched there, holding hands and sobbing. They were scared and were calling for their guardians. Calling for someone to come rescue them. For someone, just anyone.
"Takki!" One of the bolder boys, only three, cried out as he crawled through the smoke on his chubby hands and knees. "Takki, where you?" He coughed his wide gray eyes stinging. "Takki?"
His guardian did not come.
The boy sat up, fat tears now streaming freely down his round cheeks. He was scared and his eyes hurt, and it was hot and he wanted Takki. The child bawled, his thick arms reaching up for someone to hold him like his guardian did. He needed someone. Anyone.
Please, just anyone!
Another blast of fire lit up the room and one of the scroll shelves was ignited. The children screamed for their guardians and begged for someone to come for them. A stone pillar in the hall ruptured. The boy howled for Takki once more.
More fire.
Smoke. So much smoke.
"Takki!"
Fire and smoke. Ashes. That was all that was left.
Aang let the skull fall to the ground as Katara, Sokka, Zuko, and Toph moved to his side. In each of their hands was a lotus flower, freshly picked for this occasion. They were all sad. Sad for their friend and sad for their own loved ones. It hurt to remember, but it hurt even more to forget.
"What was done here was unspeakable," Zuko said, softly. "It should have never happened."
The Avatar nodded slowly, inhaling deeply. "It's something that can never be erased. We'll never forget," He said and stepped towards the window of the Southern Air Temple, pressing his hands against the sill as he looked down to the world below. Then, he took the flower in his hands and set it forth with a warm zephyr. It fluttered.
Katara and Toph threw their flowers to join his and Sokka tossed his lotus amongst the others, solemn faced and silent. Zuko added his lotus to the mix and sent forth a tiny burst of fire so warm that it dried the tear streaks on their faces. The flowers turned to ashes and Aang set set them to the wind, watching as they rose ever so higher, higher, higher until it was finally gone. Gone to be free. There was nothing left for them, now.
They could be at peace, now.
Free.