Hey all. This is my first shot at an Avatar fic: a little Kataang ficlet inspired by the song "Metaphor" from the off-Broadway musical, The Fantasticks. It's a lovely show. I had to read it for Acting Ensemble for my monologue assignment. I definitely recommend it.
Disclaimer: I do now own Avatar: The Last Airbender (to say I did would be an insult to Mike and Bryan, a.k.a. the Almighty Creators), nor do I own "Metaphor" from The Fantasticks, which was written by Tom Jones.
Dedicated to all my fellow Kataangists at the Distant Horizon forums for being just plain pwnsome.
She is so many things to him.
When he first looked into her eyes on that fateful day, the day he was freed from his icy prison of one hundred years, he could feel the chill recede from his benumbed body, and suddenly he was warm like never before. In fact, it was not until he finally tore his eyes away from hers that he was able to take full notice of his frozen surroundings. And even when he absconded from those frozen surroundings, no matter where he went, he could feel that wonderful warmth envelope him whenever he looked into her eyes. And he still does.
She is heat.
When he watches her manipulate her element, he can't help but compare them. They are so alike in so many ways. One minute, she exudes the harmony and tranquility of the calmest pond. The next minute, however, she is as harsh and unpredictable as the roughest rapids. She is adaptable. She can be deadly and unforgiving when she needs to be, and when the occasion arises, she can be soothing and healing. And somehow, he notes, she still manages to remain limpid and graceful all the while. He notices these similarities whenever he is in her presence, regardless of whether or not she is waterbending. She captivates him.
She is water.
But that's barely scratching the surface.
She is a flower, beautiful and soft to both his eyes and skin. She is a song, pacifying his soul whenever he hears her sweet sound. She is the sun, arousing him from his nightly slumber with her brightness and radiance, and also the moon, a soft beacon of light glowing in the darkness. She is the gentle hand that rests upon his cheek to comfort him and wipe away his tears. She is his rhyme and his reason, the empowering and unrelenting voice in the depths of his mind, encouraging him and driving him ever forward. She is the net that catches him when he falls, and the arms that offer to carry his burden when the weight of the world is too much for him bear. She is his catharsis; his emotional and spiritual release.
And still, she is so much more.
He knows these are only metaphors. She is not actually any of these things; the words are only figurative in nature.
But the words are anything but figurative when he says to her:
"You are everything to me."
Thanks for reading. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Flames will be used to make s'mores.
May the Kataang be with you.
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