I just want to be clear. The only reason I'm writing this is because chances are I'm probably going to be dead by this time tomorrow and I want to at least be remembered by some people. On no condition is this some kind of bullshit diary entry. That shit is for female teenagers going through puberty. As I said, bullshit. Also, just know that I'm in the middle of a warzone and am 12. So don't expect sweet talk over here. I'm damn near losing my mind and can't fall asleep anymore without having my hands grasping the nearest weapon to be used whenever possible.
Anyway, my name is Luke. That's the name I gave myself considering the first name I was given sounded like a man speaking in tongues while having a seizure. Monks tend to do that to you. You're lucky if you manage to get a one syllable name that doesn't sound like cancer to the ears. I don't have a last name. Nobody where I'm from does. To be more specific, "there" is the Southern Air Temple. Before it was reduced to shrapnel by the Fire Nation. During my time there, I wasn't treated like any of the others. I was drilled 18 hours a day and slept for 6. That adds up to 24. I think. I was being trained for 11 years in the arts of a talent that I had no grasp over, not even a touch. I was being taught airbending to no avail. The constant drilling and hardly any sleep was due to the fact that my older brother was some sort of messiah to the air nomads. The avatar. His name was Aang and I had the consequences of being directly related to him. He mastered airbending by twelve. I learned how to feed bison without nearly losing a hand by age 10. See the difference? Everything I know today is either self-taught or learned from my new peers. When this avatar couldn't hold up with the responsibility of being the most powerful person in the world, he ran away because, stress or some shit. I didn't ask.
A few months later. Shit broke loose. It was a normal night. Everyone was asleep excluding me. This is where the intro ends and shit gets real.