Hola~ Guess who isn't dead! This prologue is just background info about herself and her life on Earth through the her, the main character's, eyes...hopefully she won't make you wanna shoot yourself and whatnot.

I really don't know what else to say, except that I obviously don't own Avatar. That belongs to James Cameron...who I believe patented it so it's pretty legit.

I had always hated Earth. It was a downright vile planet, now. My father had occasionally prattled on about the early 2000, the green movement, the desire for global unity, the fear of atomic weaponry, fear of climate change…all of which had long since died out. No one mentioned these things too often nowadays. They were much too concerned over their own devices to care about the dying Earth around them. Climate change? Too little too late. The green movement was nothing but a joke, used by the ironic hipsters that infest local coffee shops to point at their 'bohemian' style of dress…though occasionally maybe the thought of bohemianism existing today is ironic in itself…hm.

I had always been a quiet child. My parents were old-fashioned….in the sense that they ignored and went against every 'cutting-edge' piece of technology that came out. I preferred this life, never once do I remember coveting the brand new music players my friends had, the outdated record players that required a dainty and delicate touch were just as delightful to listen to. I didn't enjoy the bombardment of ads, lights, and people outside. I stayed in the slightly cluttered, outdated confines of my home full of dusty artifacts that used to fill the museums. I was brought up to be a very careful child, who handled giant texts from of Homer, Aristotle, of Confucianism, of Jefferson, of Legalism, of Communism, of Socialism, the works of Dr. Augustine, of Pandora, and the occasional daily newspaper with noted vigilance and interest. If you could not tell, my parents are archaeologists; my home was effectively a treasure trove or perhaps the phrase 'time capsule' was more appropriate.

My childhood friend whom I spent the majority of my 'social-life' with, called me an old lady…or some version of that, because of my odd lifestyle. It never bothered me all too much as I knew it was merely his way of showing affection. He played guitar and went on to become some sort of new-age rockstar, while I took to the violin, running a bow over carefully tuned strings like an amateur. While he preferred to mix 'fresh beats' with a synthesizer, I preferred to knit – which may have been the catalyst for my nickname – scarves, mittens, and the occasional bracelet. I remember one frigid winter he came unreasonably close to contracting a case of frostbite on his precious fingers, and so then I first picked up the needles and clumsily made him a pair of mittens. He mistook them for socks until I frustratingly berated him for such an error. My knitting has, of course, improved since then…I only wish my proficiency with the violin had also sprout forth from the immature seed of mediocrity. Well, I suppose I also wish that we had stayed in touch…I had developed a liking for his music after all.

Were you expecting a sob story? Were you expecting my parents to have hated me? To have abused me? To have died? Were you assuming that I had grown up on the streets? That I had lost my one true love and that I was a loose cannon cop with nothing to lose? …Alright, perhaps that last insincere remark was a reference to a film stereotype of the late 20th century, but I'm sure you've already gotten the gist of my early home life. It was entirely normal. I still have a strong bond with my parents; they…speak my language so to speak. The only thing we ever disagreed about was my decision to join the army instead of becoming a scientist, and even that passed after a few arguments. Once they realized I was serious and I was determined….well, they stitched their mouths shut. Why did I join the army? Why did I, an intellectual with no obvious physical prowess join the army? Well. With the state of the world at the time, it seemed necessary. Young people in any time period believe their main purpose to be to better the world in whatever way they think best, right? Still, it was foolish to think America's wars would fix anything. Peace was beyond Earth at the moment.

Countries no longer care about others; it is now a race to gather the most resources…to simply survive the longest before succumbing to the strangulation of the ghost of mother Earth. America has always had its own hand in the foreign affairs of others, and so, it had respectively spread itself too thin, attempting to fight a war on countless fronts, against countless enemies. Everything was scarce – from weapons to medical supplies…I blamed the shortages for the physical losses I had sustained in the war. Without a leg, arm, and eye I was useless to the military. They sent me back home to my parent's. I didn't want to be taken care of for the rest of my life. I didn't want to be stuck here… losing my own mobility made me realize how much I hated it here on my own home planet. It was disgusting. Having to watch the vile smog float about, shrouding the vile behavior and 'devil-may-care' attitude of the human race. I wanted out. A lot of people did. It was anything but avant-garde.

Limb replacement? That never took off. Much too costly. If you were an amputee in this day and age, you were dead and bloody in shark-infested waters. I couldn't compete for a spot in the Avatar program without a full set of limbs and vision receptors. A kind nurse took pity, the only positive human emotion, and pointed me in the direction of the, as I refer to him, The Good Doctor. He couldn't do anything about the eye, but the metal limbs work fine. The whole ordeal was rather painful, he had to reopen the old wound and connect every last nerve into the mechanical limb….but I postulate that it was simply a means to an end. Just a means to get me off this awful planet and to that fresh, new world you grew up hearing about.

I wasn't trained to be a scientist, perhaps I had the minimum knowledge to be an archaeologist, but none of the training – my parents kept me out of the field. I signed on for reconnaissance and or exploration – most likely I would be tasked with retrieving samples. I didn't care where they put me, who they put me with, or how, all I wanted was the new body. The new start. To be able to forget this broken, decrepit body. If only I could leave it on earth in order to effectively forget it. I suppose you have to wake up from every dream eventually. That's what Jake always said, and perhaps he possesses the mind of the average commoner of 2154, but I believe it's a very apt statement.

Hope it wasn't too boring. :3