There was a time when I was needed.

There was a time when I was important. There was a time when I meant something; when I helped turn the world around and changed people's lives.

But things are different now. The times, apparently, have changed.

Three years ago, my world was diseased. It was corrupted. It was completely and totally messed up. And I was blind.

Some guy out there once said "Ignorance is bliss." And oh, how I loved being "bliss".

But don't get me wrong. I wouldn't say that my life was the spectacle of perfection back then, either. Sure, I could ask for a cup of hot tea and it'd be delivered to my outstretched hand in three minutes or less. Yes, I was allowed to test drive all the latest automobile models by the age of eleven. And so what if my father had enough money in his back pocket to end world hunger? My life still was never what I'd call "ideal".

I had countless treasures; an endless amount of priceless junk that a lot of people in Republic City would sell there bending for. I had everything. I had the world.

But I had no mother; she had been taken away from my father and me when I was just six.

Now, there's something funny about us when we're just kids. During those years, certain things in the world don't make sense to us; we simply can't comprehend what they mean. You can't ask a five year old to construct a device that could record Pro-Bending Tournaments from a live broadcast. (If you happen to know of any, though, I'd be honored to meet their aquantaince.) You can't expect a seven year old to have the capacity to command a United Forces warship. I don't care how bossy the kid happens to be. Kids are just too young to be dealing with topics such as those.

So when mom died, I cried a few times, threw a few temper tantrums, broke a few priceless vases, and went back to listening to the Pro-Bending Championship on the radio. As time went on I started to understand more of what that meant. Mom wasn't just gone on some extremely long and costly business vacation overseas- she was gone for good, and wasn't going to pull the covers over me at nightime ever again. But by the time I'd started to understand this, by the time I'd realized what death really meant, I was already starting to forget my mom's face.

That only really affected me one time. I had been having dreams about her; my mom. When the dreams first started, they were wonderful. I couldn't wait to get home from my self defense classes every evening and lay in bed. I'd lay there moments before my eyes closed for the night, hoping that I'd once again dream of her. The lovely dreams went on for a few weeks, and they kept me content about my mother's death. I'd rather see her happy and full of joy in my dreams, then having to deal with all life's problems in the real world.

But then she started to fade.

The first thing to leave was her smile. It was so bright, so full of cheer that it was dangerously contagious. She'd literally walk into a room, and the whole place would be filled to the brim with grinning faces. So the night that I dreamed of her, and she had no smile on her face, I woke up in cold sweat and cried myself into the early morning hours. Her eyes came next. They didn't gleam like a pond when the sun's rays reflect off it at sunset. They were bland and grey. And I spent many more nights sitting wide awake at the side of my bed staring at the floorboards. I couldn't fall asleep, not when that foreign woman kept invading my dreams.

One night I found myself at my father's bedside, shivering in my thin nightgown. Frozen remnants of tears streaked my face as I watched him sleep fitfully. He was turned on his side, his back turned to me, his arm spread across the the other half of his two person bed. Father always lay down as though his wife was asleep peacefully next to him. I tapped his shoulder with the tips of my fingers, receiving a low grunt in reply.

"Dad?" I remember saying. I waited there for him to respond; for him to turn around and comfort me. But his constant groanings and grunts told me that tonight wasn't the night to bother him with my problems. So I turned around and walked toward the door as my eyes started to sting again.

"Asami?" I turned and saw dad sitting up in his bed, looking at me with weary eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Dad…Dad, how-how did she look?" I wrapped my arms tighter around me, trying to calm myself down as my tears started to swell up in my eyes and my shoulder started to shake.

"Come here, Asami."

I walked toward him, swaying from foot to foot as sobs began to rock my body. He swung his legs around planting his feet firmly on the floor and picked me up to sit next to him on the bed. "Now, what's going on?"

"I can't remember…"

"Remember what?"

"Mom," I whispered. I felt so cold, so alone. I was so sure no one else knew what was happening to me. No one else could possibly know how I was feeling. I looked up at my father, the great Hiroshi Sato, leader of Future Industries. He was my dad. And he was a millioniare businessman. Sometimes I'd get the two mixed up. I wondered if this would be one of those times. "Did she used to smile?"

"Of course she did."

"Then…why can't remember? Why can't I remember her smile, Dad? Why am I starting to forget?"

He said nothing. The great millionaire, Hiroshi Sato, said nothing for quite a long time.

I'm all alone.

Then he put his arm around me, and pulled my head into his side. The cold left my body as his immense form blocked the air coming in from the open window. I listened to the quick rythym of his heart. I imagined that it always started to race when he thought of mom. "You remind me of her," he began, keeping me tight against him. "Just take the time to look into a mirror, Asami."

"What?"

"You're a spitting image of her. Did you know that?"

"No."

"When you wake up in the morning, take a good look at yourself."

"And I'll remember?"

"Yes, Asami. If you look into the mirror and smile, you'll never forget. Can you do that for me, Asami? Can you keep smiling and help me to not forget either?"

"Does it get hard for you too, dad?"

"All the time. But it'll get easier, Asami. One day, I'll fix everything."

I didn't know what he meant at the time, nor did I really care. Because I was just a kid, and there were just somethings kids can't understand, right?

Life went on after that night. I made sure to get a good look at myself in the mirror every morning while getting ready. Though that became more of a necessity considering how much of the latest makeup and perfumes I'd owned. My self defense classes continued, where I constantly learned the martial arts from the non-benders of Republic city. The benders also taught various non-bending self defense classe. In these classes, they'd show you bending technique, which could still be used to defend yourself when you needed to.

Though, under strict orders from my father, I wasn't allowed to learn under any of these teachers.

While I wasn't learning martial arts, I spent my time in my dad's factories at Future Industries. From spending so much time around the new inventions such as the Satomobile, I became very "tech-savvy" with his work. He saw the obvious potential in me and took no time to appoint as the official Tester of his machines. I didn't mind the job, even though it did involve the occassional near death experience. I had grown older with a heart for adventure, and driving around my father's machines gave me plenty of it. But that was getting a little tedious to be honest. I needed something new, refreshing.

So when I ran over the cute Pro-bender while taking an afternoon strole on one of my dad's mopeds…well, I considered it a miracle.

A/N: Okay, so this is my first fic on fanfiction. I also have a fictionpress account so I'm not exactly new to writing. But still- don't be too hard on a guy lol R/R

-Jeyman