Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of any of the characters or ideas of Avatar: the Last Airbender. I make no profit with the posting of this collection.
Notes: This is a collection of one-liners written for the livejournal theme-challenge community 1sentence, the goal of which is to write a single sentence for each of fifty themes. None of the following sentences are directly related, though a few are thematically similar (for example: one and twenty). Crit is welcomed. :)
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one: comfort
good-bye (hello)
In the great hall of the Fire Lord's palace she turned to him: "When you've finished," she said, touching his cheek, "when you've come back to us, I'll be here."
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two: kiss
kindnesses
He kissed her only once, the sort between friends, a chaste touch to the corner of her mouth as she laughed at his joke (something about tempers, and princes); the next day he smiled when he ought and said what he should, and it did not hurt so deep when she married the prince.
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three: soft
delicate
Katara inspired within him the sort of delicate yearning so vital to first love: gentle and exquisite; crumbling if held too tightly to the heart.
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four: pain
dearest
What was it that stung most? the rough elegance of her hands, the shape of her throat, the way she said his name: Aang, trusted; Aang, beloved; Aang, friend.
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five: potatoes
sweet
When the coin purse is fat enough she buys small things at market, trinkets and treats not particularly needed but quietly craved: a new knife for Sokka, a roll of ribbon for herself; for Aang a bag of candied potatoes, sticky sweet and warm.
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six: rain
dripping
"Come inside," she says, gently, taking his hand: "You'll catch cold if you're out here too long."
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seven: chocolate
pieces
"Try it," he said, "you'll like it," and laughed when she asked for another piece; larger, please.
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eight: happiness
gentler dreams
Do you recall the warmth of another sleeping soft beside you; the slow, helpless, swelling joy of waking to a sweeter world?
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nine: telephone
static
She says his name and it sounds to him as though from a great and terrible distance: Aang, Aang, look at me, wake up, Aang.
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ten: ears
one beat, another
His heartbeat trembled in his ears, and when she smiled he thought his heart might burst.
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eleven: name
mantra
Gyatso taught him the religion of names, the lilt and call necessary to each; when Aang spoke they were prayers: Gyatso, Kuzon, Bumi, Katara, Katara, Katara.
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twelve: sensual
five
The tongue to taste, the nose to smell; the eye to see, the ear to hear; the hand, then, to touch, and beneath his fingers at her wrist the heart, beating -- very softly she says his name.
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thirteen: death
in ceasing
She held his hand to her breast, knuckles to the beat of her heart, and though the film of her eyes burned, she did not cry.
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fourteen: sex
grace
Aang is fifteen, Katara seventeen, both somewhere ungainly in the rough grace of burgeoning adulthood -- he reaches for her hand; "hello," she says, and he smiles.
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fifteen: touch
repose
She thought to touch the soft skin at the nape of his throat, a pale line curving gracefully as he bowed his head.
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sixteen: weakness
strength
"Don't worry," she told him, squeezing his arm gently, "I'm not about to be your weak flank, Aang."
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seventeen: tears
honesty
A simplicity to her sorrow: she wept in silence, and dried her eyes, and soon again she would smile at him.
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eighteen: speed
dash
"Keep up if you can," she tossed off, grinning over her shoulder, and Aang dug his toes in the dirt.
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nineteen: wind
rise up
The wind cut her flesh, brought tears to her eyes; "Aang," she said -- the wind swallowed her words -- "Aang, please, listen to me, you have to listen to me," and all around her the wind: rising, screaming, devouring her whole.
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twenty: freedom
good-bye (hello) redux
"It's over," he said, and she folded him into her arms, pressed her mouth to his cheek as he shook, said: "It's all right; I'm here -- it's all right."
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twenty-one: life
simple
"It's not easy," she said, watching the light on his face, "but it's worth it, I think."
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twenty-two: jealousy
the lady protests
"I'm not jealous," she snapped, and three feet behind Aang a jug of water exploded.
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twenty-three: hands
sonata
Like him Katara has two hands, but there the similarities end: her fingers are graceful, and rough; the skin dark and cool; when she moves her hands it's like poetry -- fluttering, rising, swinging low on the note of her voice.
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twenty-four: taste
sweeter things
He likes sugary things most, candies and certain sweet fruits; Katara tends more to the practical -- what's near, what fills her belly -- but when he asks, she accepts, and behind them a trail of peach pits.
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twenty-five: devotion
ruth
"Where ever you go," she tells him, "I'll be with you."
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twenty-six: forever
dust to dust
Life, death, and life again -- "I'll never forget you," he tells her, and who can say if he will?
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twenty-seven: blood
beneath your fingernails
She mends flesh, bone, the long lines of muscle beneath and above; after, in the ash of the battlefield, he watches quietly as she douses her hands in water, washing and washing until the water turns to rust.
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twenty-eight: sickness
mother
Am I dying? no, she says, smoothing a hand across his brow; no, I'm here with you.
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twenty-nine: melody
memory like glass
She sang in the still of dusk: clever moon, who birthed the sky; clever sun, who stole it back; clever earth, who saw them both... -- how strange, that they remained the same songs he remembered from the bittersweet days a hundred years gone.
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thirty: star
starlight
"There," he said, and she followed his finger to the faint, wavering light of a star lost in the dark.
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thirty-one: home
remnants
This is what remains: puppets of ash and bone in place of the living and the loved; temples of metal workings and steam; a girl with dark hair and blue eyes and the sea at the end of her fingers.
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thirty-two: confusion
taking offense
The sequestered childhood of a monk did little to teach Aang the workings of girls, much less girls from the Water Tribes (though he wasn't quite sure what difference that made) -- "trust me," Sokka said, dryly, "you're never gonna figure out what makes 'em tick."
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thirty-three: fear
darker dreams
She boils water for tea and he arranges tea leaves in the bottoms of their chipped pair of teacups; midnight, at the sleepless, dreamless center of the world, and when she pours the water she asks if he'd like to tell her.
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thirty-four: lightning/thunder
raingirl
Storms roll in and storms roll out; always he finds her watching the rain fall, palms held up to the sky.
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thirty-five: bonds
aware
How selfish: he wanted to touch her hair, count the number of fingers on each of her long hands; melt with the beating of her heart and in so doing forsake the world.
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thirty-six: market
necessity
Beautiful things at market, strange things: glass bottles blown thin as ghosts, dried fruits sweeter than rain -- "not now," she tells him, counting apples to the copper, "we've only enough for food."
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thirty-seven: technology
histories
This is the history of air, he tells her, which does not change but grows.
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thirty-eight: gift
years
He sends her the seeds of twining trees in a blue silk bag; he sends her an oak box of small stones from a river; he sends her letters and they read: I'm fine how are you it's cold where I am but there's hope I miss you love Aang.
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thirty-nine: smile
shade
She smiled and turned away -- Katara, he wanted to say; Katara.
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forty: innocence
heartburst
He loves her - that's all.
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forty-one: completion
traveller
A week after the end of the world they skipped rocks out to sea -- "where to now?" she said, and he shrugged, handing her another stone as he said, "With you, I guess."
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forty-two: clouds
pearls
At night a thousand miles above the ocean blue below, she taught him how to peel beads of water from clouds; "training," she explained, "for concentration," and rolled the beads to her fingertips with a long flick of her wrist.
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forty-three: sky
the beholder
"Isn't it beautiful?" she said -- sunset turning the sky to fire; on the horizon the moon -- he looked to her and then the sky, and had no words he could say.
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forty-four: heaven
side by side
"Hey," she says, gently, "it's about time you woke up, sleepyhead."
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forty-five: hell
ever after
She learned to keep her eyes off the sky and her feet on the ground; when asked if she was Katara, the Katara, she would smile and shake her head and say no, she doesn't live here, I'm sorry.
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forty-six: sun
drowsy
He curls up beside her in the morning: dawn turns her skin copper, his a softer shade of gold; where he ends she begins.
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forty-seven: moon
sacred
Painful, the sharpness of the moonlight, the curve of her cheek as she turned from the sky.
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forty-eight: waves
autumn sand
The tide rolled against her ankles in a cold froth and he laughed as she danced on her toes; "shut up," she said, holding her hand out to him, "and come on: it's not all bad."
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forty-nine: hair
winding
He helped, once, braiding her hair -- aware, sharply, of the heat of her throat just beyond his fingers.
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fifty: supernova
blossom
"Hey," he said, touching her cheek with his fingertips -- "hey," she said, and covered his hand with her own.
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end
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