I do not own avatar...

My fingers curved around the edge of the boat. The old wood sent splinters into my skin, but the pain was ignored as I lifted myself from the bottom of the boat. I knew better to stand, but the constant rocking of the boat as it hurled itself against the waterlogged boulder was so tremulous that even by sitting up I was thrown into the warm water.

Soaking, hungry and weak I crawled along the shallow sandy bottom. Unfortunately, the land I had before spotted was a cliff that reached hundreds of miles vertically with a wall so flat and bare even a healthy ostrich horse wouldn't be able to scour the premises. The water I had fallen into had a cold current running past me and into the open water.

The water came from a river sprouting forth from a narrow crack in the Cliffside. A sliver of an eroded pathway ran adjacent to the crevice, I knew exactly where I was, and there was no mistaking the discretion of such a passage. However, I wondered, what were the chances of me ending up in the Western Air Temple?

Worse were the circumstances. The Temple was long-abandoned and I was in serious need of help and nourishment. The closest thing in all this vast area was either the firenation themselves or their primeval fellowmen both were much too far and unwelcoming.

I couldn't die. It was the worst case scenario if I died. The world could exist without Aang, he is the gap between the spirit world and this world. But, the spirit world would fall to ruin without me, without my mortal life the spirit world is completely in disharmony with itself. My very existence brings balance. And if I died and the spirit world fell thereafter, this world would die as well.

Standing on the bow of the ship, the waters foaming against the metal point below me. It would be so easy to just throw myself into that deathly abyss. My heart pounding, my mind struggling to keep my exhausted body from letting go of the railing. The soldiers are coming, the captain, first mate, even the cook. Their hollow footsteps pounding, vibrations closer a quick voice shouting, "Get back here, tart."

Death would be sweet compared to the awful bitter consequences of not jumping. Hands clenched to the railing, this was my life against thousands, the good and the bad. Feet on tip toe, I wish they would slip, make it an accident instead of my fault. I had to survive, my nature, my calling.

"Hurry and stop me," I mumbled under my breath unable to turn and climb over the railing. I was pleading for them to save, beat, burn and ravish me rather than waste another minute deciding whether to jump or not. I knew what I wanted, but I also knew what had to be done. There was no stopping myself, tears falling into the churning water below and disappearing as soon as they left my sights.

I wish.

A rough fire-hot hand grabbed my wrist. My skin prickled and turned raw as the heat stunned the muscle beneath. I slipped. My head banged into the metal railing as the newly established link whip-lashed me against the side of the ship. A second hand grabbed my arm and although I was light from being half-starved to death they took some time in pulling me back up. My shoulder nearly dislocated.

They didn't pity my attempted suicide either. I was punished severely.

I found myself resting at the beginning of the path, just out of tide's reach. I pulled up my long sleeves. The soaked cloth was beginning to chill my already shivering body. The scars looked like a rare skin disease. They had been healing for a long time now. Blotches of pink and orange were burns and covered almost my entire forearms. White lines crisscrossed over the tops of my arms, from knives and swords. I didn't remember where I had gotten each of them, there were so many. Looking at them now with a faint moonlight only shows how little concern I have for them. And this was just my arms.

Scars are part of the past and only a remembrance of the pain my body has endured for the past century. It is nothing compared to the inner turmoil of dealing with how I got them.

This was like any other twisted man I'd been taken by. Eyes burning orange with unresisting lust, mouth hanging open like a panting wolf-bat. Just the very picture of a woman in their heads seems to make their blood boil. The force of his muscles against mine is hardly worth comparison. No matter how many time's I've gone through it I can never just go through it. I struggle, I do everything I can to fight back. Empty stomach, weak and beaten limbs. I would plead, but it only excites them more. Instead I either stay silent or bore them with my reasoning.

Each of those nights I've awakened with some scar or new pain in my flesh and mind. That morning I was probably still cradled in his arms, his skin still hot, but not as unbearable as when he was conscious.

I wish I had warmth right now. Even though I have a phobia of fire (why wouldn't I?), it would be comforting if I shut my eyes really tight. Just a gentle touch of life-giving heat would soothe my cold and tired soul.

For those of you wondering...

Arsonphobia fear of fire

And I apologize for my tenses, I do really hate editing and I don't do things right when I write them without revision. (With this being my first fanfic I'm really just trying to get through a whole story without giving up.)