Chapter 1
Dear journal… I cross out the words.
This notebook was given to me by Katara, so… This sounds so bad and I’m an idiot. Why am I always ruining everything? Oh and this pen sucks.
I look at the meager letters written in the front page: KORRA.
A few years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to hold this pen. I remember the pressure I had to exert on it, the concentration I needed to print my own name on the pale paper, the fatigue and the anger I felt when I tried to tear out the page, and the resignation engulfing me as I threw away the book.
Katara offered me this journal by the time I was unable to take a single step without collapsing; using my arms was still painful and my mind was a total mess. I guess not everything has changed. Well, I can walk now, even run or spare (never winning though). My bending is back, my strength is nearly the same as before, and I might even have won a few inches on the way. Hurray.
I’m pathetic. I close my eyes and focus on my task. Write. Katara told this should help me figure out what to do. She told me to write whatever was in my mind, because sometimes “mind can be my greatest enemy”. I am not sure I understand the meaning of this.
Maybe writing will help me feel, I don’t know, free? Writing could be a way to escape from my daily recovery, from my duties and the world’s expectations; because I know I’ll never be allowed to. “Let the words and thoughts flow like water” would have say Katara. I guess I am bad for imitations too…
I am Korra, I am the Avatar. Since the day I was born, since Aang’s last breath. Or should I say, I used to be the Avatar, the bridge between humans and spirits, the master of all four elements. The most powerful being in earth, born to bring balance to the world, so was I told… Strong, self-confident, muscular, a fighter, a warrior… This isn’t me anymore.
Ugh, this is getting depressing. I don’t know what I’m supposed to write! Now I remember why I had left it in my bookshelf... I close the journal and look around me. I am alone in my room (finally), a weak light standing against the darkness of the night. Can’t sleep again. From here, I can hear muffled footsteps in the corridor; must be 3 am, time of the changing of guards. Or mum waking up to see if my lights are off. I can’t stop thinking of her worried eyes, and of my dad’s hair getting greyer every day.
I hate this. I hate being a stupid helpless avatar. I am useless. Fuck the Red lotus, fuck the white one, fuck everyone! I am not a puppet; and yet they're just waiting to see if the broken toy will work again one day.
With the winter solstice coming, nights are getting darker and longer, especially here in the South Pole. The stars look like they are playing hide and seek with the clouds, and the thin crescent moon emits a phantom glow which extends skeletal hands through my windows. One of her pallid fingers comes to graze my wheelchair standing proudly against the closet of my room. "We’re keeping it here just in case, you know... if you feel weak or anything"... If it wasn't made platinum, it would have been crushed since a long time.
I start drawing how it would look like, a wheel buckled above the back of the chair, the other hanging on its side… Huan would love the concept of my “New Era’s wheelchair”.
They used to see me as a failure, and know they see me as a burden. I am not that weak anymore, stop watching over me! I am nearly 21 and was never left on my own. How am I supposed to protect the world if no one trusts me ??!
My fist hit violently my journal... with the pen still in my hand. Crap. I've just won a big ink stain and a broken pen; guess the writing is over for tonight.
I close the diary and put it back on his assigned spot, then switch off the lights of my bedroom. My head falls heavily on my bed while I close my eyes. A white form stands against my eyelids but I don't want to open them. "Raava?" I wisper; but there is no answer.
I start to freak out as the white shadow intensifies and open my eyes widely. I am still alone in the night, but two whitish points glimmer on a corner: it's just the moonlight's reflection on the wheelchair's handles. I toss and turn in my bed, looking for sleep, but as I stick my head in the pillow, I know that somewhere in the darkness, two eyes are tirelessly watching over me...