|
epitome of incomprehensibility
|
It's a hassle taking the bus and metro into the communist side of Montreal, so my mom drives me. I'm dropping off something at a friend's house, I'm not sure what, but on the way she stops so I can get out and see the ruin on the side of the highway: a pile of broken concrete, pebbles, and rusted metal bolts.
I've been told it used to be a wall between the two sections of Montreal, but when I look closer I see an intact window into an underground bunker, which resembles the cockpit of a small aircraft but reminds me of the skylight into the Place des Arts metro station (see, e.g., here: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Place_des_Arts,_light_well,_Montreal_2005-10-21.JPG).
And then I realize. The ruin I'm standing in is actually the remains of the Fire Nation embassy. I'm part of this nation, which is called Agni, the Sanskrit word for fire (sort of; nouns take different endings depending on what they do in a sentence). It's been, perhaps ironically, burned; what couldn't be burned has been smashed up.
Nothing like this has happened to the embassies of the other three nations governing Montreal.
But little do they know we're coming back, from the underground upwards, a concrete and glass phoenix. Agni will rise again!
(How's that for a dream_movie - at least, dream_fanfiction - of a show I never watched? I mean, there WAS a Fire Nation, wasn't there?)
|
210627
|
