Listen:

The city is cacophonous, as always. Children are screaming, rickshaws are rattling, friends are speaking.

Listen:

In a large, beautiful building surrounded by a manicured lawn and perfect rows of flowering plum trees, a man is making a speech. He is charismatic, and handsome. Kids love him.

He speaks of discrimination. Of unequal opportunity. His words are reasonable. They resonate deep within his audience. They are the truth.

He begins to tear up, partly for show, and partly for emotion. He tells a story of his father, who never had anything handed to him. He speaks of hard work. He speaks of those who work hard, and those who do not.

And he asks:

Is this fair?

It's not. It never was. It never will be.

Listen:

The speech is over, but there is no silence. First, there is applause, and then there is discussion. There is agreement.

The guests leave the building, and they do not notice the plum-blossoms, or the green grass. Nobody comments on the clouds amassing over the city. Nobody remarks, "A storm is coming."

Listen:

A little boy yelps as a man kicks him out of his way. The man has always been kind to the Republic City's street children, and had given the boy bread on many occasions, for his waterbending tricks.

As the child began to cry, the man's wife looks at their servant.

"We don't want to see this boy near our complex again."

Did you hear it?

That's the sound of a beginning.

And if you listen closely, you can hear its end.