Honestly, I can't tell you exactly what I did. I could never do anything right. Maybe it's because I don't know what is right and what is wrong. I can't tell you who I am. I can't tell you who I used to be, except for little details that I could find if I looked up my name. I want to be myself again, but I don't know. I honestly have no clue, whatsoever.
I spend most of days alone, seemingly hiding from the world, from them, from everything. You can find in my lab, just building- creating- trying to make something so that maybe I'll be happy again.
Everyone had left. Everyone. I don't know what I felt. I'm not really sure what I ever felt. Whatever I felt, I didn't want it to attach to them- they were just too perfect; they actually knew how to breathe; I didn't fit in with them anyway.
Why am I here? I ask myself this question everyday. This mirror tells me I'm handsome, with my rough beard and my tousled brown hair. I used to be someone. I used to be someone everyone looked up to. I used to be happy, whatever happy is. I used to be a hero.
What is a hero? I don't remember anymore. Time has come and gone and washed away everything that I had loved- the storm had taken everyone who loved me to a safer place. They worry me. They used to come to see me. The hardly come anymore. I am alone.
I often try to remember what it was that made me like this. What was it that did this to me? I can't remember. When I try to think, nothing is there. I'm beginning to think I did this to myself.
I used to be sad. I used to be so sad. I was so sad that everyone left; I was sad that they visited to make sure I was alright. I wonder what sadness feels like. I cannot remember emotion much anymore. All I can remember is loneliness.
Maybe I'm going mad. Maybe I've already gone mad. Either way I'm insane. Either way, who really cares? I'm not sure. I've never met anyone that did, at least to what I can remember.
I spend every hour these days trying to remember. Remembering things is a hard task, especially when I'm not sure that anything ever really happened. I spend hours repeating the actions I've done before, attempting to provoke the same response that used to occur. Nothing happens. I am not disappointed.
There are days when I don't get out of bed. I don't eat for days; I simply don't eat. It can be weeks before someone comes, seeing my fragile figure, pulling me out of bed and forcing to eat again. I don't remember how long it has been since that last happened. I don't remember that last time I slept. Or ate.
All I know is that I'm building something right now. I don't question myself. I never do. No one does. Even on the days when someone comes to visit, not a word is said. Somehow, even with someone finally there, I feel as lonely as if they weren't. All I know is loneliness. Maybe it is there to stay forever.
I think someone lives in the same house as me. I don't see them, but there are times when I hear someone talking to me. Am I going crazy? Somehow food just appears on the table when I walk past the kitchen. I am never hungry. I eat it anyway. The voice I hear tells me to. I'm not sure who he is.
I can't remember the last time I talked. Was it yesterday? Was it last week? Last month? Last year? I don't have anyone to talk to. I don't respond to the voice. I don't want to seem more crazy than I already am. I open my lips. They crack and I think I'm tasting blood. Oh, well. I press my bloody lips together again. I am finished with the piece I was working on.
It is two dolls linked together. A blonde and a brunette. I do not know who these people are. They look familiar. As I stare at the dolls linked at the hands, I begin to wonder who they are.
"Maser Stark, Master Rogers is here." There's that voice again. It seems like someone is here. I think "Rogers" is the blonde one. I don't say anything, but I hear the doors to my lab open and shut quietly.
A large hand rests on my left shoulder. I continue to stare at my dolls. "Tony, when was the last time you ate or slept?" I don't say anything. I'm not exactly sure who this man is. He reminds me of someone.
"Tony, what do you have in your hands?" The man takes the dolls from my hand. I don't remember when was the last time I ate or slept. Maybe this man would know. Maybe he could tell me all that I'm confused about.
A gasp comes from the man. I look up at him. I wonder what he is gasping at. I wonder how long he will stay.
His large arms wrap around my small body, and small sobs begin to come out. Instinctively, I bring my arms up to hug him. I'm not sure why I did that. I don't question myself. I don't know why he is crying. I don't feel any emotions. I want to, but all I can do is stare.
I'm not exactly sure why, but I think this feels right.
I do not own the Avengers.