Longing- Winter Solider Angst
The day suffocated under the night, leaving nothing but darkness among anyone and everyone. As the soilder walked down the light less street, not a soul daring to find their way to him. He was the only one here, not even criminals seemed to linger. The street-lights were out. The road empty. All that remained was alleys of graphiti and trash. The soilder stopped, dead in his tracks. A strong longing for someone, to be there washed upon him. A sense of deja vu, but it wasn't something he felt like he could cast away. It triggered something. It was like when you saw someone you thought you knew, only to find a complete stranger. Nothing came up. No sign that he should know this- besides a small tug in his brain. The feeling in his chest. It all didn't add up. He was the winter soilder- meant to kill the good guys. Not save some idiot in a alley way. He just wanted to see if someone needed help. It felt wrong not too. What felt even more wrong was how he was utterly alone. The wind and his shaky hands were the only moving things, in what felt like the whole world. At least, in his world, he has always and always will be alone. He was a wepond and that was all. Nothing more. He wasn't 'human' anymore. He was an object that followed orders. Yet, the longing for someone /anyone/ to be down this alley, in need of saving devoured him. It was in that moment, he realized, he wasn't always this way, and it hurt. He had people he let down somewhere. Maybe, that's why he is simply a weapond in everyone else's mind. He had people he disappointed. People who worried about him. After all of this, that man is dead. He has been replaced, by the broken solider that follows order. The solider walked out of the dark alley. The feeling had left as soon as it came. He was programmable. If HYDRA didn't like something, they could change it. The solider didn't want to be broken again just for some stupid emotion he couldn't even pin point. He left the longing for the past, in the back alley not wanting to feel it again. After all, his memory's were lost in some dark alley in Brooklyn, somewhere he would never think to find it. Walking along the city streets, feeling lost, the solider struggled to remember why he was here. He was told to be here, he assumed. It was the most logical answer. After all, most people wouldn't want to give up something they worked on for 70 years. He would have remembered if he tried to escape. He remembered every escape attempt he attempted so long ago. It was pointless, and he got caught everytime. It wasn't until he couldn't take the physical pain anymore, that he finally gave in. After all, everyone had their breaking point. Even if it took forever to find, it was still there. Without a clue of who he was, pain was the obvious option. It worked for them at least. All he had to do was follow directions and he would be okay. Everything would be okay. With or without a guy in an alley to save, the winter solider could handle it. He could handle all of it. The soilder broke down at that point. He couldn't handle it. Everyday felt like a knife through his chest. He was drowining, slowly but surely. Yet, there was no one to save him. No life guard, not anything. The broken solider sat on the city sidewalk, a mess of emotions. His life had been replaced with something so awful. Something he wanted to run from. Yet, he couldn't run. He was no longer living; just a ghost used as a tool. He didn't have anything to hold onto, he was being forced to stay. Dead or alive, The Winter Solider was, and will forever be a weapon.