' ' are thoughts
" is speaking
Blue eyes snap open in fear. It was dark, too dark. And it was cold. Two things that reminded him so much of the two worst experiences he's ever had in his life. Although they were pretty bad experiences, he had gained from them. He gained his life back, and the will to be with his family. The will to restrain himself after he spent all his rage. He lost an arm, but gained a weapon. He gained respect, leadership, and a lifelong bond to people he scarcely knew, but were on the path to being family.
Shiro gets up from his bed, distributing his weight to strategic points as to not press that annoying area that always gave a sound like a ruined mattress spring. 'Seriously- if Altean's were thousands of years ahead of Earth, how did they not master the simplicity of non-squeaky beds?' He stretches, quickly testing his prosthetic- still working - before exiting his room, before realizing what day it was.
One year.
Shiro runs his normal hand through his white lock and black hair. No, Shiro wasn't him, he wasn't Shiro. Shiro was only a description of who he was, two characters described by a lock of white hair. Add another reminder to his list of now three. Three things that reminded him of the worst moments of his life. 'Oh god' he thinks with guilt. 'My family...they think I'm...dead.' The cold. It was the description of the Gahlra prison cells, the description of the ever present felling of his prosthetic against his stump of an arm. The only way he could get a bit of warmth was the feel of the Arena, where the heat of battle would urge him on to survive.
The dark was present every time he closed his eyes. The feeling of being back there, the nightmares that plagued him every day when he would try to get his usual, minisculiar amount of sleep.
The lock of white hair, however minor, it defined him the most. The symbol of the stress and terror he experienced in the prison camps, the pain of his limb being chopped off and replaced while he could only look with shock at the entire process. That was the later event of his life.
The dark was the feeling of being alone, of being abandoned at his weakest moments. The thoughts that they didn't care, the didn't love you, that you would always be just a 'good soldier'. Those thoughts are fake, when you realize your family took you in and cared for you. That your family missed you, loved you, and that you weren't replaceable, only the mantle you took on.
The cold was the friend of darkness. The smell lf death, the moist earth, eroding earth. It was the environment of what would lf been his eternal tomb, but he wasn't supposed to die. The universe, deciding he didn't have a crappy life already, decided to bring him back. To make his remember all of his experiences, all the pain, and the memories, no matter how good or bad they were.
The white lock of hair. It made him who he was, made when he came screaming out of the fiery, green liquid of the Lazarus Pit. It was his trademark, the lock of white. No matter how much he dyed it, it would be ever present. Shiro was fine with it. He took it as a symbol of all he's been through, all he's experienced, and all he will ever be. Add that to good looks and skill, and you've got the perfect Golden Boy.
Too bad the answer to that equation does not describe Jason Todd.
