I literally got this idea and wrote it in like, 30 minutes, so don't judge, I had to get it out of my system.
I Own Nothing
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They tell you when you're young that life isn't fair…or at least that's what they told me. I can't help but think of all the times I had been told that. That somehow, because I was a woman, I wasn't as smart, wasn't as strong, wasn't as good. I was determined to prove them wrong, to change their mind and make them respect me; I knew the price was high, I suppose I just didn't realize how much I would have to give to get what I deserved. Or maybe I deserved what I got, sometimes one can hardly tell the difference.
I was nineteen when I joined the British Army. They mistook me for a secretarial applicant, but they were so amused that they admitted me anyway. Part of me felt so accomplished for be accepted, while the other part wanted to refuse their offer knowing they only gave it to me for their own amusement. They wanted to see how long I would last before failing or giving up; they wanted to see it so much that they even started a betting pool on how soon I would run away crying. At the end of our six-month training period, I became a very wealthy woman.
I was fully trained, as good as every soldier, if not better, though, for some reason, I had yet to do anything important. It wasn't until the SIS approached me that I finally got my chance. I was finally given an opportunity. War was looming on the horizon, and Churchill knew that woman like me were an asset. British Intelligence accepted me into their agency with no questions asked, though, I wasn't fully aware of what they were asking me to do. I was to become an agent contingent on me cutting all ties with my family, and never seeing or speaking to them again. Perhaps I was over zealous in my career, or maybe I was naïve, whatever it was, I agreed. I haven't seen my family since. My parents would die in the war, and my sister and brother would go on to marry and have children of their own, never to know their Aunt Peggy. They would be the first of many things I lost.
I was twenty-six when I met Steve. He was two years older than I, and I was a head taller than he. I can still remember so vividly the way he looked at me when I decked Gilmore Hodge. It was something like awe, respect and fear blended into one look, one glance. I would go on to see that look from him quite often. I saw it when we talked in the car on the way to Brooklyn, I saw it when I shot four bullets at him and that shield, I saw it when I shot the fire bot in Schmitt's secret lab. No man had ever looked at me like that before. I had received a lot of looks from people in my time, the disapproving grandmother, the disdained officer, an occasionally the impress little soldier, but no one dared look at me like he did.
I lost Steve next. For the first few months after his crash, I had nightmares of his voice, haunting me in my sleep. When the initial grief had subsided, I began to question my life. I began to wonder if everything I had lost was really worth it. Maybe it was time to conform to the fitness of things, time for me to hand in my badge and take the path in life that didn't have so much pain and loss. I didn't though. It was almost as if I were punishing myself, making it worse than it truly had to be, but maybe I deserved it. Sometimes fighting fire with fire means getting burnt.
When I first met Jack Thompson, I could quite honestly say I hated that man. He was arrogant, rude and had no respect for me. He was nothing like Steve, and subconsciously, I had made a comparison of every man I met to Steve. It was really quite unfair; no man was ever going to be like Steve, no matter how hard he tried. Then Russia happened, and everything changed. Jack became more than an arrogant soldier with a medal, he became human, capable of flaw.
It was a whirlwind romance; filled with as much yelling and arguing as it did soft kisses and loving whispers. It was so strange to think that I had found happiness in this man, in this relationship. We were a great team, worthy of all the praises we would never receive. Together Jack and I ran ops that junior agents only dreamed of doing successfully all while somehow, heaven only knows, keeping are relationship alive.
Unfortunately, happiness is a dream we live in until we wake to face our nightmare. It was a sniper that took him from me. We were on a mission in Russia, and some of the juniors were supposed to be keeping watch, but they obviously missed him. It was a mortally fatal wound, and Jack died in my arms.
I would go on to live the rest of my life as an overworked director of the largest covert intelligence agency. I would receive those accolades that I never got when I was younger. I gained the respect of even the most pig headed men. I created my legacy, but all that seems to fade when I remember just how much I lost in life.
They tell you when you're young that life isn't fair, however, they failed to mention how cruel it was.
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