Ghost

Independent Bucky Barnes RP Blog

❝ Every day I see new-born flowers

that soldiers must forget ❞

616 & MCU

||

                 _{He’d let his heart sink at the thought that he might get some sleep tonight. But in the end he’d always have to go through the day on an amount of rest none other could live through. He sat stale, goosebumps travelling the speed of continental plates over his body, like hands travelling from the back of his head, along his scalp and through his hair. There was nothing quite like the shock of impure thought, the remembrance of the face that you, and you alone, were no one. It shook him like a bolt of lightning, and the endless boom of thunder would shake his skull no less than hours later. That he now had the ability to choose for himself, anything, and everything was in his hands, made this all the worse. Because in these moments, there was nothing for him to decide, he had nothing to choose, and no path to go down, every time, he realised this, again, and again. Those were the times he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, and couldn’t breathe.}

        _{He had nowhere to go, at least so he thought, he always did, in these moments when he all but shone. He had spent years a slave a man that believed himself to be akin with the gods. And now he’d become a slave to his own self, the life he owed to God. This was more than he was promised, when he had chosen his country over his life, this wasn’t war, this wasn’t physical, this was him hiding in the night, in the alleyways he so trusted to hide him. Nowhere to go for himself, only his hands to seek shelter in his pockets. It was there they met an alley. A piece of scrunched up paper, a note he remembered held an address. A map to a fortress he’d been promised brought shelter. Shelter was not what he wanted, company not what he desired, but needed. And so he rose, and so he walked, his eyes never lifted off the small sheet, the scribbles of black pen smudged. Until he met the numbers to match the paper, the letters reminding him of the face he’d tried to ignore, lest he be reminded all he missed out on, and all ruin he’d nearly brought to fall. He hesitated, but rang the bell nonetheless, dropping the small yellow paper he couldn’t help but keep staring at it, and not the door he stood before. It was what was behind the door, either curse or blessing, and he prayed for it to be the latter.}