Ghost
It’s been decades upon decades since she last saw him
but not since the last that she’s thought of him, if she
were being completely honest with herself, the last time
she thought about him was yesterday. &&it’s because
he’s always there, always nagging&pulling at the memories
of the two arguing about which cartoon was better while
steve yelled at them, told them to shut up because they
were ruining the cartoon for him.
katherine was usually able to multitask when she thought
about him or her time in brooklyn, oh so long ago. she
could be thinking about her&him arguing about going out
dancing while screwing with precious elena gilbert’s life all
at once. but up until a handful of weeks ago when HYRDA
&S.H.I.E.L.D files were leaked&she had discovered that he
was certainly alive¬ dead like she&most of the world had
originally thought, katherine had to sit down. it was hard for
her to wrap her head around because he wasn’t bucky, he
wasn’t the young man who liked to lift her off her feet&spin
her around enough times to make her dizzy(which obviously
had to be more than ten times. she could only imagine how
dizzy he must’ve been.) he wasn’t the soldier who had wrote
her back&forth during his time in the war, he was one of few
humans that she didn’t have to turn to find tolerable. he was
g o n e; that man is a g h o s t.
thinking about seeing him, him not remembering her or anyone
else from his past made her feel sick; almost. she was more
concerned about him not remembering her because that was
her personality, s e l f i s h, plus she had actually let herself
feel something during the forties with bucky&steve, mostly bucky.
&&when she saw him, slumped against the wall near the alley
she usually fed around, she stilled almost entirely, the only part
of her body responding was her hand wiping at her mouth, chin
& nose. generally she was a neat eater, but for a man who didn’t
remember her, a man who she cared so much about, first
appearances were everything.
It was strange the manner he lived in. though these days what
had not become estranged to his being? He had been told there
were wars he had waged and won, but it all only left him in ruins.
He had conquered, and he had changed the world for the better.
It was all untrue, he had been fooled too many times than to still
believe. There was one thing he still believed in however that
luck once had a name. One he knew very well. He had come to
the conclusion that times, memories, and people came and went,
and he stayed. Nothing would endure, but his being. Although he
was no Marxist, he believed in the evolution of humanity, and
accepted the prominent condition it would evolve without him.
As there was hardly a piece of humanity left in him, living as
not an animal, but a ghost of his former self, he had adjusted
to living, just living.
Humanity lived in silent despair, his life was all but silent.
Yet, he lived in no despair, ‘the most dangerous man on the Planet’.
Not so much because he believed in his feats, but because he believed
his feats were all his life allowed him. Despite all this, the only person
that could escape him was himself. He was never a thinker, action spoke
too loud for him to value thought and go to deep as it only ended in the
inevitable delusion that actions were not as he had seen them as they
occurred. And action was just what he observed. It didn’t frighten him onto
his feet - little could - so much as it was a blend of instinct and caution that
brought him on his feet. He did not move lightly, as he was once used to,
he Favorited and aimed for intimidation, in his eyes the best way to avoid
any shape or form of trouble.
