Today is what I will call fanfiction Friday (won't be every Friday but it is this Friday) Enjoy!
American Hero
He
opened his eyes. Oh God another morning. Was he happy he woke up? He often
wondered if he should be happy to wake up or if he would be happy to just keep
sleeping, to keep dreaming, and eventually just leave this life as he was meant
to so many years ago. He tried going back to sleep to roll over and just sink
back into unconsciousness. He wouldn’t be able to. He never could, it was all
the little noises. Maybe his hearing was better than most, he was above average
in a lot of regards, or maybe he would just never get used to all the new
noises. All the little humming noises around his house; his computer slightly
whirring in the corner, his a/c working, the cars going through the street.
There was always little noises, no matter where he went, just constant little
noises everywhere.
It
was one of those things he would never get used to. Ahhhh time to get up. He
wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he stayed in bed all day. People could
use his help. He got up out of bed and began getting ready to run. Running
helps, helped keep thoughts out of his head. He opened the door just as the sun
was rising.
He
got back a while later. He had run and run and run. His lungs had burned, his
muscles had ached, and his mind was gloriously empty for now as it had been the
whole time during the run. He stripped down out of his sweaty clothes and began
showering.
Training,
exercise, and working were what kept him busy and kept him sane. When he would
throw himself into exercise or a mission he could feel purpose, he could feel
alive, and he could not worry or think. The adrenaline of battle or the runners
high, either way it kept him in the moment. It was the waiting and the sitting
around that killed him. Then he time to think. Time to realize he was so alone
and that was never going to change.
He
couldn’t think about that it was dangerous. Self pity was paralyzing. People
were depending on him. He couldn’t sit around and wallow. People needed his
help, the world needed his help. He was never one to sit by when there was work
to be done or people who needed help.
He
sat down to check his email. He looked down at the keyboard. The lay out was
the same as he had seen it before but different. Now it was all digital.
Everything was digital and on the Internet and on computers. A person couldn’t
do anything without a computer involved. It used to be a man would go to a
factory, a field, or a mine to make a living. Now instead of making or
producing most anything everyone sat behind a computer and input data. Just
adding numbers or sending messages. He hated it. His hands were meant to do
things. Build, break, help, hold, DO! Now they spent so much of their time
here. Typing reading and “surfing.”
Not
that the internet was all bad or that he hated it all the time. He enjoyed the
videos people posted and he loved the ideas of instant communication. But
somehow people had lost the personal form of communication. No one spoke to
each other in the streets, strangers avoided eyes, and when people were
together they were on phones talking with someone else. People would say he
just had to get used to. That he was an old soul. He was from another time
though and he would never really adjust.
No
work and no plans for the day time to hit the gym. He grabbed his bags and left
for his home away from home. His job required him to be in top physical
condition at all times, which was fine by him. He liked working out and doing
something and did helped keep his mind from wandering and wondering about his
life.
He
liked his job. He liked protecting and helping people. Even before he was 18 he
knew he was going to sign up. He was going to defend his country! He was going
to defend America and be a hero. He wasn’t going to let anyone, even his own
body, stop him from doing what he wanted. No what he needed to do, his duty.
He
got to the gym and started lifting with a variety of weights, working every
muscle he could think of. He started to sweat and his muscles began to scream
for him to stop. He pushed through it. It would not be the first time or the
last time he needed his muscles to go farther than they wanted to.
He
thought back to his past, despite how hard he tried not to. He did not regret
his actions. He had killed in war and self-defense. He would do it again. He
did not lose sleep over it. The men he had killed, some with weapons some with
his hands, were men who threatened his home, and by extension his family and
friends, threatened the world, and threated him. He could think back to
previous fights and feel guilt free about his actions.
He
gave the arm weights a break for a bit. It was time for the legs to burn again.
These
days things were different. Before it was two countries fighting each other for
land, power, money, or some set of ideals. There were sides and there were
rules. The rules weren’t always followed but they were still present and people
knew when they were being broken. Now wars were fought differently. There were
still two sides but it was hard to tell who was fighting on what side and for
what. Now soldiers, if you could call them that, didn’t always war uniforms and
they certainly didn’t follow rules anymore.
Secret
bombs, civilians as targets, killing to send a message rather than win a war.
It was brutal. He didn’t like it. It wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.
Civilians were not part of the fight and shouldn’t be more in the war than they
had to be. He understood war was hell and even if you weren’t fighting you
could be a part of it. But now targeting civilians was commonplace. That just
wasn’t right.
He
started to get shaky just trying to stand up. Time to stop with the weights and
move on to training. He went over to the other part of the gym and starting
wrapping his hands up. There was a punching bag that needed some work done on
it. Quick hit, quick hit, low hit, keeping his hands up.
It
hurt his hands but that was nothing compared to his loneliness. The long days
of constantly asking questions to people he could in no way connect to. He
would ask people where they were when they found out about the attack on Pearl
Harbor, history class they would say giving him those confused looks he was all
to used to. They would ask him where he was when he heard about the JFK
assignation, the fall of the Berlin wall, or when the attacks on 9/11 happened.
They thought it was a weird joke when he said frozen. Even day to day stuff was
hard to talk about, movies weren’t what they used to be, music had gone through
so many phases he could barely call it music sometimes, everyone was always on
their phones, he couldn’t really talk about his work and telling stories of
WWII made him seem old even to him now. Old and sad. There were those who would
understand the stories and the experiences. They were old now. The memories
weren’t as fresh as his. The other veterans had lived full lives and moved on.
But to me it was just a few years ago. He hated looking at the other veterans
and seeing how old they had become. They had similar experiences but the
memories were 70 years or more ago. It still felt lonely.
He
didn’t regret what he did. He did it to save the world and his country. He did
it to protect the family he one day hoped to have. And in doing so sealed his
fate to never have them or see the woman he loved again. He expected to die
with dignity and honor then walk into the pearly gates and wait for her to join
him. Instead he woke up was decidedly not dead and everything in the world had
changed except for him. Once he was caught up on the situation and ready to
believe it was really happening he went to go and find her, only to find she
could not be caught up on any situation. She lived but it was a sham of her
former life. She used to be so energetic, so ready to change the world, and
now… Now she barely remembered what room she was in let alone who was in there
with her.
His
hands started moving faster, hitting harder. Peggy had lived her life, she had
done many amazing and wonderful things and had helped shape the world as it was
today. He wanted that. He had wanted to grow old with her. He wanted to live
his life with her. Now she had already lived hers and he frequently debated if
his was worth living…
He
started adding knees and kicks to the bag. It felt good to hit something. He
hated it. He hated the loneliness that was never going to end. He hated waking
up every day to being by himself. All alone constantly.
Then
there was the hero worship.
The
chain holding the bag snapped and the bag flew across the room. He charged
after it and kept hitting as it lay on the ground, helpless the bag just took
the punches. He knew it couldn’t feel anything and in that he almost envied it.
He beat that bag till he could barely feel his hands.
He
finally pulled himself away and sat down on the beaten and broken bag. Just
waiting for the end of… the day…
End story.
This was written from a first person of Captain America, Steve Rogers, set after Captain America the First Avenger but before the Avengers from the Marvel Universe. I plan on doing a series of these. For sure Ironman and Hulk. Not sure about the other Avengers yet but we will see. Let me know what you think! Have a great weekend world!
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