Thanks for all of your reviews! They make me so happy . . .
Um, I'm sorry I used Three Days Grace twice.
Okay, I'm done putting dumb disclaimers in, because I think after the first chapter I'm free to go. Right? Right.
-WORLD SO COLD-
by Three Days Grace
I never thought I'd feel this
Guilty and I'm broken down inside
Living with myself, nothing but lies
I always thought I'd make it
But never knew I'd let it get so bad
Living with myself is all I have
I feel numb
I can't come to life
I feel like I'm frozen in time
Living in a world so cold
Wasting away
Living in a shell with no soul
Since you've gone away
Living in a world so cold
Counting the days
Since you've gone away
Steve sits on his bed, his gaze fixed on the window that reveals the New York City skyline. For a few minutes, that's all he does – stare. Then he closes his eyes and lets out a long, desperate sigh.
Freeze.
Rewind.
Play.
There aren't a lot of buildings, and the few that are there don't quite reach the towering heights of anyone's expectations. He's able to see the blue sky stretch far into the horizon, growing a deeper bluish-purple color the farther it reaches. Then, as night falls, his world is cast in a comforting, blanketing darkness, marred only by the dimly glowing streetlamps scattered alongside the road.
Freeze.
Fast forward.
Play.
Tall, massive skyscrapers loom over the large, bustling city, their pointy spires thrust so far in the air it seems as though they're attempting to pierce through the veil of the atmosphere. The not-so-blue sky has a gray tint to it, and its journey toward the horizon is hidden by the aforementioned buildings. When night falls, it's barely even noticeable that the sun has disappeared. Bright, flashing signs, pinned to the doors of stores, fill the streets with fake, fluorescent light, while moving ads the size of Tony's indoor swimming pool decorate the sides of huge structures. New York City – the city that never sleeps.
It's not his New York.
Steve's fingers twist into the blanket he's sitting on and he wrenches his eyes open with a snap. Get a grip, he commands himself sternly. He's Captain America. He's not allowed sappy, sentimental moments.
He robotically pushes himself off the bed, knowing he has to something – anything – to get his mind off of the 1940's.
Of his time. That's what he's starting to call everything from the 40's – his. His Brooklyn. His army. His world. His.
Then suddenly a brown-haired, beautiful British woman leaps, unbidden, into his mind.
Freeze.
Rewind.
Play.
She thinks he's said something funny and he sees her hard-to-get smile. She brushes by him and he smells her perfume. She leans back against him and he feels her soft, curly hair tickle his neck. She watches him trip and he hears her laugh gently. She leans forward and he tastes the lipstick smeared on her lips.
Freeze.
Fast forward.
Play.
She's dead. She's dead and done and he's alone.
Tears prick his eyes as he stumbles to the door, telling himself over and over that there's nothing he can do, Peggy's gone, Bucky's gone, Howard's gone, World War II is gone, 1940 is gone.
His world is gone.
Freeze.