Marvel One-Shots and Prompts

Ode to Antonia

Created 10 September 2021

Rating: Teen
For themes of suffering and deathly events

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A small girl rides in a black car down the streets of Budapest, twisting one of her twin braids around her finger. The air is humid, and even though she rides in the back of an expensive vehicle, she can feel the effects of the sweltering heat.

It wasn't usually that hot, but it was the middle of the summer and not a cloud in sight to block the sun. She doesn't care for the heat, but when she complains, her dad always tells her that she didn't have to like everything, only contend with it, whatever that meant. "Forty degrees Celsius," she hears one of the men mutter up front.

She doesn't like the men in suits. She doesn't like it when they come to pick her up from her tutor every day. She always hopes that her dad will show up one day, and that he will be there to carry her to the car and tell her a story like he used to when she was very small.

She was ten, though, and her dad had told her that she was old enough to tell her own stories. She is old enough, and she does.

Sometimes, her stories are fantasies of knights and dragons. She dreams of far-off worlds, where gods and monsters fight in battles that are known forever. Other times, she walks amongst the wreckage of a sunken ship, or watches death take a wounded man. She does as she is told, but thinks as she sees, and her dad?

He never comes. It's been two years since they moved to Budapest, she thinks. Two years and in that time, she has spent so little time with him. Maybe that's the reason her leg was bouncing with uncontained anxiety. For the first time in about two months, he will be there when she arrives.

She drew him a picture during her school time, and she's quite proud to show it to him. Most of her classmates had drawn scribbles, but not her. She knows she's an artist, and she knows she has an eye for symmetry. Her green eyes are on the people, who she sees on the streets which they pass.

She watches a young boy holding hands with a woman for a while. Watches the way his eyes light up when the woman talks to him. What could she have said? What made that boy so happy?

Above anything, she finds herself wishing to know, wishing to feel how the boy did. Soon, they have passed him, and she can no longer see the smile on his face, even when she turns around in her seat.

"Sit down, kid," says one of the men in suits. She resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him, because she doesn't care what he says, but she doesn't want the man to tell her dad. The car pulls to a stop. A tree with a split trunk catches her eye, simultaneously, it blocks the little bit of light that was hitting the roof of the vehicle.

The building is nice, with large windows and tall whitewashed columns. She sees the men in suits get out of the car, and she reaches to take off her seatbelt. One of them opens the door for her and she steps out, her small shoe making nothing but a small tap when it reaches the sidewalk.

She pulls her red bag up onto her shoulders. She can feel her heart pounding in excitement and fear. What if he doesn't like the drawing, she wonders, but pushes that concern to the side, assuring herself that with all the work she had put into it, there was no way he couldn't.

They walk her in the doors and to the stairs, where they leave her. She grasps the straps of her bag and takes off, hurriedly bouncing up each of the polished steps. She feels the books bouncing in her bag, but continues climbing, a smile on her face. She reaches the top stair.

The door is open, she notices. The door is open and a desk light on. In the chair, there he sits. Her dad, her father, her protector.

He doesn't look up at first, so she strides into the room, passing by the open door. His eyes are on something, and she watches the brown orbs slide back and forth. He is reading something important; she can tell.

She has always been able to tell, and he mentions her genius and gifts at reading people every time they are together. He has a vicious crease in his brow, one which she saw from the door. Stress, she thinks.

When she reaches the table, she takes her schoolbag off and lays it there. With her heart racing, she opens her bag and looks for the drawing. She finds it in the front of the bag, to her delight, and she hopes her dad will be finished reading so she can show him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a car outside. The window is clean, and the curtains drawn. She sees a woman sitting there, she thinks. A woman who might be looking back at her. This unnerves her a bit, but she keeps up a smile.

Nothing terrible would happen if her dad was there, right? He may be absent a lot, but he always makes show of protecting her, especially after the loss of her mother.

"My girl!" he calls. She turns with her paper in her hands and finds her dad standing up from behind the desk, arms open. She giggles, reminding herself of the child she used to be, and runs toward him. Only, something is wrong, and she is sure of it.

Her dad's face isn't right, and there's something akin to worry in his brown eyes. The next she feels is the heat, and then the pain. Her world is forced into darkness, and the next thing she knows, she's gasping for breath.

Something is dripping, something liquid is pooling beneath her. There's a terrible ringing in her ears and all she can do is scream. Something is wrong. So terribly wrong. There's heat crawling up her legs, and when she forces her eyes open, she wishes she never had.

Everything is dark, and she can't tell what is real and what is the pain. Her right eye swelters, and it feels as if her entire body is simply melting. A scream escapes her throat, but she hears nothing but the ringing in her ears.

Her legs are trapped by the debris, and she begins to panic, delusional. All she can feel is the pain. Pain! Her drawing is still in her hand, but it is all but ashes. Her dad is nowhere to be seen, not that she can see anything.

Debris weighs her down and makes it impossible to move. She needs to move. She can't. Under the debris, smoke is the only air she can breathe. It makes her choke. She wants, wishes for nothing more than a breath of air. Is she going to die?

A tear evaporates off her left cheek. She can't feel the right side of her body. Her right arm is trapped? Yes, it is. Is she on fire?

Her eyes roll back in her head, and she feels her body giving up. Too much heat, she thinks. There is nothing for her to do. As her body gives its last breath, she hears something moving through the rubble.

It's a person! She realizes this and begins to struggle under the weight of the debris once more.

If she can only reach them. Maybe they can save her. Her face burns and ears ring. The movements seem to push her over the edge, and she feels herself slipping away. Why is this happening?

She can't reach the person. She is trapped. She is simply a child at prayer now, hoping for rescue, or at least, an end to the pain. She hears someone yelling. Yelling her name. She blacks out.

"Antonia!"

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And that's one interpretation of the flashback of young Antonia Dreykov we see in Black Widow. I really think Antonia deserves a good backstory explanation, and it would help people come to like her character more.