The Darker Days

prologue - little person

ive re-written the first part to my favourite story ive ever come up with. please stay tuned for new updates.
_____________________________________

James shot upright with a grieving cry: per-turbulent images crashed through his clattered mind, mortifying him both in and out of his dozed state. His single human arm thrashed against the bed as he rose, his copy of The Hobbit crashing to the floor and his bookmark littering itself across the floor with his clothes. It fell onto his metal arm he'd detached a few hours before with a startling clang. With a harrowing sob, his hand floundered around his neck to grip the silver chain to ground himself against the oppressive flickers of memories.

His face twinged as it became tainted by the amber street lamps; a deep yellow wash drowned the simplistic room. James gulped hard, his mouth dry and his steel blue eyes prickled with salty, yearning tears. His heart pummelled ballistically inside his bare chest, lungs constricted as he fought stoically to inhale a sharp breath. The man's frame rose and fell expeditiously, expression jaded by sincere panic.

For a short moment he pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut; James felt the churning in his stomach begun to cease and his breathing slowed to a comfortable rhythm. He reopened his eyes hesitantly with a dismayed sigh, and tore the dull grey blanket away from his legs. As his foot collided with the ground, he winced at the cold. James gathered his belongings from the floor of the compound bedroom; first he reassembled his vibranium arm and tested the recognition of his movements, watching as his fingers straightened and bent.

He then huffed as he lifted his book and it's bookmark from the floor, restlessly flicking through the pages until he found a few sentences that were familiar. James slipped the piece of card inside the book so it poked out the top and left on the windowsill. Wrestling with his sheets, he lifted the duvet and straightened it across the frame of his bed, nodding once in satisfaction of his work.

Donned now in a navy long sleeved top, and his favourite pair of admittedly over worn jeans, James tiredly made his way down the stairs of the eerily quiet compound. He slung a belt of weapons over his right shoulder, taking the steps two at a time in the darkness. Cursing under his breath at the clattering, he shushed the array of knives and hurried his way to the training room.

He padded quietly, barefooted, past the bedrooms of his friends: stifling a breath as he heard Wanda rousing in her sleep, chatting to herself in her daze. Pausing his motions he listened in for a moment. She hadn't been the same since Westview was demolished, and he felt her pain. Life wasn't the same for him either. Losing his partner, his best friend, it shredded every ounce of confidence of this new existence. He was alone. He despised it.

Once he was sure she had fallen back into a deep slumber he pressed on and slacked the training room door open with one hand. It was his serene safe place: every morning like clockwork he would have a dream that would terrorise him, and this is where he would reside to distract himself from the dangers of his mind. He flicked on the lights, flickering dimly until they'd fully awoken; slumping his belt onto the floor James took a steady breath and set himself up to work through his morning.

James had recently, and reluctantly, learnt how to use a smart phone as Sam had said it was essential to living in the 21st Century. He caved regardless of what he thought, and wished he hadn't as Sam liked to FaceTime to show him ridiculous things. Most recently it was a billboard for cereal with him in his Captain America uniform telling children that breakfast was the most important meal of the day. He hung up as quick as he could. James wasn't keen on the invasion of his privacy, and to be disrupted by his egotistical friend frustrated him at times, even with pure intentions.