Who: Peggy Carter, open! Where: Around What: Walking in melancholia When: Monday after lunch Rating: Low Status: Ongoing
Something she'd received that morning, completely out of the blue had stumbled her. More than that, it'd brought back more pain than she'd ever felt. Since then, Peggy had been walking the back streets on her crutch, trying to clear her head and get some space. Because that morning, the Island and its deities had deigned to put on her nightstand her old photo album. Pictures of her parents, grandparents, her grandmother's old home in the countryside and the farm attached. Even photos of her childhood from her infant years to just before she'd headed off to enlist in the SSR. They were the welcome reminders. The happy things that burned her head just a little to remember fully. She couldn't quite bring herself to regret leaving her family for an adventure. No. The photos that hurt beyond all belief and reckoning were of friends in her training days. Soldiers both men and women; talented, bright people she knew had died in the most horrific of ways. Their lives torn apart. None of the people in those army photographs were alive anymore save for her and she felt... guilt. Such deep burning guilt at simply breathing that the tranquility of her cottage had been too much to bear. She'd wandered around for two hours, clutching the little photo album until the pain in her leg became too great and she had to sit on a rock to rest her injured leg.
She swiped her angry tears away with pale fingertips. This island was seemingly determined to see her in pain. Peggy couldn't help the softly sung words from her pale lips.
I see you've found a box of my things - Infantries, tanks and smoldering airplane wings. These old pictures are cool. Tell me some stories Was it like the old war movies? Sit down son. Let me fill you in
Where to begin? Let's start with the end This black and white photo don't capture the skin From the flash of a gun to a soldier who's done Trust me grandson The war was in color From shipyard to sea, From factory to sky From rivet to rifle, from boot camp to battle cry I wore the mask up high on a daylight run That held my face in its clammy hand Crawled over coconut logs and corpses in the coral sand
Where to begin? Let's start with the end This black and white photo don't capture the skin From the shock of a shell or the memory of smell If red is for Hell The war was in color
I held the canvas bag over the railing The dead released, with the ship still sailing, Out of our hands and into the swallowing sea I felt the crossfire stitching up soldiers Into a blanket of dead, and as the night grows colder In a window back home, a Blue Star is traded for Gold.
Where to begin? Let's start with the end This black and white photo don't capture the skin When metal is churned. And bodies are burned Victory earned The War was in color
Now I lay in my grave at age 21 Long before you were born Before I bore a son What good did it do? Well maybe for you A world without war A life full of color
Where to begin? Let's start with the end This black and white photo never captured my skin Once it was torn from an enemy thorn Straight through the core The war was in color