You were his wife in the 40's through thick and thin, sickness and health, richer or poorer, and through all of the twists of life. Even 70 years later you continued to love him, and stay by his side.
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It had been awhile since I had seen Bucky, and Steve. The war seeming to have a knack for cutting the ties of human bonds as if it were a mere string. Through rumors, and articles in the news I heard tell of the heroic advances our country was making, the shield which protected us, and kept us going being none other than Steve Rogers. The so called savior, and light amidst the depressing darkness, the one responsible for the flicker of hope within everyone fighting, and all the while I thought of how I used to have to reach things on the top shelf for him.
He had grown up so much, literally, but also mentally as a truly magnificent soldier who stood his ground against all odds. An ever prominent wish for harmony glinting in his eyes, his courageousness, and gallant spirit not a force to be reckoned with.
I had seen recent photographs of him, and he was finally a man who was able to break away from the body of a boy he was caged within, his inner most desires now capable goals that he could fulfill.
I sat on my cot in one of the nurses tents, our Red Cross camp set up within a bombed out city in Europe. Since I no longer needed to stay by Steve's side because he was able to enlist I decided that I should do my part too.
The hospital I was working at not adequate enough to squelch the guilt I had for all the men overseas that I could be helping, so I allowed myself to be shipped out while Steve was still training at Camp Lehigh, been here ever since.
The atmosphere outside was plagued with the lingering grey smoke from the recent attack. The fires slowly being smothered with sand, and water. It hurt to breathe the second you stepped out, the burning pollution webbing around your lungs, and biting at your nose.
The fiery embers, and charred ruins which were once buildings the backdrop for as far as you could see, expanding miles. The fumes of fire nonfluctuating, and the desolate city became nothing more than residue of brick, and wood.
I laid down on the cot, the metal springs poking into my back, and I pulled out a small golden frame from my nurses apron pocket. In the incandescence of candlelight the image of Bucky, and me on our wedding day reflected in my weary gaze.
Just today I had to amputate several damaged limbs, mended many deep set gouges, stitched up various holes caused by flying shrapnel, and had seen so much blood that I could create a whole new sea with it. So many had died, so many had lost apart of themselves, whether it was a limb, or a loved one, and while I witnessed the chaos I was selfish, and thought of my own loved one. Even when occupied with tending to the suffering masses.
My apron was splattered with so much dry blood that you could no longer distinguish the once white fabric with the red cross stitched onto it.
I forced myself to stand up, and poured myself a glass of water from the pitcher beside me, but the sudden melancholic wail of someone crying caught my attention.
Stepping out of my tent I walked along the soot covered dirt road to the next tent over, and saw a little girl crying beside a corpse that was covered with a white sheet. She was sitting on the dirty ground, her bloodied hands cupped around her face, and I walked over to her.
