What I want from this is learn to let go.
BLACK; The lid closes. Darkness. Black; opening your eyes won’t help much now. You can’t see a thing, not even your own fingers as they claw into the the the hard plastic cover of the lid. You wish you had claws, you wish you had the power to tear your prison apart. Your nails break and it hurts but you stopped caring as soon as the lights ceased. It doesn’t matter anymore, suddenly nothing matters anymore. Your racing heart demands one thing, one thing only; you need to breathe, you need to get out of this. You can feel it coming closer. Feel it grasping you, taking you, strangling you like an invisible hand right at your vulnerable throat. You cannot breathe. Not down here. And suddenly dying is all you think about. Dying and how you don’t want to die. But how, if you can’t breathe at all? You need to breathe to live. You need air. You need light. The screams grow louder and your voice pitches higher. It hurts you. Your nails are bleeding; you can feel the dirt on the plastic lid burn into your open skin as you still scratch your fingers across it. You can feel the old trails your helpless hands left on many nights before. It never stops. Your throat is hurting by now. You can feel your vocal cords twitching and you grasp for air as the pain hits you hard. Sore. Water. Coughing and heavy breathing. Your hands fall from the lid down to your own throat, holding it tight as you try to breathe. Your cry for help is barely audible as you slowly slide down to the ground of the crate. Your crate, your prison. You can smell your blood on your fingers, feel it stick on your skin, all smeared across your throat. Tears are burning in your eyes as you pull your knees closer to your body. Panic shakes you, drives your thoughts in one direction only; help. You need help, you need to get out of here before you’ll lose your mind. And it feels like you’re already on the verge. You can hear the pulse in your ears, a hysterical drumbeat, slowly driving you insane. Just like your body is one step away from giving in; ending. And you don’t know what happens then. You don’t know what it is that’s waiting for you, once you’ve lost control. All you have to do is keep your heart beating. Keep on breathing. Slowly whisper for help although you know that no one hears you. You are alone. And no one will help you. No one. Help
No one ever does.
so here is my take on the winter soldier poster. I know there are already a couple of them out there but I simply had to. I am seriously bothering my friends for months, talking about HOW MUCH I WANT THIS TO HAPPEN. Now it is. I can’t express my feelings. I couldn’t even believe that this was real. Marvel couldn’t have made me any happier.
“Like the wolf, its power is greatest at the moon’s peak. Like the wolf, the Kanima is a social creature but where the wolf seeks a pack the Kanima seeks a master. […] The Kanima is a mutation of the werewolf gene that cannot fully transform until it resolves that in its past which manifest it.”