She thought about it a few times. What dying would be like. These days, when she's in the suit more often than she is out of it, she thinks about it more. No matter how much tech is buzzing at her fingertips she's still a woman in a metal cage, three and a half inches of machine-flattened metal parts and gold-titanium alloy from being five hundred feet above the Pacific with nowhere else to go but down.
They say your life flashes before your eyes and she's pretty sure she believes that -- it makes sense, right? She thinks it'd be like the time she took apart one of the eight-tracks she used to listen to in college with Rhodey: unspooling into her hands, memory becoming no more than a bundle of black tape, loops and joins all fucked-up so there is no beginning and no end.
She wonders what her life will look like, when that time comes. She hopes it'll be a long time before it does, but it makes sense to be pragmatic in a world full of weapons. She thinks she'll remember Rhodey, and Pepper, and Obadiah, maybe, although these days it's hard to remember him without her mind skipping away, like a broken record, onto something else. She wants to remember her parents; the times when she was still stupid enough to love them. Her father's hands. Her mother's perfume.
Deep down, she knows she doesn't want to remember anything, but simply wants the end to come, unannounced.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2008-09-22 06:42 pm (UTC)They say your life flashes before your eyes and she's pretty sure she believes that -- it makes sense, right? She thinks it'd be like the time she took apart one of the eight-tracks she used to listen to in college with Rhodey: unspooling into her hands, memory becoming no more than a bundle of black tape, loops and joins all fucked-up so there is no beginning and no end.
She wonders what her life will look like, when that time comes. She hopes it'll be a long time before it does, but it makes sense to be pragmatic in a world full of weapons. She thinks she'll remember Rhodey, and Pepper, and Obadiah, maybe, although these days it's hard to remember him without her mind skipping away, like a broken record, onto something else. She wants to remember her parents; the times when she was still stupid enough to love them. Her father's hands. Her mother's perfume.
Deep down, she knows she doesn't want to remember anything, but simply wants the end to come, unannounced.