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[corawithfanfiction]

- Reminiscences I Winter Soldier -

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•  REMINISCENCES • Recall or “remembering ” refers to the mental process of retrieving information from the past. It is one of the three basic processes of memory, along with encoding and storage. There are three main types of recall: free recall, cued recall and serial recall. Psychologists test recall as a way to study memory processes in humans and animals.

It Would’ve Been Better To Forget Lots Of Things (Prologue)

And In Those Slepless,Tormenting Times (Characters)

I Am Afraid I Have No Purpose Here (Episode 1)

Somewhere, I Have a Watercolor You Did (Episode 2)

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[corawithfanfiction]

REMINISCENCES I Winter Soldier

I am afraid I have no purpose here (episode 1)

My Materialist

warnings: anxiety, forgetfulness, self-doubt, trauma, trauma reminder moments, death, forced detention, intrusion

Ask for permission before quoting or translating!

•  REMINISCENCES •

Recall or “remembering ” refers to the mental process of retrieving information from the past. It is one of the three basic processes of memory, along with encoding and storage. There are three main types of recall: free recall, cued recall and serial recall. Psychologists test recall as a way to study memory processes in humans and animals.

She was still running, but the walls seemed to be getting tighter and tighter. The ceiling was covered with paintings, so wonderful that he didn't notice them. Ironic, isn't it?

Earlier, when he had entered that building, he had felt a sense of peace to see all those beautiful details, the beauty of the architecture and the columns supporting the structure. As people passed by him indifferently, he saw that he was one of the few who truly appreciated what he thought was a work of art.

A second later, he heard a wall crack and gunshots. She turned around for just a few seconds and saw a masked man with metal sleeves. She had only turned for a few seconds, but it was enough to make her start running.

She could hear the struggle of armed men desperately trying to hold her back, to defend themselves or at least to escape. He didn't care at that moment how it ended, but he could guess by the cessation of her screams and her quick steps. As he continued to run for his life, he felt a tremendous pain in his legs and feet, mostly from his work heels.

She left her little black suitcase behind and started running for her life, ignoring all those little angels on the ceiling who now turned their compassionate gaze on the little human figure. Because deep down, he was human. And that man, on the other hand, judging by his speed, was anything but human.

She screamed as she heard the guns getting closer and closer. By now his vision was completely blurred by tears, but he couldn't stop, even if he had risked stumbling absent-mindedly. Then he felt a swelling in his back, an almost unbearable pain.

Her voice caught in her throat as her whole body lunged for a wooden door not far away, which she thought was safe. He coughed, brought his hand to his split lip and finally wiped away his tears as he watched the scene of hell ahead.

By now they were all gone, and the same men who were not even 10 minutes ago alive and talking quietly were lying in their own blood on the luxurious floor. She started hyperventilating, then looked at the man in front of her. The same blue eyes were staring and they were eerie. She shriveled, crawled miserably to the same door and tried desperately to escape, even if she came to the border. Instead, he began to approach, fixing his gaze. Almost curiously, but she could see the glacial glint in his eyes better.

She could almost feel a wry smile on his face, but in retrospect, what kind of facial expressions could such a man have? His steps grew heavier and heavier and he stood, dominated by his height, right on top of his figure. With big eyes he looked at the gun still in his hand. And then he looked down.

She never wanted the killer to be the last thing you see. That moment was a demonstration of how terror could take over his body and possess him. He waited for his death only to see her crouching. He came closer and she felt him grab her mask, but she refused to look at him, feeling his breath on her neck.

“Keep your head down, don't provoke him.” she thought desperately and did so. On the other hand, such… submissiveness seemed humiliating. He should have killed without hesitation, he had seen too much. But somehow she knew he would never speak, from the way he desperately cared for her life, from the way he avoided her, as if she was already part of his daily nightmares. She shook a lock of hair from her face, almost smiling at the way he visibly flinched.

“Please…” she murmured, now feeling the pressure crushing her body. And she could feel it too, she could feel how anxiety could crush her entire being: He knew that it had an effect on people like pure fear or a chilling pain, but this went even further. It was psychologically torturing him just by its presence and he was mesmerized. The soldier liked it, liked it. He stood up again and at that very moment you thought he was finally going to kill. All his dreams, his efforts, his memories were all erased. Then finally nothing came. Only the sound of heavy footsteps receding into the distance as police sirens approached.

That was three years ago..

A few months after this tragic event, which Polina never told anyone about, claiming to have hidden in the room behind the wooden door, she started going to therapy sessions. She had constant nightmares, saw those glacial eyes everywhere and felt her mind slowly drifting away from her body.

She would find herself on the tenth night to keep her body full of sobs. He had some attacks that he remembered and he didn't want to remember but he did it anyway: it was like an obsessive thought, he would spend the whole day trying not to think about it but then it would reappear.

That imposing figure, that excitement when you felt his breath on her neck, those eyes reappeared. She still remembered everything very clearly and she just wanted to forget and move on. That was her only prayer.

It seemed that nobody knew, nobody recognized him. Then one day she saw him by chance in the newspaper. That's when she started dragging herself down the stairs of her apartment building, desperately trying to control her tears and sobs as the newspaper rolled down the stairs. She had found his face on the front page and she would recognize those eyes and that long hair anywhere. It was him, she knew it. She didn't care about the reported old new or the article itself, the picture was more than enough to disappoint. He would come for Polina in the end.

She finally reached the door of the apartment and quickly closed it behind her. Breathing slowly, he returned to the living room. Everything was as empty as he had left it. Meanwhile, as she started to approach the window, she tried to do one of the exercises the therapist had suggested to calm down. It was so cold, you had to close it.

Close it?

She never opened it.

She instantly froze in her tracks, looking at the road ahead. Polina was a forgetful person and sometimes she forgot something and that's why she had so many doubts about it: every time she thought he had come to pick her up, to complete that puzzle of blood and murder. But each time nothing happened.

She tried to suppress the instinct that was desperately screaming to trust, but she knew better: she couldn't trust herself, not anymore.

According to Polina, her own mind was in her hands, but she was working on it. According to her therapist, you have improved a lot, she shouldn't back down now. With these thoughts she nodded, closed the window and decided to make her favorite tea.

It would certainly help.

She started humming her favorite song, trying to get back to everyday life in her comfort zone. Calmness, relaxation and peace. She just needed that to heal, didn't she? Yet these memories continued to haunt her and despite all her efforts there was nothing she could really do.

Little did she know, however, that you were bewitching another mind that had not yet forgotten the fear that had left its mark on her half-covered face and devastated body.

Hello, we have officially reached the end of the first chapter. Your comments are very important to me, I can't wait to read them! I hope you are as excited as I am.

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