"Oh," I say quietly. That sounds terrible. It must be, anyway, if there's a war on.
"So you're from... some time in the 40s?" I ask, looking up at Bucky with kind of wide eyes. It's like something out a Jules Verne book, a hero from the future coming to tell someone in the past about their future.
Except there is no way that I can go from what- from who I am now to that man in the photograph, even if I had ten years to do it. I look back at the picture and feel a sort of sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"...I don't think I can be the person you think I am," I tell him. He probably won't like me for saying it, but I can't let him go on thinking something that's plainly impossible. It's dishonest.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2011-08-03 07:40 pm (UTC)"So you're from... some time in the 40s?" I ask, looking up at Bucky with kind of wide eyes. It's like something out a Jules Verne book, a hero from the future coming to tell someone in the past about their future.
Except there is no way that I can go from what- from who I am now to that man in the photograph, even if I had ten years to do it. I look back at the picture and feel a sort of sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"...I don't think I can be the person you think I am," I tell him. He probably won't like me for saying it, but I can't let him go on thinking something that's plainly impossible. It's dishonest.
"Even if I had twenty years. I'm sorry."